Well kids, I’ve made my peace with the finale of America’s Next Top Model. Believe me, if I’d written this recap as the credits were rolling, it most likely would have consisted of “Are you kidding me? What? No, no, no, no, no!” over and over and over. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, though, the inevitable win of Whitney seems for the best.

That’s right — good ol’ Plussie has won the almighty Cover Girl contract. It’s Whitney’s face you’ll be seeing in Wal-Marts everywhere, and during the next cycle of ANTM, we’ll learn all about her life as a Cover Girl (which, I hope, will be a hell of a lot more exciting than Tootie’s after her Cycle 9 win — not that wearing hair nets and visiting makeup factories isn’t exciting). All snark aside, congrats to Whitney for being the first plus size — excuse me — full-figured model to win on the show.

Photo credit: Jim DeYonker/The CW

Still, Anya was robbed. Robbed I say! I knew this going in, as some overenthusiastic East Coast friends spoiled the results for me. Had I been completely in the dark, however, the ridiculously slanted editing of this episode would have telegraphed the ending to me in 10-foot neon glittery letters that lasered directly into my brain.

The three remaining amigos — rather, the two remaining amigos and Fatima — immediately embarked on the most important mission yet: they’ve got to rescue the President! Wait, sorry: they’ve got to shoot commercials and print ads for Cover Girl. But the pressure is still high, and it’s so high, in fact, that Anya cries out of nervousness. It’s kind of like watching a rainbow fall down and squish a puppy.

Photo credit: Pottle Productions Inc./The CW

The last Cover Girl commercial the girls shot was The Italian Nightmare (“Brasilia!”), so they’re all a bit nervous; fortunately, the script is in English and there’s no movement required. They’ve all just got to stand there and talk about how awesome their mascara is, or something. The script may have been in English, but it was such a friggin’ tongue twister and they all had so much trouble with it that I couldn’t make out much more than “New lash blast last fast Cover Girl blast if a wood chuck could chuck wood.”

This week's episode of America's Next Top Model, "Ready for My Close-up," was so intense and fierce it really separated the girls from the women … or should I say the men from the women? Yes, it was time to say goodbye to America 's Next Top Drag Queen, as Dominique got the boot.

Photo credit: Elizabeth Carrillo/The CW

Whoa whoa whoa. It seems I've got to check myself before I wreck myself! First of all, the only reason I know that this week's episode was "intense" and "fierce" is because all of the models kept telling me it was. They kept insisting things were heating up, but I found myself remaining decidedly room-temperature throughout the hour.

I'm not sure if it's due to the fact that my girlfriends Claire and Katarzyna are now but fading memories, but I just … well, I hate to say it but I just don't care anymore. I'm not particularly rooting for anyone (well, maybe Anya), and I feel a bit "meh" about the whole affair. My ANTM life no longer has meaning!

The Final Four (Anya, Dominique, Whitney and Fatima) really went on the attack this week, talking smack about each other (and themselves) virtually nonstop. Fatima insists that she came to America's Next Top Model with a "mission," and said mission is "to win." Geez, I wonder why all those other girls applied to the show? Call me crazy, but I think there's a chance that maybe some of them have the same mission. Except for that one confused girl who kept insisting that her mission is "to save lives" — the poor thing thinks she auditioned for America's Next Top Cancer Researcher.

My friends, I write this mini-recap with a heavy heart: My girl Katarzyna has been sent packing. Sure, I'm giving it away right off the bat, but anyone who watched the first five minutes of the episode could tell from the edit who was going home. Those five minutes featured more Kata than the rest of the season combined. I held out hope that maybe I'd be wrong, but alas, my favorite is not going to be America 's Next Top Model. Oh well, at least I got to see her in a cheesy gladiator outfit before she split.

Photo credit: Elizabeth Carrillo/The CW

Yes, a gladiator outfit. The remaining girls (Kata, Fatima, Whitney, Anya and Dominique) are given a brief lesson in throwing down gladiator-style, and then they're immediately thrust into a mini-photo shoot, the idea of which is to maintain composure and elegance whilst pretending to beat the crap out of some big muscle-laden dude. I don't know about you, but that sounds like just another Friday night to me.

Photo credit: Elizabeth Carrillo/The CW

And so the wannabe models thrust their swords high…or in some cases, attempt to. Anya is as Anya does, meaning she does great.

I've learned not to claim disdain for reality television. I'd love to, sure, but I'm so hopelessly addicted to America's Next Top Model that I have no room to talk smack. And after last night's episode — one of the most hilarious I've ever seen — I can say with assurance that I'm not heading to ANTM rehab anytime soon.

The final six contestants (Anya, Katarzyna, Whitney, Lauren, Fatima and Dominique) headed to Rome this week, got brief lessons in the Italian modeling industry, and filmed some truly awful Cover Girl commercials. There was so much to love in this episode, I don't even know where to begin.

Left to right: Lauren, Whitney, Katarzyna, Anya and Dominique

All photos by Elizabeth Carrillo/The CW

Well, I could start at the beginning, when Anya charmingly face-planted coming out of the van. I'm not kidding when I say "charmingly" — I don't know what it is about Anya, but she's so sweet and cute and nice and upbeat that she must be made out of unicorns or something. Unicorns covered in glitter. And rainbows. With sprinkles on top.

Today marks the opening of Funny Games, writer-director Michael Haneke’s English-language remake of his own 1997 German-language film. I’d never seen the original, and I was quite hesitant about checking out the updated version — as much as I love horror movies, I’m really not into overly explicit violence and watching people suffer. Given that, going to watch a movie about a bourgeois family brutalized as a pair of psychopaths keep them captive in their summer home is something on my "to do" list that falls ... oh, somewhere between “scrub the floor” and “punch yourself in the face.” Earlier this week, though, I caught a screening. The “You really need to see it” urgings I received from a few trusted sources got me thinking about it, but in the end what got me to the theater was the fact that Funny Games stars Naomi Watts.

I’ll readily admit it — Watts is like kryptonite for me. My roommate is a film journalist and just this week had the opportunity to interview Naomi on the Funny Games press junket. While I was all cool as a cucumber on the outside with my “Wow, you’re so lucky I’m so jealous tell me if she’s really pretty I wonder how tall she is man you are soooo lucky,” on the inside I was ... well, let’s just say that I briefly considered buying some chloroform and a wig that looks like my roommate’s hair and going to the press conference in her stead. What? I didn’t DO it, sheesh. And I would have, like, done all the dishes for a week to make up for it. C’mon, man, it’s Naomi Watts!

I’ll see anything she’s in, just to see her. She’s displayed remarkable range in her career, and I honestly believe she’s one of the greatest working actresses today. Oh, and some people might kind of find her maybe a little bit attractive.

Listen, I really have something I need to get off my chest ... something that will most likely have you either raising your fist in a Norma Rae–style show of solidarity or storming my castle with torches and pitchforks.

I adore Tori Spelling.

Ahh, all right. I feel better for having come out of that particular closet. Now that my admission is out of the way, allow me to get to the whys of the matter.

Bev Niner. Though my heart will always belong to Christine Elise as Emily Valentine (who, you, know, was SO punk because she wore, like, plaid shirts and leggings and hats and do you remember that one time when she got Brandon to take Ecstasy (except they called it U4ia instead of Ecstasy) and they were rolling around on the hood of his car and Brenda was all like “Brandon, what is WITH you?” and Brandon was all like “Pfft, whatevs, Brenda” but then Brandon realized that life should be, you know, hugs not drugs and he totally gave Emily Valentine the boot? I love that episode), the most enduring Beverly Hills, 90210 moment comes courtesy of Tori Spelling’s Donna: yes, I’m talking about hundreds of West Beverly Hills High School chanting “Donna Martin graduates!” in protest. Sure, Donna got wasted at the prom and broke all the rules but is that any reason not to let her graduate? Gawd, adults are SO uptight.

Not only did Donna go on to graduate despite her illicit imbibing, she was dyslexic, almost raped, stalked, taken hostage, had her own clothing store, dabbled in prescription drug abuse, and held onto her virginity until the end of her college days. Sure, she didn’t end up in a cult or battle amnesia as Kelly (Jennie Garth) did, but still. It makes me feel a little silly for getting so melodramatic over sophomore year BadPermGate.

Wait, no it doesn’t. A perm? What the eff was I thinking?

After graduating once and for all, Tori moved into omigawd I SO love her territory by joining fellow actresses like Tracey Gold and becoming a Queen of the Lifetime Movie. From Death of a Cheerleader to Co-Ed Call Girl to the movie with what’s undoubtedly the greatest title ever (yes, you know I’m talking about Mother, May I Sleep With Danger?), she spent a large part of the ‘90s as either a victim or a bitch in many a delicious made-for-TV flick.

As if I didn't heart Rachel McAdams enough after her turns in Mean Girls, The Hot Chick and Red Eye … now, in an interview with MTV Movies, she reveals herself to be a comic book reader who wants to play a superhero on-screen. I mean, does she want me to get down on one knee and propose? OK, fine, “uncle.” I'll head to Zales this weekend and pick up a sparkly ring.

And yes, I said The Hot Chick. Why are you looking at me like that? It's funny! The mighty McAdams–Anna Faris duo overpowers any negative Rob Schneider effects, and you know it. It's all right, you don't have to be embarrassed about liking that movie any longer. I'm not … much.

The point here is that McAdams has expressed interest in Black Orchid, a DC Comics character with (heh) roots in the 1970s who was most famously resurrected in the late '80s by Sandman scribe Neil Gaiman.

People ask me all the time, “Wow, how in the world did you ever come up with your screen name?”

All right, fine ... no one ever asks me about it. But now that I’ve brought it up, aren’t you maybe just a little bit curious? Those of you with horror movie cred may have figured it out, but just in case you’re in the dark: The final girl, as usually seen in slasher films, is simply the last one alive. The phrase was coined by Carol Clover in her essential book on gender in horror movies, Men, Women, and Chainsaws, and she argues that having the hero of the film be, in fact, a heroine, the largely male target audience is “allowed” to take on the victim role without shame. To reinforce her point, Clover discusses movies where the final girl has an androgynous name, such as Hell Night, wherein Linda Blair portrays Marti, a college student trapped in a spooky mansion inhabited by a “gorked-out” family thought long dead.

It’s a tenuous argument at best; for every Marti found in slasherdom, there’s a Laurie or a Nancy. I suppose it all comes down to ... how much analysis do you want to put into these horror movies? Is the fact that the final girl is usually (but not always) a virginal “good” girl a statement about the perils of sex? Or does sex in horror mean boobs in horror, which in turn means money? Or does sex in horror simply put characters in vulnerable situations where the killer can strike?

Whether or not you agree that the strength of the final girl equates to a masculinization of the final girl, there’s no denying that she’s tough and resourceful. While everyone around her, friends and strangers alike, meets the business end of some cuckoo nutso killer’s knife, the final girl survives to take him (or, in rare instances, her) on. There’s no waiting around to be rescued by some guy — the final girl needs to take care of herself. Here are some of my favorite final girls to have graced the big screen.

1. Sally Hardesty: The Texas Chain Saw Massacre

A simple trip to a swimmin’ hole turns into a nightmare beyond belief when Sally (Marilyn Burns) and her friends encounter Leatherface and his chainsaw. Sally survives a really gnarly family dinner and manages to escape Leatherface’s whirring blade. Sure, she ends up completely insane at the end of her ordeal, but who can blame her?

Burns’s mantle was picked up by Jessica Biel (as Erin) in the Chainsaw remake.

And Jordana Brewster had her shot at dueling against Leatherface in TCM: The Beginning.

In a career spanning little more than 15 years, Lena Headey has appeared in close to 50 films. On-screen, she’s portrayed the tough-as-nails Queen Gorgo (300), the tough-as-nails Sarah Connor (Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles), the tough-as-nails super-sexy cave-diving scientist Kathryn (The Cave), and Luce, the ... uh ... hot-as-nails florist who wins Piper Perabo’s heart (Imagine Me and You).

Hell, if you dig deep enough into Headey’s past, you’ll even find that she’s appeared alongside a certain mulleted secret agent: I’m talking about the 1994 made-for-TV film MacGyver: Trail to Doomsday. My current to-do list has increased by one; to wit: 1) get peanut butter, 2) learn to live without sleep so I can play the new Silent Hill game all the time, 3) see MacGyver: Trail to Doomsday ASAP.

Though I’d leap at the chance to watch Headey read the phone book (eh, who am I kidding — I’d leap at the chance to watch Headey simply look at a phone book), as a horror fan I’m psyched because she’s got several genre flicks coming down the pike: The Broken, an Invasion of the Body Snatchers–esque thriller which earned good reviews at this year’s Sundance Film Festival; and the just-announced Black Death, an apocalyptic medieval gothic horror film about necromancy and ... you know, that bubonic plague thing.

Recently, I wrote a post for my blog (yes, I’ve been writing for other blogs. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but maybe it’s for the best. It’s me, not you — you’re lovely, I swear) about the Monster Cereals of the 1970s — Boo Berry, Frankenberry, and Count Chocula.

My nostalgia-fueled treatise later got me thinking about cereal in general, which led to me thinking — OK, some might say obsessing — about the total lack of gender equality in the world of the cereal mascot.

Pop quiz, hotshot: Quick — name a cereal with a single, recognizable cartoon mascot who’s a girl.

Did you come up with anyone? Sorry, Strawberry Shortcake and Rainbow Brite don’t count. Sure, they had their own cereals for a time, but they had other careers before they got into cereal promotion.

You know, like Urkel (yes, Urkel of the sitcom Family Matters gave the world “Urkel-Os,” and I think we can all agree that it was a dark time in American history).

I’m talking about characters like Sugar Bear and Toucan Sam, those who made their mark by convincing children that starting the day with a massive bowl of sugar and dye was the best thing ever. Where my girls at?

On February 13, the Berlin Film Festival will premiere Filth & Wisdom, the feature-length directorial debut of the inimitable Madonna. The “low-budget music-based comedy” concerns a young musician (Eugene Hutz of the punk band Gogol Bordello) who moves to London to follow his dreams, only to become swept up in the sexy sexy world of S/M. Perhaps. No one really knows what the film’s about for sure. No matter the plot, here’s hoping she’s better at telling people how to act than she is at ... you know ... doing the acting herself.

OK, so maybe that’s a little harsh. She put in decent performances in both Desperately Seeking Susan (basically playing herself) and A League of Their Own (basically playing herself as a 1940s baseball player). But for every wonderful comic turn she’s done on Saturday Night Live, there’s an is she really pouring candle wax on a bare-chested Willem Dafoe agggh I need to go bleach my eyes turn in something like 1993’s Body of Evidence.

Don’t get me wrong — I loves me some Madonna. No, really — I loves me some Madonna, and I only care a little bit that admitting it might make me uncool. She’s been around so long that I can barely remember life before Madonna; it just so happens that I feel the same way about Darth Vader— make of that what you will.

I distinctly remember the first time I ever saw Madonna. I was spending the night at my grandma’s, and she let me watch the very first MTV Video Music Awards — yes, this was way back in 1984. Madonna performed “Like A Virgin” — and of course, by “performing,” I mean “she rolled around on the stage in a trashy bridal dress,” but to my young, impressionable eyes she was a revelation. Girls weren’t supposed to act like that, after all, and I was instantly hooked.

In the age of Suicide Girls and Elvira, when there’s a Hot Topic in virtually every town, it may be difficult to imagine a world in which there’s exactly one goth chick. In the mid-1950s, however, goth wasn’t at all trendy, cool, or a look to delve into to get back at your parents because they’re so square and they never let you do anything you want to do and they just don’t get it, that it’s totally, like, expressing yourself through the power of piercings, ill-fitting clothes and Manic Panic hair dye. Nope, in the mid-1950s there really was only one goth chick in the whole wide world, and that goth chick was Vampira. Horror fans lost a true pioneer on January 10, when Vampira died in her sleep at the age of 86.

Born in Finland as Maila Syrjaniemi, she immigrated to the United States with her family at the age of two and eventually took the surname Nurmi after Paavo Nurmi, a Finnish runner whom Maila claimed was her uncle. At 17, Maila left Ohio and headed to Hollywood to pursue her dream of becoming an actress. Like so many other hopeful young women, Nurmi turned to modeling to pay the bills; she would pose for photographer Man Ray and renowned pinup artist Alberto Vargas, soon finding herself in the pages of men’s magazines such as Glamourous Models. However, it was a masquerade party in 1953 that would forever change both Maila’s life and the world of the late-night TV horror movie.

Maila showed up at the party in a costume inspired by the work of cartoonist Charles Addams, in particular a character who would be christened “Morticia” ten years later when The Addams Family appeared on television. Nurmi’s black wig (she was a natural blonde) and tight black dress caught the eye of Los Angeles television producer Hunt Stromberg, Jr, a moment that would eventually lead to the May 1, 1954 premiere of The Vampira Show on KABC-TV. The world’s first horror host had arrived, armed with pale skin, a scream like no other, an arsenal of terrible puns and a seemingly impossible 17-inch waist.

Last summer I made my first trek to the San Diego Comic Con and oh, honey ... the sights I done saw! Liv Tyler speaking Elvish to appease a ballroom full of nerds ... a dude dressed like a 300 Spartan yet decidedly lacking a 300 Spartan’s body ... miles and miles of crap that no one needs yet everyone desperately wants ... an amputee model all done up like Rose McGowan in Planet Terror ... and $5 pretzels. Yes, I said five-dollar pretzels. What’s up with that, Comic Con? Do I not hunger yet deserve affordable snacks? Am I made out of money? What am I, Goldfinger? Do I smell like Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds? No, I assure you that I most certainly do not.

Although now that I think about it, that might be lovely.

While everyone else at the convention was drooling over the Iron Man trailer, I was drooling (with anticipation, I swear) over the panel writer-director Neil Marshall gave to talk about his upcoming “dark action thriller” Doomsday. Marshall, you see, is the man responsible for two of my favorite horror films: the 2002 “army vs. werewolves” flick Dog Soldiers, and the 2006 “hot women go caving with disastrous results” flick The Descent. Basically, I’d be willing to give any film the guy does a shot; lucky for me, however, Doomsday looks killer.

Marshall’s ode to postapocalyptic movies like Escape From New York and The Road Warrior has everything you could want in pure escapist entertainment: car chases, weirdo eye makeup on crazy people, infections and quarantines, explosions, mohawks, and a gun-totin’, sword-wieldin’, tank-top-wearin’ Rhona Mitra. It’s the end of the world as we know it, and, uh ... she looks pretty damn fine.

Six months after I went goo-goo over the film and early clips in San Diego, the official trailer has shown up online and I’m goo-goo all over again. Check it out — everything you need to know about the movie is crammed into two and a half minutes. If you’re as geeky — no wait — I mean, if you’re as savvy as I am, you’ll even spot MyAnna Buring, one of The Descent’s six chicks with a pick.

Have you ever had that dream where it’s the future but it’s not the future — like, everything kinda looks the same but somehow you know anyway that it’s the future — and you’re standing there enjoying a fruit smoothie and all of a sudden Kristanna Loken as a Terminator and Summer Glau as a Terminator both come around the corner and you’re all, like, “Oh no!” but it’s OK because they’re fighting each other? But you’re kinda freaked out anyway and you don’t want to get hurt, so you run into this muffler shop that’s nearby but when you get inside it turns into some kind of Ye Olde Inne and Saloon and Charles Barkley is there playing the piano? And you look outside and the Terminators have spotted you and they’ve decided they want to fight you and they start running towards the muffler shop/Ye Olde Inn and Saloon so you hide behind the counter, but there’s this midget there who’s dressed up like Where’s Waldo (except that he’s also wearing a vest) and he’s totally looking at you with eeeeevil intent and he’s holding a knife? So you decide that you’d rather take your chances with Kristanna Loken and Summer Glau (Terminators or not) than with a murderous midget dressed up like Where’s Waldo so you go back outside ... and when you get outside it’s snowing and the Terminators are making out and then a unicorn comes along and offers you some gum and then you wake up?

Well, if you’ve ever had that dream, then there’s a chance that your dream could come true this Sunday at the Los Angeles Comic Book and Science Fiction Convention! Yes, folks, on the 13th, Summer Glau and Kristanna Loken (along with Leelee Sobieski) will be making an appearance and signing autographs at the fabulous Shrine Auditorium Expo Center. If my dreams mean anything — and I think they do — then there’ll be Terminators fighting and making out everywhere.

What? It’s totally possible. This one time I had a dream about my car breaking down and then 8 months later it happened! That’s not just a coincidence.

It’s true — women do direct films. “But,” you’re thinking to yourself, “Exactly where are these films? Certainly not at my multiplex.” Unfortunately, that may be true as well; after all, roughly a mere 5 percent of Hollywood features are directed by women. It’s important, then, to show support whenever we can in the hopes that someday there will be true equality behind the camera. Visiting Movies by Women to learn more and, of course, getting your butt to the theater to see these movies are two good ways to help.

My butt (and the rest of me as well, actually) will be at the Egyptian Theatre in Los Angeles tonight for the 3rd Annual Focus on Female Directors, an entire evening’s worth of short films directed by women. American Cinematheque promises "the work of industry heavyweights, cinema pioneers, actresses-turned-directors, festival darlings, and the brightest stars emerging from film school.”

Tonight’s roster includes In the Spotlight, directed by Hilary Goldberg (Render: Spanning Time With Ani DiFranco) and Room 10, the reportedly very strong directorial debut of Jennifer Aniston.

Room 10

Co-directed by screenwriter Andrea Buchanan, Room 10 was originally part of Glamour Magazine’s Reel Moments short film series. Say, wouldn’t it be something if Aniston got attention for her work rather than her relationships? I know, I know ... it seems unlikely. But then, I’ve always been one to hitch my wagon to a star!

The longest film of the evening clocks in at 18 minutes, so even the most ... er, attentionally-challenged among us can stay planted for the duration. There’ll be a Macy Gray video, a film starring Robin Wright Penn, a film starring Guinevere Turner, a discussion with filmmakers Goldberg, Michelle Hung (Chinese Dumplings) and Mariam Jobrani (The Fighting Cholitas) ... and it’s all in support of a worthy cause. Maybe someday soon female directors won’t need a single, special evening — nor will they need to be labeled “female directors”. They’ll just, you know, exist.

Visit American Cinematheque’s website for more info.