White Noise is the Lawrence of Arabia of our time. This is what I've gathered from the television reviews, which tell me the film is brilliant and heart-stopping. (Maybe brilliant in the way that our sun going supernova would be brilliant, and heart-stopping in the same way.) As part of my new tradition, I'm providing you with a fake review of White Noise, which I haven't seen and am not likely to see.

The premise of White Noise is something we can all identify with. That is, our "modern" electronic devices, like cassette tapes I guess, are actually vehicles for the voices of the dead. This is something I've been concerned about for some time, but because of my preoccupation with the recording device placed in my left front tooth by the CIA, I haven't given it the attention it deserves. For instance, I keep getting this weird message on my cell phone every few weeks. There's a crackling sound, and then some automated female voice announces, "good-bye." Is this, perhaps, the voice of a dead lady? Is she trying to get some closure for something? I'm looking to White Noise for some answers.

The movie opens with Batman attending his wife's funeral. His grief is exploited by reporters because his wife was famous or something, and so he ends up becoming a recluse with nothing but electronic devices for company. Now, this could go all David Cronenberg in a hurry, but of course it doesn't, because that would at least be interesting. Instead, we get lots of Batman growing unruly grief whiskers and staring at a snow-covered television screen. Naturally, it doesn't occur to him to call the cable company.

Late one night, a depressed Batman is asleep on the couch. Like usual, he's left the television on to the "snow" channel, and half-eaten tray of pizza rolls sits on the coffee table in front of him. Suddenly, we hear an indistinct whisper coming from the TV. Batman wake up in a hurry, then looks around, confused, trying to orient himself. Just when he is about to drift back to sleep, the whisper returns. "Batman," it says. "Why did you eat all the pizza rolls? They are my favorite." Batman realizes the whisper belongs to his dead famous wife, so they have a little chat about pizza rolls and he goes to bed again. This goes on for several nights, and Batman starts to get his life back together. He's going to his job again and gently rebuffing friends who try to hook him up with their sweet-natured (read: loose) cousins from Memphis.

About a month later, though, Batman hears another voice through the television, and this one isn't talking about pizza rolls. It's talking about brimstone and death and Terry Bradshaw. Then it coughs a little, mumbles something about the blood of the innocent, and fades out. "Oh man," says Batman's wife. "How did that guy get in here?"

"Do you know who that is?" Batman asks.

"Yup. It's Cthulhu. Lives just down the road from me. He's got three or four junkers just rusting on the lawn, you know. Drinking problem, anger management issues, you name it. He's a real bad apple."

"So, he's a dead person, too?"

"Well, no. He's kind of a demon."

"Oh crap," says Batman.

So Batman gets some sage and burns it on top of the television, but the voice comes back anyway. "Why don't you try some rosemary?" Cthulhu asks in his gravelly demon voice. About this time, all the lights in the house start flickering on and off. Batman is sorry he put up all those blacklight posters with psychedelic designs on them because they are making him dizzy. He reaches for his utility belt, but realizes with horror that it is missing.

"Looking for this?" asks Cthulhu, and Batman sees the utility belt floating mid-air over the television.

"Oh crap," Batman says again.

All at once, Cthulhu materializes in front of the television. He looks like a giant squid. A single tentacle is upraised, holding the belt. Mucus is streaming down his body, and his huge, liquid eyes pulse with unbridled evil.

"Whoah!" shouts Batman. "I totally didn't expect that!"

"Ha ha! Noooo-body expects the Spanish Inquisition!" says Cthulhu, affecting a poor British accent.

Suddenly, Batman remembers he has an anti-demon talisman in his pocket, so he whips it out and thrusts it in the demon's face. It's an ancient chess piece—the white Queen—and it was recovered from among the Dead Sea scrolls. Batman's dad threw it at him in a drunken rage one time, and Batman didn't ever bother to return it. So he's holding the chess piece out, shouting "Checkmate!" over and over, and Cthulhu emits a horrible shriek of pain. His squid body begins to vibrate, and the mucus covering his body turns a sickly blackish-purple color.

"Oh crap," says Cthulhu. But then he gets a demonic idea, and starts disrupting the electrical stuff again. The lights are flickering and short-circuiting, causing sparks to shoot all over the place. The radio inexplicably starts blasting Creedence. And Batman has the misfortune to step in a puddle of water that wasn't there before. He gets a severe shock, but not enough to kill him. Still, he is breathing heavily and looking a bit worse for the wear. Then something occurs to him. "Say, I have a question, ole chap."

Just then, Cthulhu presses a button on the utility belt and a grapple hook ejects, hitting him hard in the head. Looking embarrassed, he lets the belt drop. "Er...I will grant you one last question, feeble human," Cthulhu says, rubbing his forehead with a tentacle.

"Why are we fighting?" asks Batman.

"Well...er...that is...I don't know." Cthulhu looks puzzled. He shrugs then (at least as well as an 800-pound squid demon can shrug, that is).

"I have a better idea," says Batman.

They leave for Vegas at once. "We're going to have a killer time," says Cthulhu, adjusting the passenger seat of the Batmobile so that he has enough room for his sprawling tentacles. They both laugh riotously as the car speeds away into the night.

The End.