Four of Them

Comic books that would make trippy movies Part 1

2011-11-07T20:39:00.000-08:00

I know, darlings. This is a movie blog. What am I doing talking about comics? But you know what? It's my blog, and I'm meeting you halfway. And who you gonna tell? WHO'S GONNA BELIEVE YOU?

That picture means nothing.

All-Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder

If you haven't read this, I commend your preserved innocence towards the whole Frank Miller lot. Because this thing is just full of mind fucks. The Batman of The Dark Knight Returns (might've been my first choice, if it weren't such a very confusing place to start a stand-alone movie)? He didn't get like that from years of brooding and face-punching and noir-ish monologues. He's just like that. The first we get of the cowl? He's kidnapping the recently-orphaned (and by recently, I mean, like, half an hour ago) Dick Grayson (age 12). He then spends real-world-time one year with the poor kid in the batmobile/rocket/fuck-you-whatever-the-fuck-else-I-say-it-is, slapping and growling at him and generally being an asshole of the highest order.

But, um, otherwise. This thing is full of gratuitous sex, impossible body parts, gore, traumatized children going sociopathic, Wonder Woman as a raging man-hater with a thing for a buffoonish Superman, and the Joker as a neo-nazi gangster. So, y'know. Just the sort of thing one'd pay ten bucks to see acted out by the latest European expat?

Also, of course, this glorious piece of Frank Miller gave us the phrase 'the goddamn Batman'.

I've failed you. I have.

2011-11-07T20:36:00.000-08:00

Here I've been, neglecting even your blogs, too deep into my comics and my Tumblr to stop and consider, gee, how is this affecting my vast, endless readership? And I know you've been hurting. In pain. I feel your pain. And I'm here. I'm here for you.

Why the This Means War trailer annoys the fuck out of me

2011-10-15T15:35:00.000-07:00

1) Can a movie be too shiny?

2) You know, once upon a midnight dreary, I used to like Chelsea Handler. But then she started popping up in places outside of that talk show, and I realized she has the comic timing and improve skills of someone with neither of those things. So, to see her show up here, doing her standup/"woohoo-lookit-me-I'm-so-drunk-and-ca-ray-za-za-zay" schtick just kind of makes me pissy. On the other hand, old man.

3) I don't like Reese Witherspoon. Sometimes I do, but most days I don't. Something about the wholesome routine. Something about what appears to be her streak of putting herself in the middle of a whole lot of love triangles lately (Christ, lady, you can't have Christoph Waltz, Robert Pattinson, Paul Rudd, Owen Wilson, Captain Kirk, and Tom Hardy all vying for your goddamn affections. It doesn't just work like that.)

4) I hate romantic talk. Shit like "this has been the most romantic night". It annoys me, children.

5) Tom Hardy. You have been the Most Violent Prisoner in The British Penal System. You have been one half of what I'm sure is a loving, committed relationship with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Who will be a Tinker-Tailor-Soldier, strike forced Spy division. You will be the goddamn guy that broke the goddamn Batman's goddamn back. This is not how we break into mainstream America.

6) Um. So. I keep forgetting this guy's name, because there's a million guys who're named Chris Something or Ryan Something or what have you, so he shall henceforth be known as Captain Kirk. Or Captain Sexy. Or Captain James T. Kirk-Spock (because they're a modern couple). Egads, what has Tumblr done to me?

7) Why is the fucking CIA just letting them blow each other up? In a motherfucking US city? Who is running our fucking federal task forces?

8) More people hanging out in upscale bars. I'll just be over here with my root beer and my half-high school education and all the financial benefits it allows me and my under-18 car sticker. Fuck the picture shows.

9) Well, at least they let Tom Hardy stay British.

10) Fire-sprinkler system? How fucking clever, Captain. Tom Hardy air-roofies your ass, and all you can think of is a slightly more advanced version of what middle schoolers got bored of in the goddamn 90s? You defeated the Kobayashi Maru, you son of a bitch. What would Spock say? Oh, that's right, nothing, because he'd be off filing for divorce already.

Good day, sir.

Pay attention to me, you sons of bitches!

2011-09-29T18:15:00.001-07:00

Good. Hi. Hello.

I, my good folks who let blog headlines tell them what to do, am in a quandarry. I spiffle. A kerfuffle. Um. Other nonsense words of similar implications. With double consonants.

I haven't seen a movie properly for quite a few weeks. It's...empty-making? Is that a thing? Too bad, it is now.

Maybe it's been the start of school. Maybe the extinguishment of my soul (the two go hand-in-hand, after all). Maybe it's been my sudden time-suck of a hobby, comic books (the DC reboot certainly isn't helping jack shit). Maybe it's some other shit I haven't had the foresight to pull out my ass. But, you know. As it goes.

So. I apologize for lack of worthwhile (or any) content. Because I can't very well turn this into a all-Nightwing-all-the-time blog. That's Tumblr territory. No, sir, all I can do is wait for that bit of movie-moodifying (word. Patented. As of now. Deal with it) to strike. I know. Baited breath.

Meanwhile, you all have been quite busy. I shall investigate! I SHALL!

Or I will. If you want to rain on my Ye Olde Parade.

Douchebag Cinema: The Revival

2011-09-25T09:35:00.001-07:00

Recently, I stuck my head out of Justice League International Vol. 1, ostensibly to blink out the pretty colors, and I looked around. I looked at all the DVDs I had stacked about my room, unwatched and dusting. I looked at my Netflix Queue, having barely noticed that it would soon be outsourced to some spelling-abomination called Qwikster. I looked at my local listings, realizing with some dismay that I missed the theatre run of Another Earth. I had, ladies and gentlefolk, not seen a movie properly in weeks.

So I busied myself on the internet, catching up with TIFF screenings and whatnot, combing through the backends of movie news sites, punching myself in the face for missing Are You Afraid of the Dark? and Columbiana (though, admittedly, that was more Irene's fault, that scheming bitch). I played catchup like nobody's business, my knowing compadres.

But something ate at me. Something at the back of my underdeveloped brain. Something blocked from full consciousness by internal speakers on constant replay of Amanda Palmer and David Bowie and Janelle Monae and all them bitches (my, I love name-checking). One day, when my internet was temporarily down because fuck you, internet, I sat to ponder this gnawing notion.

It had been triggered by the sudden intake of cinematic panic, surely? I went back to the print listings. I tried to place the inception (boom) of my ill-defined woes.

And then the magazines started screaming. It hit me like a pimp hand hits a ho.

Douchebags.

Douchebags everywhere.

And no, my smutty beloveds, not in the literal sense. In the holy-shit-there's-a-guy-in-a-goatee-and-he's-looking-right-at-me sense. Gentle readers, our movie screens have been overrun by smug.

Take Crazy Stupid Love. The main characters pick up chicks in an upscale bar with wall-sized windows and a special on appletinis. They define cool as layers of overpriced scarfs and man-rings. Sure, they go all itmeansnothingwithoutemotionalconnectionwaa at the end, but guys. The damage is done.

Which brings me to Ryan Gosling. Now, he's always struck me as douchey in a good way. Confident, but not offensively so. The douchebag you'd marry because, underneath it all, he really is kind of awesome. But he is, nonetheless, reeking of douchebaggery.

(note: this is based solely on...um, nothing)

From what I can tell of Drive, he spends the entire time in a Member's Only jacket, which, I don't care what nostalgia demands, is never good for anything or anybody, and can only bring sorrow to the world.

It's been a long time coming. One of my first posts was about how Iron Man was the new Scarface (blatant self-promotion, we meet again), and even before then (as in, my magnificent arrival on the blogosphere, because you know that's how you tell time, anyway), douchebag movies haven't exactly come and gone from the public consciousness. The Transformers movies have gone from innoffensive geek-wank to the ludicrous plotlines of 'which Victoria's Secret model will I devote the most time to?' to the part of Shia LaBeefz, who I refuse to take seriously because, come on, Even Stevens.

The arthouse, while always dominated by NYU grads with a tad too much money when it wasn't overun with The Foreigners, has recently seen a boom in post-collegiate mope-a-thons and rogueish anti-heroes, from Tiny Furniture and the entire mumblecore movement (although we must stop and acknowledge the gift it's given us in the form of Greta Gerwig) to the sustained popularity of George Clooney and Brad Pitt (I'm sorry, but the commercials for The Ideas of March and Moneyball make me want to blackmail those two into a fight to the death). Superhero movies have been overrun by the smug charisma of Chris Reynolds and Ryan Pine and...Jesus Christ, they all the look the same, don't they?

Even the Big Issue movies, like The Blind Side (I know, duh) reek of patronising Hollywood Liberals (forgive the Fox News slang) clucking their tongues at people who have yet to reach their superior, tofu-yoga-tea-orphans existences.

(The evolution of this post somehow went from regular douchebags to hipster douchebags, and for that I apologize. We will now wind back around to guys who fancy themselves nerds with inexplicably hot girlfriends)

Don't you miss the days when they were sidelined to Direct-to-DVD wastebins and mid-afternoon Comedy Central reruns? I do.

We must watch where we're going, future directors of the world. Everytime you wake up at night with a brilliant script idea, just remember: nobody cares about your painful breakup, and they certainly don't want to watch you contemplate it while staring out a rain-bombarded train window.

And already-established Hollywood bigwigs: no more cocky bastards who inexplicably succeed. No Entourage movie.

Good talk.

I'll be over here.

(if anyone would care to address this Serious Issue in a way that's not the shit of the land, be my guest)

Netflix has bummed off half of my Instant Queue

2011-09-15T11:04:00.000-07:00

It's not like I'm freaking out or anything. I mean, this is such a first world problem, right? Not even worth mentioning!

Ha.

Ha ha.

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON YOU FUCKING WHORE FACTORIES?

What Haunted My Nightmares, or, Scooby Doo on Zombie Island

2011-09-13T12:08:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, my pets (as, in my head, you're all ferrets I daringly rescued from the pound. It was epic), I wa sonce but a wee lass of 8-or-something. Carbon dating suggests I came into this world as an infant, but that's if you believe in that fancy-schmanzy evolution, which just don't add up, Mr. Scientist.

Anyway, as this squirming pile of baby, I spent an awful lot of time in front of the TV, Now, this consisted of public networks and Nickelodeon until, I don't know, Y2K, when we were suddenly the proud owners of basic cable. Whether the danger scared my parents straight, or the apocalypse actually happened and I made up this elaborate fantasy of 70+ channels to cope with the desolate wasteland that was once the world, it is not my place to decide. But in the end, we got Cartoon Network.

Ah, yes. Cartoon Network. My home turf. The network that shaped me into the webpage that flickers before you. How many hours did I spend huddled in front of Looney Tunes reruns, Ed, Edd, n' Eddy, WB transplants?

And then there were the TV movies. Yes, upon further reflection, CN and other channels of it's ilk (though far superior to any of them) took advantage of the sugar-high heroin that was primetime childrens' programming and subjected us to hundreds upon thousands of Scooby-Doo rehashings. What's New, Scooby Doo? A Pup Named Scooby-Doo. Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? Long have I been haunted by the question: if his name is Scooby-Doo, why does he always say it's "Scooby-Dooby-Doo!"? Is that his middle name? Does he have Tourettes? Is everyone else saying his name wrong to fuck with him? It seems like the kind of thing Fred would orchestrate. That asshole.

But. Right. We also got a shitload of TV movies. The one where they went to cyberspace. The one where they met those freaky goth-witch-whatever chicks. The one where they met, I don't know, Josie and the Pussycats. Actually, I don't know about that one. But probably.

One and all, they were terrible. Voice acting, animation, plot, dialogue, it was all like someone wrote it twenty years after their last joint. Somehow.

But then, my loves, but then. Came along a new Scooby-Doo adventure. At first, it seemed like any old battle the gang would fight on a weekly basis. Go to a Louisiana plantation (or something). Discover a mystery. Solve the mystery. Unmask the mask. Go home.

Except I think not.

Because the eponymous zombies? They're not the boat driver. They're not the farmhand. They're not the the butler. They're fucking zombies.

And then Fred tore off their fucking heads.

You see, the gang has been apart for awhile. Having careers and what-have-you. So they decide the dust off the ol' Mystery Machine and have a bit of reunion. Old friends, harmless mysteries, fetching Southern belles, BUT WAIT ONE FUCKING MINUTE.

They're adults now. They must deal with adult mysteries. Like the terrifying scribbles on the old plantation walls. And voodoo guys. And slaughtered pilgrims. And cat ladies. And the fucking zombies.

My memory is fuzzy on the specifics. But I remember pissing my pants. I remember a trailer featuring 'O Fortuna'. I remember Scooby and Shaggy getting stuck in a grave with a zombie and genuinely being afraid for them. This is not childhood nerves. Even then, I had a weary relationship with these movies. But this one? This one was hardcore.

For you. Just for you.

I'm too busy fuming over this DC Relaunch to watch any movies not related to Batman

2011-09-12T15:52:00.001-07:00

But I've had ample time to see what the fuss about Tumblr was.

Don't worry, my lambs, I still love you. I just have a funny way of showing it.

School

2011-09-05T18:08:00.000-07:00

Dear DC: Fuck you

2011-09-04T11:17:00.000-07:00

So, yes, I know, gentle readers o mine, this has nothing to do with anything. But we'll be back to normal programming once school kung-fu's me into semi-regular sleeping habits. But, for now, if you don't particularly care about comic book events, or comic books proper, you can just, you know, scurry along. Watch some cat videos. Whatever.

So. DC. We've come to this. Hey, man, I get it. The 21st century hasn't been kind to the comic book industry. What with people turning to the televisions and the internets and the iPods and that newfangled hippity-hop for their entertainment purposes. Even you, the biggest name in comics (besides Marvel, but pfft, Marvel) is forced to go big or go home. You've killed everyone. You've brought them back to life.

But now.

This.

A reboot.

Of everything.

You asshole.

Do you have ANY FUCKING IDEA what a pain in the ass it is to get into your comics? You've got 52 fucking Earths, and they each get their own versions of the same damn people. I've been into comics for a year, and I've barely cracked the impenetrable fortress that is Batman's continuity, forget about the rest of the bunch. I've neglected Vertigo. The Runaways (okay, Marvel, you get one). I go on vacation for a week, and suddenly Dick Grayson's the new Batman?

So now you're telling me, with the introduction of the Flashpoint universe, EVERYTHING I'VE SWEATED OVER IS OFFICIALLY NULL AND FUCKING VOID?

You bitches can't just be all, oh, wait, never mind, Barbara Gordon's Batgirl again. Because you know why? That would imply that the Killing Joke never happened. I will not stand for a world where the Killing Joke never happened.

Flashpoint is confusing enough.

I get that this is partially why you're rebooting, that the DCU has gotten too convulated with all the Post/Pre-Crisis nonsense, but for fuck's sake, my brain will go numb if I have to read one more Bruce Wayne origin story.

Well. At least you're brining Starfire back. It gives me hope for a comic book-meets-animated-series Teen Titans reunion.

No, I'm not mad at you. You're just a handfull sometimes.

Now get outta here, you little scamp. Don't go throwing rocks at Wildstorm. He can't help it.

Oh, Irene, you dirty bitch

2011-09-01T23:41:00.001-07:00

Irene, that bitch-ass hurricane that fucked the East Coast something fierce, has left me mostly untouched. Oh, sure, no water/plumming, but we still get TV! So yay!

Is what we said the first hour. Before we realized that all that celebratory moonshine had to go somewhere.

Also, the internet is just having a laugh. During the day, it will work for two seconds, go off for ten minutes, etc.

Did you know the UN declared it a warcrime for a country to deny it's citizens internet access.

Because they fucking did.

So now I'm up at these hours, for you, all for you.

On that note, I can't breath.

Life lesson, kids: if you know the internet's about to go out, leave open lots of long, interesting articles that aren't seperated into pages. You'll thank me. You'll all thank me.

Also, the above comic is something I found on Tumblr, and it makes me squee with such fangirlish delight, if word got out, I wouldn't be allowed to buy a house. Also, DCnU! Hazzah!

What is air? Is it the internet?

So you here about that der earthquake?

2011-08-23T15:27:00.000-07:00

Of course you did.

Here in the old armpit, we got a bit of the aftershock. Of course, it lasted for two minutes, nothing fell over, and my sister said she didn't feel anything, so I spent the succeeding half hour googling symptoms of schizophrenia.

My, how the local news was in a tizzy. Have a nice day.

Why Crazy, Stupid, Love is a 500 Days of Summer prequel in Witness Protection

2011-08-23T14:54:00.000-07:00

Crazy, Stupid, Love. Comedy. Romance. Chronic absentee from middle school English. Oh, yes. I went there.

Ahem.

In case you don't know, C,S,L (see what happens? SEE!?) is about Steve Carell, a hapless, loveable old schlub whose wife, Julianne Moore, leaves him for being a boner-killer (or whatever). After several nights depressing the patrons of one of those high-end singles bars I like to think homeless girls can reliably go to for free drinks, he is recruited by Ryan Gosling, a douchebag, to also be a douchebag. But then Ryan Gosling meets Emma Stone, a soon-to-be lawyer with a badass friend, Liza Lapira, and likes her or whatever. And then something about Carell and Moore's kid being in love with his babysitter. And everyone hates Kevin Bacon. The end.

But let's look at said babysitter-loving son. His name is Robbie, and he's played by Jonah Bobo (quiet, you in the back). Here's a kid who, hardcore and with no irony, believes in true love. Quite.

Now, if you'll recall, 500 Days of Summer is a movie. What's more, it's a romantic comedy about a dude who believes in true love, and hooks up with a chick who doesn't. This dude's played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who, as I chronicled, has been playing this same dude his entire career. But let's, for a minute, pretend that my brilliant theory is *l'horreur* not enitrely accurate.

Because this Robbie kid is one mid-afternoon viewing of the Graduate away from being Tom Hanson. And, hell, maybe that was just a deleted scene.

Who knows? Maybe he changed his name to distance himself from a Noodle Incident. Maybe he witnessed the group murder of Kevin Bacon, because fuck that guy. Maybe his parents miraculously birthed a precocious little shit who looks like Chloe Moretz. You don't know.

I'm back again, again

2011-08-23T14:51:00.000-07:00

Babies. It's okay. I'm here. Shhhhh...

Alas, I'm off again

2011-08-14T15:14:00.000-07:00

Because we must shove a couple years' worth of vacations into one month. It's the family way, yo.

Enjoy life for a week.

Guess who's back?

2011-08-11T16:55:00.003-07:00

Me. Deal with it.

What have I seen with these eyes? Rise of the Planet of the Apes and Stupid, Crazy, Love, which is collectively an English teacher's nightmare (as half-explained by good ol' Vince).

Well, my life's been fine. Thanks for asking.

Carry on.

Guess who

2011-08-11T16:55:00.001-07:00

Darren Criss, me winning a motherfucking contest, bitches, and other stupid shit

2011-07-30T09:55:00.001-07:00

Ah, yes. It's that time of the month. No, not that one, piggish and/or sensitive menfolk. The one where I make excuses for the long stretches of not doing anything. I know. You're so disappointed.

It's not that I don't care, people. Truly, I love you more than my own hypothetical alien spawn. Yo.

It's just that, in the summertime, kids, while I have all the time the American education system allots, I have neither the patience, energy, or incentive to do jack shit about it. During the year, us young folk bitch about all the amazing shit we're gonna do when summer comes around, because we're not yet affected by what I assume in the summerless, soulless, tax-and-health-insurance-filled world of adulthood. Seriously, I don't envy you fuckers. No summer vacation? Three days off in the year? Fucking cubicles?

ANYWAYS. I have some things to say while I'm here.

1) Darren Criss? The one all you assholes have been drooling over? You don't know. You don't know SHIT. Because if you did know shit, you'd know noto credit him as Glee's Magical Homosexual Blaine Whatshisface. You'd know that he was, in fact, Harry Freakin' Potter.

2) The Great White Dopeness himself as bestowed upon me the honor of WINNA in his recent contest. Of course, I deserved it.

3) I won't be here for the better part of next month, due to Seattle shit I don't expect you children to understand.

4) I see my computer's about to combust. Good day, sirs.

Thoughts on Bronson

2011-07-23T10:20:00.000-07:00

-England's most violent prisoner (Tom Hardy) goes about life as usual. Some undertones of him being a victim of the system, which is, y'know, that.

-Snappy, stylistic biopics about various atypical suspects is all well and good, but...

-But nothing!

Thoughts on The Nines

2011-07-15T20:59:00.001-07:00

-It was bound to happen. A movie was sure to show up that made me shake my head towards my previous defenses of Richard Kelly. Because he doesn't have the monopoly on mind-fuck movies. It's possible to do it right, people.

-Because this? This is three different realities. Things happen that are scary, but then they're funny, and not absurd funny, funny like it's not taking itself too seriously. Nobody makes obscure, unexplained comments about death. Everything gets explained in some form or another, but there's still room for discussion. The performances are amazeballs, including Ryan Reynolds, who nobody can accuse of being a bad actor, but a very, very bland one (but not here!), Melissa McCarthy (who's really underrated as a straight-up dramatic actress), and Hope Davis (yay).

-And yet, the normal interactions aren't unsettling, like David Lynch.

-And...that's it. Good movie. Yeah.

-Oh, fuck off, I'm tired.

I need youse guyses helps: it appears I'm flying Continental

2011-07-14T22:37:00.001-07:00

You see, my loves, my darlings, lights of my life, whenever I come into a dilemma, and the general internet proves to be maddeningly unhelpful, I turn to you, my most trusted audience. Especially you. You're my favorite.

So in this dilemma, I'm flying the notoriously fuck-you airline Continental. Now, I haven't flown since before the company's merger with United, which, from what I hear, is Armegeddon with a bathroom. The problem is, I can't find any in-flight information.

So what I want to know, my dears, is, if you have flown this particular airline, coach, on a roughly 5 hour flight, at around 9 in the morning (Eastern time), what did you or did you not have to pay for? Like, was the food free, was there coffee, did you need a credit card for the luxury of Two and a Half Men reruns, etc. What I'm asking you is do I've got to spend five hours twiddling my thumbs, entertainmentless, coffeeless, hopeless?

I'm counting on you.

Don't let me down.

Don't let your country down.

Don't let yourselves down.

Episodes: Community

2011-07-13T20:05:00.000-07:00

Well, Andrew has made hisself a blogathon in light of the impending Emmy nominations. You can find some of that shit here, and I'm incredibly early on this, I a, but fuck it, I'll be gone most of August, I can't keep up.

ANYWAY. What's my favorite episode of the past TV season?

Community. "Paradigms of Human Memory". Look into the eyes of the abyss. Later.

Contagion trailer

2011-07-13T17:56:00.000-07:00

Pants: pissed.

Thoughts on Party Monster

2011-07-12T18:17:00.001-07:00

-This is a movie where the characters break the fourth wall to argue about who, exactly, is the main character. Technically, I should love it with all my heart. It's among the handful of movies I knew as a 13-year-old just discovering Wikipedia, by cast and subject matter rather than first-hand knowledge (with availability like it was at the time). It was among the ones that I would defend to the death rather than go out and try to find a copy of somewhere in the back of Blockbuster.

-In said argument, between Macauley Culkin's Michael Alig and Seth Green's James St. James, I wish Green had won. Only a narrative presence in the beginning and end, he is a much more interesting protaganist than Culkin, who's Alig is a fey, obnoxious little twit, cheerfully trying to break into the club scene before succeeding into an even more aggravatingly bright world of excess and coke. Doing the most awkward impression of a quasi-drag queen, Culkin is either incredibly good at portraying the dead-eyed, Bret Easton Ellis-ish monotony of the club kid scene, or embarassingly bad at showing the fabulous descent of the same.

-Meanwhile, Green, while initially going about the same stiff showboating as Culkin, playing his mentor-turned-sidekick, is, um, much better. Wry, the only truly entertaining one in the bunch.

-The movie is shot in digital, making it ugly and empty and hyper-observant of every pimply chin and Cheeto-stained carpet. Which I guess makes sense, if it's really trying to make its entire universe as flat and baffling as possible.

-The rest of the acting ranges from non-existant (Chloe Sevigny) to stiff (guy from My So-Called Life) to fine, I guess (Wilmer Valderama).

-It's extremely unpleasant if you're looking for a movie without subtitles for once (like me), possibly a gritty look at the precious little downfall of The Factory's wannabe-second-comers, possibly just an ironic way to pass the time and mock some stiff dialogue. Go ahead, it could've been worse.

Thoughts on Bad Teacher

2011-07-09T23:33:00.001-07:00

-Fuck you, Bad Teacher.

Happy morning-after 4th of July

2011-07-05T02:00:00.000-07:00

(I love this picture)

Thoughts on Beginners

2011-07-05T01:45:00.000-07:00

-This is one of those movies where a bunch of pretty, rich people spend most of their time making deep, mumbled declarations of loneliness, regret, and misery. It would be insufferably twee if it weren't for the charisma of the actors (Christopher Plummer, especially, makes you rue all the parts he never took, because you know those movies might've been twice as amazing as they were).

-Was I the only one baffled at why the dog kept asking Ewan McGregor if they were married yet?

-Speaking of which, him, that dog, and Melanie Laurent make the world's most motherfucking adorable little unit. It's not fair. It's just not fair.

-Well, the only character who's plight I understood, if not, per se, got, was Christopher Plummer's young, exuberent lover, played by Goran Višnjić. Throughout the movie, he keeps asking Ewan McGregor if "it's because [he's] gay" (for no particular reason in the beginning, then for a pretty good reason near the end, but never anything nefarious), and when visiting Plummer in the hospital, he jumps at the nurse justifying his right to be there before she even says anything. This particular aspect, not really any of the character's other, more important emotional points, is what stood out to me in a movie dominated by people with too many empty relationships. Because I imagine being openly gay in a world that only started, if not embracing, at least tolerating such a thing would leave one a tad paranoid, weary, etc.

-Also, the mom. The mom rocks.

Thoughts on Knife in the Water

2011-07-02T04:14:00.000-07:00

Come to think of it, I've never seen a Polish movie before. Yay new horizons!

-Nonetheless, from my 21st century point of view, the strangers-meet-tension-slash-madness-ensues bit is fucking old.

-And what is it with low budget sixties movies and that--you know what? I just realized that I equate this style of camerawork with Night of the Living Dead (the original, for I know no other), specifically, when the zombies are breaking through the window for the billionth fucking time, and Ben and whatshisface, Jim the Geriatric High Schooler, Brad?, whatever, are knocking their hands, and for some reason, the curiously silent, paper mache/clay way the fingers fall apart just doesn't sit right with me. And now you know.

-Oh, how sorry I am, all five of you, that I can't write a review anymore, how dreadfully dreadful I feel. Except not really, because who's even reading this, anyway?

-Polish is one of those languages I just don't like listening to. To my lonesome American ears it's in the Scandinavian school of sounding like a rewinding tape. Also, there's a bunch of Polish kids I go to school with, and they're a bunch of dicks, so take that as you will.

-Extremely unlikeable protaganists, these people. Well acted, I should assume, but unpleasent.

When one is in a rut

2011-07-02T04:09:00.000-07:00

despite many movies watched, and despite plenty of time to compose so many thoughtful tidbits on this and that and those, these can't be done, it simply cannot be helped. So here's the death of Cypher, who never stood a chance:

This Guy: A Clockwork Orange

2011-06-28T21:21:00.001-07:00

Have you ever watched a movie where a character just spoke to you? Might've been the lead, might've been an extra, but somewhere, you see a character and just think: Yo.

I introduce you to Julian:

Julian? Julian is the assistant to the writer whose wife was so infamously raped by Alex (Malcolm McDowell) and his droogs. He showed up, and I knew I liked this guy. He just stands there when shit's happening, in his hipster glasses and his whatev-bra attitude.

He was played by David Prowse, the future Darth Vader (aka the only one that matters, thank you very fucking much, Christensen).

Enjoy.

Thoughts on Midnight in Paris

2011-06-28T20:48:00.001-07:00

Have you ever reached a point, dear readers, where you've read so many damn reviews of a movie--usually a new movie, one you may or may not've seen opening weekend--that by the time you sit down to review it yourself, you find yourself at a loss for words? Not just because everything that can be said of it has been, chances are several times, and not just because you'll puke if you have think about the legacy of the director one more fucking time, but because you simply have nothing to say about it that you yourself would want to read?

-That question asked, if Martin Sheen was not mistaken one more time, I was gonna throw my shoe at the screen.

Quite possibly the most absurdly awesome double feature of all time

2011-06-24T22:56:00.000-07:00

It was in the $5 bin and I didn't buy it. What's wrong with me?

On the misrepresentation of twins in pop culture

2011-06-22T12:46:00.000-07:00

I, gentle folk, am a twin. An identical twin, to be exact. Which means that, in The Womb, I was but a single fertilised egg that went rogue and split in two, thereby creating two seperate people who happen to have the same DNA. But if you asked the greater cultural area, we are Siamese in all but vital organs.

All my life, people have asked me if I've ever switched places with my sister to take a big test. The answer is no. Because this is fraud. Which is illegal. Also, it's stupid. Fucking stupid, in fact.

People always ask why we don't dress alike. Listen: most of the time, twins stop dressing alike the minute they develop personalities enough to pick their own clothes. Until then, parents are dressing you, and parents don't have time to be tailor dressing you. It's the same clothes with different colors. Most twins, by the time they're six, will be dressing differently.

People want to know if we're close. Sure we're close. As close as any other set of non-twin sisters are. There is no spiritual connection. There is no special twin language. There are no sympathy pains if one gets hurt.

People always ask if we're the exact opposites. One is a 'girly girl' and one is 'bookworm'. No. We have similar interests, and we have seperate interests. We do not inhabit the stereotypes sitcoms perpetuate.

People ask if we'd have a threesome. No. We're sisters. We're related. That's incest. What's wrong with you? That's fucking disgusting. Would you ever have sex with your brother? Fuck you. Go stand over there.

The summer Star Wars: Attack of the Clones came out, people threw shit at us at camp and screamed "The clones are coming! Get them!"

Thanks to such TV shows as Sister, Sister, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, various teen sex comedies, and the Olsen twins (who are fraternal, thanks very fucking much), this is the shit I've got to deal with every day. We're two seperate people who happen to have the same birthday and have reasonable doubt in any DNA-based murder trial. Just because TV tells you we're inseperable dopplegangers doesn't mean we are.

Thank you for your time.

Thoughts on Sisters

2011-06-22T12:40:00.000-07:00

-Margot Kidder stars as a French-Canadian model haunted by her former Siamese twin. Jennifer Salt is a reporter who witnesses said twin commit a gruesome murder, and goes on a spree to prove it.

-Brian de Palma as he voyeuristic, sleaziest best. Clever and trippy and sometimes really trippy.

A Conversation About The Trip

2011-06-22T12:18:00.000-07:00

Starring ME! and DANIELLE! (my sister).

ME!: Recently, me, my sister, and my Parental (not present) went to see The Trip, a six-part miniseries (edited into a 2 hours-or-something film). Here's me and sister dear discussing it. We, of course, have somewhat diverting opinions.

So, Danielle, what did you think of the movie?

Danielle: Fuck that shit.

Me: How long was it again?

Danielle: Really fucking long.

Me: I liked it. Except I'm trying to write a summary of it, what was that other guy's name?

Danielle: WHO GIVES A SHIT!?

Me: Anything else?

Danielle: These guys think they're conversations are more interesting then they are. Like, who gives a shit about 40-year-olds being 40?

Fuck you for making me sit through this shit. I could've been off getting high with people from my own age group. Fuck you, I don't give a shit about a bunch of old fucking old people eating food! Fuck that food! Fuck England! Fuck you!

Me: I quite liked that scene in the car where they were talking about that movie where they rise at dawn or whatever.

Danielle: *beaming* "We rise at dawn, but leave my sister out of it!" Yeah, that was the funniest part of the whole movie.

Me: It was kind of poignant--Danielle, how do you spell 'poignant'?

Danielle: Who gives a shit?

Me: You give a shit.

Danielle: I don't.

Me: You do.

Danielle: Oh my god.

Me: What did you think of the whole Steve Coogan-is-really-lonely thing?

Danielle: Steve Coogan is Hades and nothing else.

Me: Where's that from?

Danielle: Percy Jackson.

Me: Oh.

Danielle: Some of that food looked really disgusting. Like, who the fuck eats pigeon.

Me: Can you see the irony in you saying these guys think they're conversations are more interesting than they are, meanwhile, we're posting a whole discussion about it?

Danielle: I'm not the one writing it down.

Me: Hey, this the most substantial thing I've written in months.

Danielle: Cool story, bro. Tell it again.

Me: Hey, this the most substantial thing I've written in months.

Danielle: Remember when that was the funniest thing ever? Oh my good, mention American Gods, I'm so fucking exciting, they've already signed on for six seasons, oh my god.

Me: We're talking about the Trip, let's talk about the Trip.

Danielle: Oh my god, fuck the Trip, I fucking hate the Trip.

Me: I'm sorry.

Danielle: Shut up, I'm reading.

Me: *typing* Shut up, I'm reading...

*end*

Dear Netflix

2011-06-21T19:12:00.000-07:00

If I wanted my movie fucking dubbed, I'd fucking ask for a fucking dubbed version.

Anyone with any information on getting a non-fucking-dubbed copy of Memories of Murder that requires as little money spent as possible, because what am I, a fucking tree?, if you would be so kind as to say something along those lines, uh, go.

Is there a problem, gentlemen?

2011-06-20T12:42:00.000-07:00

I didn't think so.

Thoughts on Wild Strawberries

2011-06-19T09:40:00.000-07:00

-Why the fuck do Ingmar Bergman movies always make me hungry? Seriously, when it's over, I just want some soup and a sandwich.

-Anyways.

-Starring Victor Sjöström as Isak, an aging professer who must deal with his past, present, and impending death on the way to getting an Honorary degree from Lund University. Taking his discontented daughter-in-law Marianne (Ingrid Thulin), and along the way picking up a young love triangle on its way to Italy (Bibi Andersson, Folke Sundquist, and Björn Bjelfvenstam), the girl of whom reminds him a childhood love.

-One of those movies that actually makes you think about death and aging. And food.

-For fuck's sake, I'm in the middle of a philisophical breakthough and then someone breaks out the soup and I have to get some fucking food.

-The ending made me happy.

-Well, in general, everything made me happy. A lot of cute flashbacks and old-people-bickering.

Thoughts on Mala Noche

2011-06-19T09:19:00.001-07:00

-A store clerk falls in love with a teenaged Mexican boy. Unbalanced relationships of age, language, sexuality, etc, ensue.

-This is an eighties movie. You can tell by the denim jackets and the skinny jeans the 'totally redical, bro' accent on lead Tim Streeter (think Adam Baldwin in Full Metal Jacket, or preferably, the bully from Karate Kid, but less made-up lingo).

-This is also Gus Van Sant's first movie. It's shot in 16mm black-and-white, making everything soft and and gooey and breakable, claustrophobically close-up, like Eraserhead or Repulsion. Of course you get my meaning. Why wouldn't you?

-The characters behave to baffle, only explained by Streeter's voiceover, which I am grateful for, as he says that he's perfectly aware of how creepy his behavior is, and acknowledges the stereotype of American white guys ('gringos', evidentally) thinking their entitled to have illegal immigrants because they're poor and hungry.

-Stil, there's not much nuance here, or ambitious filmmaking. A surprisingly straightforward adaption of a semiautobiographical book by Walt Curtis, with a tendency to dreamily caress Johnny (Doug Cooeyate).

-I'd say there was a love triangle, but it wasn't, really, because only one of the three seemed interested.

-Um. So there's that.

Cartoons: There's a reason they're animated, assholes

2011-06-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

I still watch Nickelodeon. I mean, there were some years between 12 and 15 when I wasn't allowed to watch it, by my own perceptions that proper teenagers don't watch cartoons (ironically perpetuated by them). And then, at 16, thanks to Hot Topic and the ever-rising geek/nostalgia culture, where mid-life crisis comes earlier and earlier (which makes me worry for my thirties, frankly).

Why do I mention this? Why, because of this:

What. The Fuck. Is this. ?.

This. This thing. This abomination. This ghastly, Lovecraftian bastard between corporate greed and creative exhaustion. This is the live action adaption of the beloved-by-me-and-everyone-the-fuck-else Nickelodeon cartoon series The Fairly Odd Parents. An epic saga of a boy named Timmy Turner (voiced by the ubiquitous--if you've been an American child of the late nineties-early 2000s, that is--Tara Strong) who, seeking refuge from his evil babysitter Vicky, and the idiot parents who keep hiring her, is granted a pair of fairy godparents, Cosmo and Wanda. It's the greatest television show of all time. Fact.

That whatever just above? It stars Drake Bell from the also-of-my-childhood Drake & Josh, All That, and the Amanda Show. It's apparently a mixture of live-action and CGI. It's about Timmy Turner, fearing losing Cosmo and Wanda after he becomes an adult, goes into arrested development, staying in fifth grade until the age of 23.

Fuck you, Nickelodeon.

Do you know what they did, guys? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID?

The studio gluttons went after Ben 10. I remained silent. The took to Avatar: The Last Airbender. I avoided it. Oh sure, the former was from Cartoon Network. Irrelevent.

But this is going too far.

Cartoons are cartoons for a reason, boys.

It's because they're too stupid for live-action.

Or too smart.

Or too brilliant.

Or too weird.

Or too something.

The point is, they're drawn because that's who they are. No amount of CGI and bad acting can fix that little detail, Mr. Executive.

I don't see you turning Spongebob into an actual anthropomorphic sponge, do I? Or is that next? Will he be played by Dylan and Cole Sprouse? Tell me.

Actually, don't. Don't do anything. Stop raping my childhood, you sons of bitches. Stop. It.

(file under Cartoons That Shaped My Childhood)

Well, I have hardly been around at all, have I?

2011-06-17T22:08:00.000-07:00

How rude of me. Abandoning you all right after my glorious LAMMYs win (fine, co-win...fucking Univarn, man...), and with all those silly reviews I've got (no, seriously, as least ten movies since last month have been an abstract fondue of nagging in my brain, preventing my all-important finals studying, of which I must, y'know, do).

And I also know I make an awful lot of these apologies, people who bother to keep up with the vague continuity that is this here blog. I'd promise to never do such again, but let's face it, I'm a lazy-ass teenager, there are things to be done, and I haven't the nerve to lie to you.

You can forgive me, but I wouldn't put too much thought into it. Just carry on with your lives as usual, and when you see the prefix 'Thoughts on...' pop up on your Dashboard, think of me, huh?

But don't click on it. God, why would you want to do that?

Thoughts on X-Men: First Class

2011-06-13T20:07:00.000-07:00

I have no poster. I have no thoughts anymore.

Give Fassy the Bond movie and be done with it.

Beast and Mystique made Nightcrawler. Prove me wrong.

Poor black/lady people in this movie. Poor them.

January Jones...you're testing it.

I'm in an awful lousy mood

2011-06-08T20:34:00.000-07:00

Naturally, as patrons of this here blogsicle, its your appointed duty to cheer me the fuck up. Or no delightful half-reviews for you.

Thoughts on Grosse Pointe Blank

2011-06-07T14:50:00.000-07:00

-A hitman with an identity crisis (John Cusack) goes to his high school reunion, ostentatiously for a job, mostly to reconnect with his old girlfriend, who he jilted on prom night (Minnie Driver). Meanwhile, he is pursued by hitmen of various creed and legal authority, including a rival who's trying to recruit him into an assassins' union (Dan Akyroyd).

-You know a movie's good when they let Dan Akroyd be funny again. And John Cusack isn't a puffy-faced sadsack. Or he is, but it's tolerable. Also, Alan Arkin. Yay, Alan Arkin.

-Why must they squander Minnie Driver's voice in favor of an American accent? She's Jane, guys. Let her be Jane.

-The dialogue is clever without being precious, the action's incorporated into, rather than rudely interrupting, dramatic/comedic scenes, the supporting cast all get their little moments of awesome, and they actually make the most out of a required eighties-only musical selection.

-There's a Basque hitman who I think was albino. And you know me. I'm a sucker for semi-obscure Eurasian cultures.

VOTE FOR MEEEEE AT THE LAMMIES

2011-06-06T21:15:00.001-07:00

Or not. At this point I'm fairly indifferent.

Oh, and hi 100th follower Leith.aikan (which I'm spelling from vague memory, so fuck off)! How are you? Good? Good! Have a nice day, guy.

Today in depressing movies: Nobody Knows

2011-06-05T15:25:00.000-07:00

4 young Japanese children, aged 5-12, are abandoned by their mother in a small apartment, with little money, and only one of them can leave for food.

This is one of those movies that likes to go into the grim details of such a deteriorating situation. Where time is measured by how small their crayons get. Where a mother has the responsibility of a child and the narcissistic entitlement of an adult. Where a kid'll hit up the potential fathers of his half-sister for cash.

Go have a group cry with your friends and swear to Xenu you won't suck as hard as that fucking lady.

I'm seeing Amanda fucking Palmer at the end of the fucking month

2011-06-02T21:31:00.000-07:00

Be jealous, motherfuckers. I've got something to look forward to at the end of finals and the suffocating heat that comes with finals (that is, finals being taken in a building with broken air conditioning that they're taking their damn sweet time fixing). HAZZAH!

Don't forget about the LAMMYs, fellas

2011-05-29T22:02:00.001-07:00

Oh, sure, any and all FYC ads I make are made of random pictures I've got in my files, and yeah, I don't update what some pussies would call 'reliably', but dammit, when I do show up, I bring smiles to each and every one of your stupid faces. Get used to it, guy.

ohmygodtinytimohmygod

2011-05-29T21:36:00.000-07:00

If you've seen Insidious, you know exactly why I won't be sleeping tonight.

Thoughts on The Spirit of the Beehive

2011-05-29T20:32:00.001-07:00

-Ana Torent stars as a little girl living in rural, early-Generalissimo Spain, with her pathological liar sister and her parents, seperated in age by at least twenty years, the mother consumed in a long-distance affair, the father with his beekeeping. When a travelling cinema comes to town with Frankenstein, she begins to search for a monster of her own to befriend.

-This makes it seem much more plot-oriented than it is. Really, this is just a rough outline of a much looser narrative, oozing with metaphors and pretty, pretty pictures, painting the landscape yellow, a tale of a girl's isolation, a country's degradation, etc, etc.

-Torent is kind of amazing. She can't be more than ten here, but she manages to convey loneliness, innocence, maturity, all that shit, with her eyes.

-It's hard to explain in a few paragraphs. To theorize on what director Victor Erice meant--this was made at the tail end of Franco's reign, when the dictatorship had relaxed, but the censors were still alive and well--would require a greater knowledge of post-war Spain that I have. You could say that was the key to every other theory. Is this really so small a story as a little girl looking for Frankenstein, or is she just an avatar for the country itself? Should I be taking anything at face value? The late appearence of a Republican soldier, wounded and taking solace in a shack frequented by Torent in her search, says no, I shouldn't. But I will, because the literal story is as sad and sweet and beautiful as the metaphorical one.

-You've got to watch it to get what I mean, I tell you. Bro. Go. Now. I'll wait.

The comments section has temporarily been changed (because Blogger, once again, can't get its shit together)

2011-05-29T17:55:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not be aware, in-page comment boxes are being a new variety of asshole hereforeto unknown to thinking man.

Now you all get redirected to a page if you care to comment. No popups. Because I love you.

Aren't you happy?

Thoughts on Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

2011-05-28T00:02:00.001-07:00

-Ang Lee: doing it better since the dawn of cinema. Bitch.

-Wire-fu so gracefully done--choreography by Yuen Woo-ping (who's officially my new hero, and is perhaps the chief argument for why the Oscars should have a choreophraphy category)--I want to describe it as Edgar Wright did for Scott Pilgrim: a musical where, instead of song, people break out into fights. There's even a love song, between Zhang Ziyi (where did she go? She was kind of big for awhile after Memoirs of a Geisha, and then Hero, but then she stopped showing up or something) and Chang Chen, as a spoiled secret-warrior governor's daughter and a desert bandit, respectively.

-Michelle Yeoh is so badass, it's ridiculous. I mean, here I was, only thinking of her as the flower lady from Sunshine, and meanwhile, here she is. I've gotta look up more of her movies.

-I can't stop thinking of Chow Yun-fat in the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie, where his entire presence was so confusing I've grown a general weariness to any further appearences. Which is hardly fair, like, it's not his fault that movie sucked the air out of the room, and he's a good actor, and he's good in this, balancing the zen monk and the romantic hero thing perfectly, but it's like aversion therapy or something.

-Mandarin gives me a headache. I'm trying to learn it, but good zombie Xenu, this movie makes it sound terrifying. I could only keep track of the most basic and repeated patterns in dialogue, and that's not accounting for the actors' accents (Yun-fat, Yeoh, and I think Chen, none of them are native speakers), or any of the dated language, and shit, no wonder China's kicking out asses.

Dear Sugary Cynic

2011-05-27T23:08:00.000-07:00

Your site won't let me comment. As you well know, I am an unrivaled genius in the field of witty blog comments. So I leave my latest masterwork here, in response to this new post in which you announce you're leaving me for fucking ever. And also blogging. But me first. I'm more important.

You're leaving me!? With THESE PEOPLE? Dear god, sir, have you no decency?

I trust that any new site of yours, I will be the first person contacted for amazeballs contributions. On account of how awesome I am. As you'll recall.

The adult world sounds mad depressing.

Because only such a severe case of assholery as mine would possibly think anyone gives two shits.

The picture above is a drawing she did for me after I beasted her quote contest, wherein Scott Pilgrim, Ziggy Stardust, and Conan O'Brian's Thor (Google it) do my math homework. I cherish it the way I reserve only for David Bowie memorabilia and cappuccinos.

Enter the Void in Tumblr images

2011-05-25T22:32:00.000-07:00

When I watchedAt first I was all

And then I was all

But not before I was all

I mean, the writing was so

The acting was kind of

But the Japan tracking shots were

and

But holy shit, if you turned off your brain, it was

Also

That means nothing. You just had to see it.

Thoughts on Bridesmaids

2011-05-24T21:58:00.001-07:00

It holds no variety of womankind on it's shoulders as it braves the cruel mountains of Patriarchy, but it's still a pretty good movie.

I'm stepping it up, folks

2011-05-23T20:10:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking. Ever since I was bestowed this motherfucker:

I wondered, why, oh why, did you kind folks choose me to be your Goddess of New Humor, over, say, everyone else who is funnier than me? Why?

I couldn't figure it out. I was baffled. BAFFLED. I mean, ruling out my taletn for witticisms that rivals Sir Oscar Wilde himself, my scathing satire on today's culture diseases, and my astounding discipline when it comes to providing you folks amusing and quality content every single day, I've got nothing.

But that will change. I will earn your love. I will make you laugh.

I'll make you laugh so hard, you'll fucking die. You'll still be laughing all the way out, and won't even realize you're dead until you're in heaven, comparing notes with the hundreds of other new arrivals. You'll reach the conclusion in unison, your halos fitted in silence by the demons Satan loaned God in anticipation of the sudden influx. And you'll look to your compatriots in deaditude, and you will nod to each other. You'll contently enter the pearly white gates. You'll regret nothing.

Oh, yeah. We're in evangelical country now. Be-fucking-ware, my loves.

LAMMY NOMINATED BITCHES FUCK YEAH!

2011-05-22T14:00:00.000-07:00

Says this thing right here. And an email I got just now. Since I haven't listened to the nomination podcast at the LAMB site, I was all:

Because you fools actually nominated me for something!

Am I saying 'fuck yeah' too much?

Probably.

Then again:

*Google Images High Five*

Criterion's disappearing from Netflix

2011-05-22T13:44:00.000-07:00

Oh shit. Oh shitsicle. Oh shitfucker.

I'm doom'd.

DOOM'D.

I've gotten through The Spirit of the Beehive and Branded to Kill, but I've still got to watch Knife in the Water, Harlan County USA, Ballad of a Soldier, and probably a shitoad of others to watch by the 26th. IT NEVER ENDS.

Meanwhile, reviews of Bridesmaids and a plea in favor of David Bowie/Marlene Dietrich flop Just a Gigolo, and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, and, uh, other things.

And homework. But that's backseat.

Enough whining. Carry on with your day.

Thoughts on Last Life in the Universe

2011-05-18T12:37:00.000-07:00

-A Japanese librarian in Bangkok (Asano Tadanobu) who constantly fantasizes about suicide and a Thai girl (Sinitta Boonyasak), very recently one sister down, retreat to her beachside bungalow for a couple days of moping before she leaves for Japan.

-Take the first half hour or so. This sequence of time-distorted misery in three acts, two parallel and one converging, jumping back and forth between Tadanobu's spiffy apartment/library, every book neatly stacked and labelled but for a collection of random volumes stacked under a noose in the hallway, the fridge only containing the six-packs his scummy yakuza brother offers while inviting himself for a couple months of hiding (he raped his boss's daughter, see), and Boonyasak's sister's place of employ, a bar where the girls wear schoolgirl uniforms, and Tadanobu's brother frequents. It's confusing and unnecessary, this device, as it never really shows any juxtaposing images of their lives or anything. Maybe a stylistic device, maybe to confuse, maybe to show their disconnected lives, maybe some bullshit like that, I don't know.

-It feels like it should be a spoiler, Tadanobu's (this isn't the character's name, I just don't feel like looking up the spelling) brother's assassination by his friend Taneka (or was it Tanada?), hired by wrong'd boss. I mean, it's the cause of the real plot, the kind of thing that would be taken care of in the first ten minutes of any other movie, but here it's at the tail-end of the forty minute opening, followed by Boonyasak's sister's death, then by title. And a scene of him cleaning up after killing the assassin (in self-defense more than revenge. He'll say later that he didn't particularly like his brother), wherein the camera molests a bloody knife, a bloody wall, some bloody books, lots of bloody things. It's all scenery, no talking.

-Right. I also liked how Pen-Ek Ratanaruang/editor/cinematographer/whoever was in charge of such things set it up to look like Boonyasak's sister was going to be the lead female. We first see her looking at a children's book, one shelf away from Tadanobu, who looks on from a gap. It's creepy without intention, the kind of meet-cute conventional movies would've run with.

-Sorry if this is terribly incoherent so far. But I'm a shit reviewer.

-This is a quiet movie. It's a chaste romance, between a two people who don't speak each others' language, but both speak English pretty well. The yakuza comes after them for different reasons, witness elimination and nasty-boyfriend-vengeance. It's lighthearted sometimes, like this scene where Boonyasak's house starts cleaning itself, encompassing the kind of trippiness this movie wants to exude.

-The actors are fine. Play their parts well. Nothing much to say about them. Poor dears.

-There's a thin line between what's real and what the characters are imagining. Hence: the end.

Stupid testing tomorrow, I'll be gone for a couple of days

2011-05-16T19:42:00.001-07:00

Like you'll notice or anything. But I swear to you, once this shit is done, I'll be the best darn'd blog host you've ever seen!

Well, probably not.

Thoughts on Cabaret

2011-05-13T19:18:00.001-07:00

Michael York is an Englishmen travelling is Weismar republic-era Germany, teaching English to supplement his income. He meets MPDG-deconstructed Liza Minelli, a singer at the local Kit Kat Club. The two and friends navigate various romantic entanglements, half-oblivious to the rise of the Nazi party.

-For a musical, this was kind of terrifying. I mean, the last shot. Shit.

-Joel Gray amuses as the asexual, apolitical, 'Wilkommen [...]' Emcee. Liza Minelli flits around, as said, starting out as a Manic Pixie Dream Girl for the European Beginner, but slowly subverts all expectations as her actions actually have, like, consequences. Michael York is pretty and British.

-Is it weird that, until now, I've only known 'Mein Herr' as that song Amanda Palmer sings a fucking lot?

Thoughts on Thor

2011-05-08T16:49:00.000-07:00

-Okay. If you're gonna put Loki in a movie, make him Loki-ish. For god's sake, the God of Mischief should get more face time than a couple silver tongue mentions and spoiler-ific bad-guy-ness. Damn.

-Not a bad movie. Chris Hemsworth fairs better as a leading man than so many others before him, and the script wisely plays up the more ridiculous aspects of the character. Kenneth Branagh, y'know.

-Natalie Portman has this nice moment where, as a script-described dedicated, stone-cold astrophysicist, she bursts into giggles at the attentions of Thor and his charm, and even her mentor and assistant, played by Stellan Skarsgaard and Kat Dennings, bow and curtsy under his gaze.

-Hawkeye gets some bit screentime (plus, I think, the post-credits scene, but I didn't stick around to find out), and Tony Stark is briefly mentioned, and probably Nick Fury. So it felt kind of prequel-y, you know, like everyone involved knows that this is just around to setup the much-ballyhooed Avengers movie.

-Still, even if I can't have my Sandman series Loki, Tim Hiddleston does some nice grounding in a character who the script can't decide is sympathetic or not. Anthony Hopkins is surprisingly subtle as Odin, wisely father of Thor and Loki, king of Asgard, what have you.

-Fuck Jaimie Alexander. I don't buy her as badass. I don't buy her as anything. Fuck her.

-Ray Stevenson, Joshua Dallas, and Tadanobu Asana (and her), are resident Mighty Warriors of Asgard and friends of Thor and Loki (then just Thor), who try to think of ways to save him from Earth and junk. They amuse me. More on them never, probably, as I'll forget, so leave me alone.

-Idris Elba. Fuck yeah.

-Overall, neither hero nor villain are completely sympathetic or completely terrible. Basically, it all comes down to their daddy issues, and how they dealt with them, and how they took his (Odin's) lessons. Loki, as shitty as he is sometimes, is never motivated by malice or greed, and you can't even say his actions are wrong. Thor, meanwhile, grows throughout the movie from a douchey, implusive idiot to, uh, Thor...

-I lost my train of thought.

Guess who loves Flogging Molly now?

2011-05-07T19:15:00.001-07:00

This guy.

There's a Queer blogathon, yo

2011-05-07T13:42:00.000-07:00

Not by me, of course. I have the initiative of a Martian (why haven't they started their own space program, huh? Lazy bastards), but Garbo Laughs has the initiative of...a thing that totally does things on its own, unlike the Xxx and company.

So go see Marlene's face up there? I don't know how to make pictures link, because that's devil magic, but the blog name links, so go and sign up and I'll leave you alone. Otherwise, dears, get out. Leave your things, just get out.

The Happiness of the Katakuris

2011-05-05T23:02:00.000-07:00

Is the greatest film of all time. If I ever write a college thesis, it will be on this movie. I will forever dedicate my life to spreading the good word of Takashi Miike's masterwork. Don't try and fucking stop me.

Thought on Jane Eyre

2011-05-03T16:59:00.001-07:00

-I've seen silent movies louder than this, and not nearly as polite.

A Life in Movies Blogathon

2011-04-30T11:49:00.000-07:00

Andy's idea.

Of course, you'd think this'd be easier since I've only got 16 year to cover.
The Day He Arrives

1994: The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (duh)
1995: The Usual Suspects
1996: Trainspotting
1997: A Life Less Ordinary (shut up)
1998: Uh. The Truman Show. I guess.
1999: The Iron Giant2000: Barking Dogs Never Bite
2000: The Emperor's New Groove.
2001: Mulholland Drive.
2002: Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance
2003: Please Teach Me English
2004: The Spongebob Squarepants Movie
2005: Lady Vengeance
2006: Children of Men.
2007: Grindhouse (released as one, so fuck you)
2008: Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist.
2009: Inglorious Basterds.
2010: The Social Network/Black Swan

Here's the thing

2011-04-29T03:57:00.000-07:00

About not sleeping a single goddamn second all night before school. It's terrifying.

On a normal sleep schedule, you're groggy in the morning, you're still half asleep. It goes by a second at a time, and all you're thinking about is coffee and making the bus. You don't have energy to think about anything until homeroom.

But being up all night is a completely different shade of madness. You've been lying about, thinking of all the things you didn't do while trying to get to sleep. And then, shit, it's fucking morning, and those thoughts are still clearly in your mind. Yesterday You has spilled over into Today You, causing a paradox that can only end in your complete...something.

On top of homework, you start thinking about all the notes you're going to have to sit through, all the reading and typing and droning and walking that awaits your joyous return.

If you're like me, with a death-defying fear of social interaction, being within enough state of mind that you're well aware where that bus is taking you, it's bloody fucking terrifying. As, uh, I said.

So you take any caffeine-related substance you can find short of cocaine, which you wouldn't be able to find anyway, and you pace around, and you dread your inevitable dozing off that will lead into that dreamless start you get where you feel like you fall, and then you scream and jump awake, and you know everyone's going to be staring at you, because fuck them, stop fucking looking at me you cunts, and you think about this lovely new zit that's on your fucking face, and you forgot the vocab homework, which you won't be able to do at lunch because you'll be working on your stupid research paper that's due today, but you couldn't start until three days ago because she took your source cards, but refused to change the due date. And your French, no, your History homework, you had to do the notes online, remember? Shit, shit, as the minutes go by, you start to remember all the stuff that was due today, Friday, the day teachers always assign everything for some reason, never once considering just how much this accumulates...

Because it does, you know? Teachers give you something on Monday due Friday, and you dread going to school the rest of the week, because that one thing doesn't seem like much, but then, everyday, you get a little bit more, a little bit more, you don't have time to due the first thing because you've got homework due the next day, and on Wednesday you get more shit for Friday, and on Thursday you get the usual, and suddenly it's Thursday night, you ended up with a poster, five worksheets, a collective ten pages of outlining, and three pages of geometry bullshit, this unit being the only one where you can't just write down the formula and be done with it.

You wish you had stronger coffee, not this instant powder shit. You wish you didn't have to get dressed right now. Your back hurts, and suddenly you start throwing up for no good reason, and you start crying for even less of a good reason, and you scream and cry and throw up like an asshole, and everyone discusses, and you give up trying to reason it out, and fuck it, I'm going to sleep.

Good morning!

PS What do we do when we're losing our minds, kids? To the internet!

How terribly I've treated you

2011-04-29T00:40:00.000-07:00

I mean, really. No reviews for, like...a week or something. Why do you put up with me, dear people? I offer nothing but heartache and poor organization skills.

But I have excuses! Oh, so many! I've been watching both seasons of Black Butler, which is awesome in part because it brought about this:

And one day I'll find a person who loves it as much as me, and we'll talk about it, and then I'll write a thing about it here, but probably not.

I've been prepping for Andy's A Life in Movies blogathon, which you'd think would be easier since I only have to work from 1994. But it's not. It's annoying.

I've got to write a ten-paragraph rough draft of my Nikola Tesla paper, which should be awesome, because nikolateslafuckyeah, but I'm faced with the hell-double-dildo of parenthetical citations and turnitin.com, the worst invention by man ever, including that whole socializing thing and Claire's perfume. In short, I've written two-ish paragraphs for thing that's to be submitted at midnight tomorrow, forcing me to print whatever I had out and work on it all tomorrow/today in order to have it done so I may have time to submit it to Wretched Teacher Website From The Devil's Ass, and then I'll have ample time to try and fix all the so-called plagiarism the website has found in my paper, and the odds are against me, because FIVE MILLION PEOPLE HAVE ALREADY WRITTEN ABOUT THE SAME GODDAMN THING OF COURSE THERE'S GONNA BE SOME REPEAT INFORMATION but of course why should you care, my loves? Enjoy your stupid lives. I'll be here, hoping I don't fail high school and become anything but a Finnish hobo, because Finland doesn't have standardized testing.

I'm also now moved from my comfortable seat, where I could move easily to the door, see the board, and answered to no man about my shoving their long-ass hair off my goddamn desk, I'm now in the kind-of back, can't see a damn thing, can't move out of the particular cluster of desks, and I'm behind a girl so fucking annoying I will die of something related to cutting off her hair, which she flips all the goddamn time, never stops flapping her mouth, FUCK HIGH SCHOOL REALLY JUST FUCK IT.

To reiterate:

But my grandparents are coming for a funeral. I must prepare my room to my mother's liking, to which I reply with slightly modified Ron Weasley speak: "Are they going to be sleeping in my room?"

(That quote was originally "Are they getting married in my room?", and it was much funnier, but fuck you, I have my reasons)

Now let's all have a group prayer that I don't go back in time to get the Death Ray from dear Nikola and kill all them bitches.

Oh, and now I'll be a walking zombie of sleep deprivation and the horrors of caffeine pills. Good fucking night.

The Garden State Menace

2011-04-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

Look. Look into that face. That beaming, happy-go-lucky face. That is the face of evil.

That face belongs to Natalie Portman. She is playing Sam. Sam is a terrible little quirkmonster invented by Zach Braff in the midst of one of his troubled-artist daydreams. She is the Menace. She has made our own generation's whiny brooding types lazy. Instead of putting their obnoxious rich-white-guy angst into cold, hard art, they sit around their parent's basements eating Fritos and anti-deppressents, waiting for Sam to come, change there lives with the Shins, and send them on their merry way, booboos kissed and iPods full.

Beware of Sam. She doesn't exist. In fact, no girl of her ilk does. Because most people have better things to do then pull you out of your post-graduate funk.

Fucking Garden State.

3 'Tonight' Musical Sequences

2011-04-22T23:09:00.000-07:00

In a musical, there'll be a big sing-off. Oh, sure, they'll call it a the climax, the height of action, the emotional payoff, etc, what have you. But well all know it's when the title track is sung, and everyone flings their shirts off, and shit changes all over the place.

But before that, there's a penultimate song. A medley, really. When everyone's suiting up for the big show, singing a new song, or just a reworking of a previous song, all over town. You know. The boner song.

Here's some of those.

West Side Story, 'Tonight'

Well, yeah. The granddaddy of film musicals, West Side Story (probably) popularized this sort of song in movie musicals.

Repo the Genetic Opera, 'At the Opera Tonight'

One of the highlights of an admittedly shitty-ass musical about psycho organ repo men and genetic diseases and dystopian!Paris Hilton's face falling off, this song is predecessor to the, uh, big opera, and was apparently good enough to be the trailer. So there.

South Park, 'La Resistance'

Well, this is just boss, is this. I mean, do I've got to explain it?

Do you, my more patient and verbally talented compadres, have any more creative examples?

Thoughts on Batman: Under the Red Hood

2011-04-21T18:25:00.001-07:00

[poster added later because my computer's a stupid fucking whoremongering pimp motherfucker] [asshole]

[Edit: it all turned out okay!]

-Some years after the death of the second Robin, Jason Todd, Batman, still racked by guilt, goes up against a new crimelord known only as the Red Hood.

-Holy shit.

-Holy shitballs.

-HOLY OF HOLIES, THE SHITLORD HIMSELF, this shit is awesome. Shit.

-Okay. So. Now that that's over.

-The plot. The violence. The acting. The animation. The music. The fucking coloring. All of it is geniusbrilliantperfect. Yo.

-Or, um...sorry this couldn't be anymore detailed. I watched this, like, two weeks ago.

-But still. The Joker.

Things to keep my mind occupied while my computer and my TV and my poor, teenaged life go all screwy

2011-04-21T18:19:00.001-07:00

-Community

-Trying to write reviews (you don't mind if they don't come with pictures, right? Tough shit.

-Um.

-Scott Pilgrim!

-Memories of Endless Nights.

-Um.

-Learning Esperanto/French/Korean/Russian/whatever the fuck else.

-Hm.

Thoughts on Hanna

2011-04-17T18:31:00.001-07:00

-Saoirse (pronounced like Sersha, evidentally) Ronan is the title character, a girl raised in the wilderness by her ex-CIA father (Eric Bana) to kill Marissa Weigler (Cate Blanchett), his corrupt handler.

-Ronan is an international treasure that must be used widely, lest we put all the crappy child actors out of work, the poor dears. Here, she manages to be cold, amazed, delighted, terrified, confused, and, uh, probably a bunch of other things. With eyebrows that blend into her forehead, a German accent that's nearly human, wide, focused eyes, and a weirdly androgynous face, she's kind of an alien, walking around Morocco in a daze. Plus a bunch of specific scenes I won't spoil.

-Bana's around. His fight scenes are the best. Kind of only there in the beginning and the end.

-Cate Blanchett is a combination of barely concealed crazy, a cross-country US accent, and monstrous teeth, in a not-particularly-pleasant mix. It's not as good as it sounds. Except when she speaks German, her Southern accent is exaggerated delightfully.

-Olivia Williams and Jason Flemyng lead a British family on vacation who Hanna takes refuge with, experiencing something like normalcy for the first time. While not necessarily the best bit, it's maybe...charming, her interactions with the chattering daughter Sophie (Jessica Barden) especially amusing, creeping into sweetly genuine.

-Tom Hollander is one creepy-ass motherfucker.

-Okay. Movie itself. I find it hard to pick at a plot as long as it keeps me entertained. Which it did. So I won't.

-The score by the Chemical Brothers is different from most action scores, electronic and booming and mad, kind of adding to the fairy-tale-on-something feel, making the action sequences especially fluid.

-The ending reminded my sister of Antichrist. Make of this what you will.

Thoughts on Single White Female

2011-04-17T18:20:00.000-07:00

-Jennifer Jason Leigh is Bridget Fonda's doppleganger roommate who's also crazy, in case you haven't been present in the Western world for twenty-something years, you asshole.

-Well...this is this...

-I wasn't bored, but I really have nothing special to say about this. Quasi-Euro-trash, plenty of JJL nudity, etc.

-I liked Bridget Fonda more as an aging stoner chick in Jackie Brown. This is on purpose, probably, but she's just so...80/90s female protaganist, y'know? Sophisticated and metropolitan and she says shit like 'making love', and it just bugs the shit out of me. Jennifer Jason Leigh, meanwhile, is demented and off her shit and magnificent.

-Steven Webber, whatever his name is, is such a douche.

Cool things that happen sometimes

2011-04-15T20:43:00.000-07:00

(not this, I just like this)

-Falling asleep with your iPod on "Killers-Mr.Brightside" and waking up with it on "Kimberly" by Patty Smith.

-Walking into the only class you have where the teacher actually enforces the 'no hoods or hats' policy to find there's a sub who could give a shit.

-What's more, it's an Irish sub.

-What's more more, you're watching the bad-accented jackassery of Tom Cruise in Gone and Away.

-Closing supermarkets at the very last week, where there's nothing left but Polish candy bars and anime-themed bouncing balls I used to worship as a youngin, pure caffeine pills going for a buck a pop.

-Having the knee-jerk compulsion, while in these dying stores, to wander around the emptiest regions and hum "Sunny Afternoon" in a lazy sort of mourning for a place you don't remember ever not being around.

-Staying up late because it's spring break, bitches. Now, normal people would go on vacation, or go to parties, or drink, or, have the Sexytimes, I have exactly five friends, all of whom are doing something, no social ambition or desire to crash any such party, and am I the only one who just likes soda better than piss-warm beer? Seriously?

-Going to movies on weekdays at two o'clock, when the theatre is empty and you can lie down on the steps and play chess if you well wanted to.

-Having brilliant, yet hopelessly depressing, observations, but by the time you're in a position to write them down, you've forgotten them. So now you remember the brilliant part, but not the sad part.

-Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader?.

-Finishing the Martian Chronicles and really feeling what it must've been like for people of the forties to read this, and how hilariously far away 1998 seemed.

-Disney musicals.

-No matter how ugly I get (which is a lot), my hair is kind of boss when I get up the patience to do anything with it.

-The idea of spending the entire week watching the longest movies on my Netflix queue.

-Except, shit, I have so many reviews to shit out.

-Nostalgia for All That and the Amanda Show, both of which ended right around the time Nickelodeon went from funny sketch comedy and delightfully weird cartoons to laugh-tracked sitcoms starring brightly colored wish fulfillment and loud shenanagins involving various puddings. They were also funnier than SNL half the time.

-Growing anticipation for upcoming Young Justice episodes.

-The defense that I'm not a comic book nerd, I'm a Batman-and-family nerd, and a Sandman nerd, and sometimes a manga nerd.

-Exhaustian.

-The observation that if the entire school had done the Day of Silence, I could've brought a camera and pretended it was a silent movie.

-But I didn't, because I don't talk much anyway. And all the most annoying people didn't either, because they can't shut their craws for five minutes anyway.

Thoughts on After.Life

2011-04-14T17:13:00.001-07:00

-Christina Ricci is a young schoolteacher who, after an argument with her boyfriend (Justin Long), gets into a car accident and ends up on the slab of a local mortician (Liam Neeson) who may or may not be a serial killer.

-This was...interesting. I mean, the main character, Anna, was just a raging jackass. It wasn't Ricci's fault, Anna is just so damn unlikeable, prone to histrionics and hissy fits. Paul, the boyfriend, reeks vaguely of douchebag in a way I can't really describe right now (as I forgot how). Curiously, the only somewhat sympathetic main character is Neeson's character, who you end up really hoping is actually what he says he is, a man with a gifted, cursed gift-curse who tends to snap at Anna (and, depending on how you look at it, other dead folk) when they complain of their status, saying "You people act as if it's my fault you died," as if he's genuinely weary. That is, of course, up for debate.

-The ending is confusing and ambiguous and annoying. Points about the deadness of the living are given and nailed in again and again, over and over in increasingly cloying ways.

-Lots of gratuitous Ricci nudity for you goth-fanboys.

To remind myself

2011-04-11T19:12:00.000-07:00

Here's the Reel Insight podcast, this week being Cate Blanchett themes, and I'll never remember unless I stick it on here. Enjoy, my lovely patrons.

Cast that Bitch: The Sandman series by Neil Gaiman

2011-04-10T21:22:00.000-07:00

So, here's the thing. While I was trying to narrow down some options for that 'Cartoons that shaped my childhood' thing I do on occasion (sidebar coming soon! Maybe. Probably not) (I'm down to Static Shock, Kids Next Door, and Batman Beyond), and also trying to formulate reviews for the shitload of movies I've watched lately (After.Life, the Fifth Element, Single White Female, Batman: Under the Red Hood, what have you...), I suddenly was all, holy shit!, there are so many ways I could be procrastinating right now!. And so I decided to momentarily steal concepts from the LAMB and Film Intel, among others, probably, that I can't think of right now, and do this.

Which will most likely not be a regular feature, because what is around here? But it's something to.

So, I'll give you a quick rundown of the characters of the Sandman comic book series, but not the synopsis, because there really isn't much of a broad plotline that could be explained without going into all kinds of mythology and...junk...

But, here we go, the seven entities known as the Endless, as they've always existed in this universe and always will. They are siblings, and their respective dynamics with each other are rather important in the series.

MAIN CHARACTERS

Dream: Goes by many names, most often Morpheus. He is the title character to an extent, pretty close to the main character. He is the personification of dreams, and presides over (what else) the Dreaming, where all your dreams take place. He is a tall, thin man, youngish, in appearence, but like all the Endless, his appearence changes based on who's looking (for instance, he'll appear as a bald black man in ancient Africa, as a cat to, uh, cats). He's very stoic, among the most responsible of the family when it comes to his duties. He's flawed in terms of personality, very proud and vindictive, even cruel, but is slowly changing his ways, though he doesn't yet realize it. This is, in part, due to a seventy year imprisonment by a cult aiming for his older sister Death. He most often has wild black hair, but can vary in styles depending on the time period, strange, shadowed-in eyes, is very pale and gaunt. He usually wears a robe fashioned into vague flame-shapes. When alone, or among family, he'll wear jeans and a black shirt.

Death: Second eldest of them, personification of, uh, death, she is best classified as a perky goth, appearing early-to-mid 20s. Pale with black hair, is ackowledged by both gods and mortals to be the best looking of, uh, anyone. Always wears a silver ankh around her neck, and, y'know, whatever goths wear. She is perky (but not obnoxiously so), friendly, and is (if this helps) called 'Cool Big Sis' on TV Tropes (it probably doesn't). She is among the only people who will, unprovoked, call Dream out on his Wangsty shit. She most often interacts with Dream in the series, but is shown to be protective of Delirium (as everyone seems to be). Kind of the breakout character, so be careful of the hypothetical nerd rage that will be unleashed should you cast anyone of CW ilk.

Delirium: The youngest of the Endless, appearing as a young teenager, maybe 14, though there's probably some wiggle room, one blue eye, one green, constantly changing appearence. She's a barely-to-never lucid, innocent (in a way), scattered, easily distracted, prone to long tangents of ranting nonsense, but upon further inspection, make complete sense in the context of the conversation. She used to be Delight, but an unexplained event changed her.

Desire: Appears as a young, completely androgynous person, something like Annie Lennox, Bowie, and Duran Duran. Is in casual war with Dream, though they used to be close. So says Wikipedia, knower of all: "Desire is described as being of medium height, smelling faintly of summer peaches. Desire casts two shadows, one black and sharp, the other translucent and wavering. Desire's smiles are brief and sharp. Its skin is 'pale as smoke,' and its eyes are 'tawny and sharp as yellow wine.'" It is the cruelest of them all, it likes to carelessly meddle in the affairs of It's siblings, causing the rift with Dream, mostly due to the fickle, self-centered ways of the emotion itself.

Despair: Desire's twin, she appears squat, flabby, pale-skinned, and naked, with black hair and pointed teeth. Wears a hooked ring with which she scars herself. Though she often conspires with her twin, she appears more connected with the other Endless, most notably in missing Destruction and having some fondness for Delirium. Doesn't talk much.

Destiny: The oldest of the Endless, appearing much like the Grim Reaper, always in a brown robe, with an old face peaking out. Reads from a large book, known sometimes as a Cosmic Log, chained to his wrist. Blind, calm, detached, and he can't read aloud from the book, as this would cause a world-collapsing paradox (I just thought you'd like to know that...). Tall.

Destruction: Burly, red-haired, and bearded. A couple centuries ago, he abandoned his duties as Destruction and went to wander the Universe, though he didn't cease his control over it, he just doesn't preside over his realm, it's all very complicated. He is constantly trying to learn about his existence and gain control of it. He is very close to Delirium, who eventually goes on a quest to track him down (accompanied, reluctantly, but Dream). Doesn't appear much in the continuous story until later, though he does appear in flashbacks.

Other characters, if you're familiar with them (there are so many) can be cast as well, if you want. So, uh, if you got nothing better to do...go ahead...

Thoughts on Jackie Brown

2011-04-08T17:35:00.001-07:00

-A drug bust at an airport leads to a convoluted triple-crossing heist, with badass flight attendant Jackie Brown (Pam Grier) at its center.

-Samuel L. Jackson sports the worst facial/hair in existence. Prove me wrong, bitches.

-Robert Forrester, meanwhile, is kind of awesome as Jackie's bondsman and eventual partner in crime. But he should say 'Da Bears' more often.

-Bridget Fonda was cool once. We all forget in the wake of that shit Nikita remake, but she's a good actress. Falls victim to Tarantino's foot fetish, but we all move on, we do.

-Speaking of which. Like any of the legends he gets in his movies, Tarantino follows Grier around with a slack-jawed gaze that suggests

What I hate about high school

2011-04-07T18:32:00.000-07:00

(this picture isn't related, but I've been trying to clear out my documents. Plus, Anna Calvi looks fucking angry)

Okay, I know I don't usually assault you all with the woes of my youth, and I assure you, it won't happen again. But for now, let's all just grit our teeth and bear through it.

-Knowing that, no matter how smart/dumb, cool/uncool, annoying, fun, not fun, funny, serious, whatever you are, as a Lady Person, in the eyes of them Menfolk, you'll forever be reduced to ugly, hot, prude, slut. Which is why we wander in packs. They've shot our self esteem to the point where we have no confidence in anything we say unless we have a dozen of our closest friends providing backup chorus.

-Guys are bigger bitches than girls. They make no secret of talking about you, because as the opposing gender, it's considered light-hearted teasing. Which is stupid.

-The halls reek of farts and crappy Claire's perfume.

-The girls' locker room is largely unattended, because, again, us Gentleladies must have impeccable hygiene. Except not at all, in fact, it's worse, because you have the added bonus of the aforementioned perfumes and those bitches who dump their tampons in the toilet and make a run for it.

-They don't want us to learn, they want us to take tests, and pass tests, so they can all get their Christmas bonuses. Like, this year, there's an experimental Biology exam that, if everyone fails it, won't be continued next year, but, oh shit, it'll still count for the majority of our grade. Because The Higher Ups suck like that.

-Terribly boring/shrill teachers who don't particularly know anything outside the textbook, assign you three pages of homework a night, not actually know the answers themselves the next day, just have you write it on the board.

-Being forced to watch boring/depressing/crappy movies about various revolutions in History.

-There's an entire elective dedicated to genocide studies.

-They still only teach the Big Four Euro/latin languages--Spanish, French, Italian, and German--plus Latin as an elective. Well, in my school anyway. What my question is, since they also obsessively stress business savvy and office dronery, wouldn't it make more sense to be learning Mandarin Chinese, Arabic, languages that are an actual presence in today's economic/political spectrum? Spanish I understand (in fact, it's default language for K-8, until they changed it right when I was leaving the middle school, now I think the elementary school cut the program, and the middle school is divided into the four per marking period, but anyway), Italian is useless to me, as I don't particularly like Italian movies (or, at least, the ones that I've seen, it's not a general rule, but I've got to stop interrupting myself, don't I?), French, I'm taking, but since I'll probably never go to France unless it's as a teacher (there's a program that if you volunteer as a high school English, you can take as many University courses as you want for free, and as for places like Haiti, I doubt I'll be of much use there even if I was fluent, thanks, Cracked), and if I learned German, some of my more bitter extended relatives would cut off contact (my aunt on Germans: "I wouldn't let one of those people into my house". She might've changed her views since then, but still, I'm not rebellious enough to find out). Wow, that's a lot of talk on languages.

-They encourage you to read, but not now, dear. Because I have all this free time after school, y'know, in between piles of homework and tests, to sit down and concentrate on a book. It's either during school, or at three in the morning.

-Cafeteria food.

-Ridiculous cafeteria food prices.

-They sell soda (real stuff, not the shit store brands) are sold, but in a locked frig reserved for teachers.

-Terrible coffee.

-Kids who keep stomping on water bottles until they explode. On the plus side, my one friends keeps pretending she's been shot.

-Those people who bitch and moan about how much they hate school, then bum around there until eight.

-Bitches who, god help me, this is the only way I can describe them, are preppy, stuck-up, privileged and, uh, I said bitchy, so that's it. Right. Who whine all day about what injustice is wrought on them.

-Guys who think they're the great World's Fair shit.

-The Peers.

-The Faculty.

-Group projects.

-Research papers.

-Handwritten notes that have to be scrawled down in Real Time, making them void later when you go to study and find you can't read the Cavechicken Hieroglyphics that are wastng valuable notebook space.

-The fact that, despite you self-promises you'll at least try to be sociable or whatever, you can't help but come off as an asshole out of performance anxiety. Or stage fright. Whatever you wanna call it.

-That I've been doing this for, like, twenty minutes, and still haven't started my homework.

-The fact that I don't get what's going to be on my test tomorrow, but find my teacher so annoying I don't want to ask for extra help.

-Knowing that, if I'm not in any classes with my set of four friends and/or five-or-something friendly acquantinces, I'll be doomed to glowering in the corner, because it took every ounce of patience and nerves I have (not a lot) to make the ones I have now. And even then, most of them were my sister's friends first. See? I need a motherfucking segue.

-Waking up at 6:30 because, in order to avoid traffic, my bus has to show up ten minutes earlier. Also, that We of the Teenaged have to go to school at seven in the morning, while our n00b K-8 counterparts get to go at a lofty 9:30. Because, never mind we're the ones with the big, stressful, life-determining tests and extra curricular activities and stuff to do, the little ones, those shrieking balls of adrenaline and Pixie Sticks who are notorious for not going to sleep, are apparently delicate little snowflakes that can't handle dawn-time travel. Leave that to the older ones.

-The constant, nagging fear that some asshole will show up with a machine gun and kill me before I ever get to see the light of day.

-That everyone else speaks another language. There's a shitload of Polish kids, Indian kids, Taiwanese kids, couple of Russian kids, Spanish kids, and here I am, barely conversational in French. Even my douchebag cousin from fucking Florida speaks Hebrew.

-That, instead of something useful in gym, like self-defense of Nunchucks 101, we learn volleyball and yoga and stupid shit like that.

-Even if I were the best damn driver this side of the Mason-Dixon line, I could still get killed by some dick in my class who can't read a Smirnoff label.

-Jersey Shore after-talks, because hey, let's embrace MTV-created stereotypes, guys, that'll solve everything. Half those shits are from New York, anyway.

-Crap music.

See? That wasn't so painful! Well, it was. I probably lost most of you twenty bullets up.

Last night I thought of a paradox

2011-04-07T17:45:00.000-07:00

But I was half-asleep, and didn't write it down. Now I forget what it was, only that I really, really liked it.

Here's some picture:

Thoughts on Tank Girl

2011-04-04T19:48:00.001-07:00

-Because I will not have that 90s-zig-zag cover in this domain, no sir.

-It's...loud. Rather obnoxious. Especially Lori Petty, who here is shrill and grating. Naomi Watts fairs better as Jet Girl. Malcolm McDowell sprinkles on some pepper and digs the fuck in.

-Booga...goddammit...

Here's a song for your impending Sunday

2011-04-02T20:02:00.001-07:00

This is where a review of Patch Adams should be

2011-04-02T15:10:00.001-07:00

In accordance with Silly Hats Only (and, uh, others) annual White Elephant blogathon. And I was supposed to post yesterday. But I didn't. Because I suck, but above all, Blogger sucks.

And, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen...

Patch Adams sucks.

It sucks in a way only a 90s Robin Williams feel-good comedy can suck. It's that special kind of suck that has to involve cancerous children and doctors who, as well-meaning and fun as they are, have no business being doctors, seeing as how they know jack shit about curing people with anything but the power of laughter.

Fuck Patch Adams.

Thoughts on Insidious

2011-04-01T16:34:00.001-07:00

-A couple (Rose Byrne and Patrick Wilson) and their kids are haunted by some fuck-scary shit.

-Please note: I am literally just coming back from the theatre, having seen this with my particularly excitable friend. This tends to make things twice as scary. Note. Also, I am, for once, unsullied by other reviews.

-HOLY SHIT FUCKER FUCK IS THIS MOVIE AWESOME. Sometimes it's lame on purpose, sometimes by accident, and sometimes it's just stupid (but in the best way) but when it comes down to it, it's downright terrifying. The music--some might say an overreliance of, but fuck that, it was perfect, guys.

-And Barbara Hershey shows up like a boss.

-Go see this shit.

I can't comment on Blogger things right now

2011-03-31T18:08:00.000-07:00

Becaus my computer's testing out a new form of douchebaggery. Let's all be supportive of its new endeavor, shall we? Now enjoy the Robin/La Roux.

An Open Letter to Them Entities We Affectionally Describe As 'Fanboys'

2011-03-28T15:36:00.000-07:00

My Dears,

A great thing once said: "Mama knows, child." And this is true. Mama does know. And so do I.

For years, you've felt scourged. Cast out. Abandoned by your saviors before you were even born, left to cling to the past properties for which you once thrived. Star Wars fanfiction, deviantART sketches of Uhura and Scully doing The Biz. You've been lonely. You've been left dry.

Presenting: Sucker Punch.

Hot chicks who put fetchingly, one who could genuinely kick your ass, one who could maybe help, one with a bitchin' haircut (okay, the same one), one with a Lolita sense of attire, one with awkward crossover appeal, one who stands around and, I don't know, flies airplanes in giant Tamagatchis. Trench warfare, WWI, army jets vs. airplanes, ninjas, samurais, zombie Nazis, a train populated entirely by robot coppers, machine guns, brothels, sexay outfits, swords, vaguely Polish doctors/madams, wooden dialogue, big anime eyes.

I don't give you Sucker Punch. Your mamas don't give you Sucker Punch. Zack Snyder (or what's his name?) doesn't even give you Sucker Punch. No. The mechanic entrails of R2D2 gives you Sucker Punch. Batman's spare brass ball gives you Sucker Punch. The dearly departed ghost of Tura Satana, everything you've ever looked at and said 'cool' at, they have given you Sucker Punch.

Here, you are given a movie made by you, for you, disregarding all but you. This, in short, is for you. FOR YOU!

Sincerely, I

PS This is not to go unrewarded, boys. Gather some pretty blockheads and the tightest pants you can find. You've got a fangirl movie to shoot.

PSS A real review when I feel like it.

This is the sound of my life completing

2011-03-26T08:52:00.000-07:00

This is how I study for French

2011-03-22T21:10:00.001-07:00

Thoughts on Akira

2011-03-19T23:30:00.001-07:00

-What warped neo-punk chain-gang anime this has been. I tip my hat to you, all involved, for not making this suck as hard as it quite obviously should've.

-Seriously, this movie should not exist. It's too awesome.

-Tetsuo's girlfriend just can't seem to get a break, can she?

-I love the reaction shots, though. This one guy spends the entire first part of the movie (a part that's never really explained...) like:

Capsule Thoughts on Map of the Sounds of Tokyo

2011-03-19T23:29:00.002-07:00

-Lovely film about Japan and Spain coming together to have a good cry.

-Rinko Kikuchi speaks!

Thoughts on Contempt

2011-03-19T23:29:00.001-07:00

-Michel Piccoli stars as a French novelist, hired by American film producer Jack Palance to revise the script for an adaption of the Odyssey, dissatisfied with Fritz Lang's approach (yes, really). The conflict between art and commercialism is mirrored by Piccoli's sudden estrangement from his wife Brigitte Bardot.

-Here's what I don't get. I don't care where you're from, how big of a dumbass you are, or how much unearned money you got. When Fritz Lang hands you a movie, you shut up and take the damn movie.

-And...it doesn't really feel like a Godard movie. Aside from some experimentation with film lenses, and the second act, which is a marital spat that roams through one apartment, it's mostly...I don't know. Maybe because it's his first studio film.

-I can't say that this is Bardot's best performance, because I haven't seen her other ones, but I can say it's very, very good. Both she and Godard seek to seperate her from blonde bombshell reputation, giving off the sense that she, as both a character and as an actress, is deeply resentful (of her husband, of the audience) for not taking her seriously as more than a pretty face. She spends a quarter of the film in a Karina wig, anyway.

-Uh...go consult this thing I wrote a couple weeks ago about the American producer's jackassery. If you want. I also talk about the characters a bit more, at least, with as much effort as I can ever be bothered to put into these things (as you may or may not know, I tend to write these things while watching TV, and this doesn't make for terribly deep dissertations).

-Oh, poor Giorgia Moll.

-

Thoughts on Fox and His Friends

2011-03-19T23:28:00.000-07:00

-Fox and His Friends? More like Fassbinder and His Friends! BAZING!

-I'm done. I'll stop.

-Fassbinder directs and stars as a working class carnival worker. When his boyfriend, the guy who runs his show, gets arrested, he finds himself out of work and soon entangled in the persnickety world of the upper-class homosexual. You know what that means! Martinis and mustaches and squaredance-dating and thievery and heartbreak and misery and luxurious vacations and prostitutes played by Ali (fear has not yet eaten his soul, the dear) and betrayel and more misery and death and credits and DVD menu and special features and, ah...

-So, right, we're here now. The cast is almost entirely made up of Fassbinder's usual players (hence my god-awful punning above), that eclectic mix of friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, and acquantiances. This cast-with-your-cock approach adds even more realism to his already brutally honest, if not fantastically made, films.

-That's not fair, Fassbinder was kind of an amazing director. I just hate the look of them. They're ugly, but not on purpose, they look cheep. Cheap and grimy and pointing out the contours of a person's face in all the terrible ways one could, accompanied by often hideous characters (this, I'm sure, was on purpose) doing hideous things to one another. Somehow, they all redeem such bone-deep ugliness through ironic humor and the power of the Woobie. And a wardrobe of skinny jeans that rivals King Jareth's.

-Right. To point, this is, I believe, one of Fassy's (not to be confused with Michael Fassbender, who is also Fassy, but I'm tired of typing Fassbi/ender) better films. Another 'and then this terrible thing happened' narrative, not boasting the best of performances from any of it's actors, but surely, that's not the point.

Thoughts on The Last Temptation of Christ

2011-03-18T22:27:00.001-07:00

-Willem Dafoe stars as, uh, Jesus, Martin Scorsese (damn you, last name! DAMN YOU!) directs, a telling/retelling of Jesus's life, death, and subsequent others.

-The thing is, this is probably one of M.S.'s most personal films. And it shows. There is not one reel that isn't so overwhelmingly naked, it makes you feel like you're intruding. Every shot has been composed to perfection, but for the sake of finally telling a story you've been waiting for your entire life. It's so flawlessly raw sometimes, yet elsewhere, deliriously satisfied with it's own existence. Or, that's not a good way of putting it. Because you'll never have a scene of someone hanging out, doing nothing. There'll be a subtext, or a conversation about religion, or at the very least a tortured voiceover by Dafoe. Here is a case for vanity projects everywhere. Here is a film that knows, loves, hates, ogles, and leans into its subjects with reverence and imagination and, after all is said and done, complete and total faith in it.

-Okay.

-The score is lovely. Very bizarre.

-And...okay, another thing. Rarely does M.S. (his name until I can spell it properly) inject comedy into the mix (intentionally, anyway), so serious is he about the whole deal. But then, he isn't afraid to show Jesus as a man. He gets scared, he gets angry, he gets happy, and a lot of the times, he just seems schizophrenic, going on about voices and the need to drown the pain out with self-punishment (hence the building of crosses used for crucifixtions, which I don't know if that's canon or not). And the Judas thing. I mean, it's pretty much entered common lexicon that Judas means douchenozzle who you shouldn't let watch your kids if you don't want them taken in for dealing or whatever, he's bad. But here, he's Jesus's most loyal deciple (played by a gingerfied Harvey Keitel, no less), and only rats him out under direct orders from the man himself, so that he may fulfill the prophecy (cause this is like Star Wars, right?), and near the end (amid the semi-infamous hallucination parts), he actually calls Jesus a traitor for not dying.

-Barbara Hershey plays Mary Magdeline, and one senses that M.S. is quite happy about this. Her introduction is both one of the intentional and unintentionally funny bits.

-John Lurie is some guy named Paul or whatever, a Saint, I think, and Harry Dean Stanton, who I thought was Dennis Hopper until the credits.

-DAVID BOWIE HOLY SHIT was the guy who sentenced Jesus to death and, curiously for an English-language period piece, is the only one with an English accent. Because it's his. Anyway, he played the guy as kind of sympathetic towards Jesus (besides the obvious 'King of the Jews' thing, and I'm still confused over this: how can we be blamed for Jesus's death? He was Jewish, too. I don't see how Jews could've prevented this shit either way. Better yet, why not blame the Romans, those pricks.), but very much into the status quo of things, but he's so pragmatic and reasonable-sounding, and you almost side with him. In fact, he's kind of cool, level-headed and such. And he's played by David Bowie. Of course I dig him.

-Willem Dafoe. Of course. He's playing Jesus. Hard to criticize. So I won't.

-Every time Jesus and Judas were onscreen together, I just wanted one of them, so straight-faced, to say 'bros before hoes'. Then fist bump. Or make out, the way they were going at each other.

Desert Island CD

2011-03-18T12:12:00.000-07:00

Castor, of Anomalous Material, has initiated, in the vein of Fandago Groover's Desert Island DVDs blogathon awhile back, one of his very own, this time with movie-related music. So we get a 12-track CD (let's pretend iPods don't exist, guys), and we gotta fill that shit up (although I'm not terribly sure when I'm supposed to post it, but I'm doing it now, because fuck it, I have homework). Now I'll know what to pack it I ever voyage down the fabled Wilde-Ocean, because you know how those Wildepirates can be.

Videos to be added when my stupid fucking computer stops being a stupid fucking fuck.

1) "Jezebel" by Anna Calvi
A brilliantly operatic and hypnotic enough to distract me from the roaming Wildepumas, this recording has not been in any movie I'm aware of. Except, it was originally an Edith Paif song, and that was a movie! Also, see, Calvi is hugely influenced by films, citing Gus Van Sant, Wong Kar-Wai and David Lynch, as well as Ennio Morriccone. And Bowie. Which brings us to...

2) "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)" by David Bowie (from the Inglorious Basterds/Cat People soundtracks)
Again, the good side of the eighties with the epic power it now associates with Melanie Laurent's suit up. I shall need it during the final battle with the dastardly Wildepirates.

3) "I'll Make a Man Out of You" sung by Donny Osmond for Mulan
Oh, come on. The Wildezombies (too much?) need training, and this is the song to do it.

4) "Lust for Life" by Iggy Pop, on the Trainspotting soundtrack
Oh, come one now. Just because your on an island doesn't mean you can't have some drug-fueled petty thievery once in awhile.

5) "Five Years" by David Bowie, as used in What We Do Is Secret
Sure, I might've used The Germs' own "Lexicon Devil", but I liked the way this was used in the movie. The song is frequently referenced, in accordance with Darby Crash's 'Five Year Plan'. We never actually hear it until the penultimate scene, where Darby (played by Shane Black) ODs, where it plays in montage to former band members finding out about John Lennon's death (only a day separated their deaths). While the movie overall feels like a bunch of NYU graduates mugging in their rattiest jeans, this is one of the few scenes that feels...honest? Real? Something.

I will, of course, request the WZ clan play this on my death bed.

6) "Jennifer's Body" by Hole, as heard kind of in, uh, Jennifer's Body
I love how Courtney Love manages to scream while still singing, you know? Not just screeching into the microphone. My minions will need a good head-thrash-to-shuffling-coolly song after a day's work prepping the attack.

7) Urge Overkill's cover of Neil Diamond's pedo-tastic song, "Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon", as heard in Pulp Fiction
Ah, yes. Such a deceitfully hip song until you listen to the lyrics. But it's just so good, dude. Just me, some coke, my tricked-out condo overlooking the battlefields, and this song, bro.

8) "Venus in Furs" by the Velvet Underground, in, among others, Last Days
Is it weird that I'm strongly prejudicial to songs I can either dance violently or sway indifferently to? Well, no. I don't want to isolate the WZ natives too much.

9) "Rabbia E Tarantella" by Ennio Morriccone, most recently used as the end credits to Inglorious Basterds
What can I say? Tarantino knows how to make a damn soundtrack.

10) The entire Suspiria score by Goblin
Guys. Come one, now. Just take a breath and calm down.

11) "Linda Linda" by the Blue Hearts, the main basis for the movie Linda Linda Linda
Not only did I just remind myself that I never wrote a review of this adorable Japanese movie (with Bae Doona! She's awesome, remember?), I also remembered the immense pain it brings me that I can't find one, not one download of this song. I can't find any CDs, not even a fucking vinyl. So one might say this particular entry is wish-fulfillment, but come on. The song is awesome, and I would show you, but please reference the disclaimer above.

12) "Ziggy Stardust" by David Bowie, as featured in many things, okay, shut up.
Let me make this very clear. If I did not have this song at ready disposal on this war-torn Wilde-Island, I would not make it. Oh, sure, I can't find any version of "Cruella De Vil" from 101 Dalmatians that isn't by Selena Gomez, and "Life on Mars" speaks to me in ways only teenaged girls half-raised by pop culture could understand, and the Teen Titans theme song by Puffy Ami Yumi is brilliantly poppy, and "Misery Business" by Paramour is my connection to modern music, bro, and "Get Happy" is just brilliant, but guys. I need my Ziggy.

Thoughts on Rango

2011-03-15T18:34:00.000-07:00

-A pet with an identity crisis (Johnny Depp) gets lost in the desert, meeting up with a town desperate for (uh) a hero. And junk.

-First, let me tell of my experience seeing this business. It was, see, a Tuesday afternoon. It was awesome. The theatre was empty, and me and my sister motherfucking danced up the aisles, chatted with the imaginary projectionist (our theatre, like all the others, have switched to digital), hurled abuse at the too-easy trivia quizzes, provided running commentary for the trailers, but then, of course, some people showed up and we were stuck being normal patrons. My ass.

-On to the show. This was the weirdest kids' movie I've ever seen (in these watered-down days, anyway). Everything's covered in a coating of beautiful, beautiful grime, there's all sorts of exisential angst, people get killed and hardcore-threatened and there's some sirens following our Hero Rango.

-Speaking of, he's not terribly likable. A cowardly asshole at the worst of times, he, of course, redeems himself, but I kind of wanted to throttle the little shit. Depp switches from Kermit-voiced vaudville to mumbling wisecracks in some alright voice work. Isla Fisher is the love interest, a BAMF farmgirl, Ned Beatty is a slightly less molesty version of the John Huston character in Chinatown (complete with a water control plot), some other people are some other things.

-We're running out of water, bro. Shit.

-HOLY MOTHERFUCKER, know who shows up? Hunter S. Thompsan and Dr. Gonzo? Yeah. The Man With No Name? Fuck yeah. My life is complete.

I've got movies to review!

2011-03-14T17:44:00.000-07:00

But not now. Now, I've got homework. But enjoy the music that speaks to my soul as of now.

(by the way, who has read Rise of the Ogre? I must know)

Guys. Just shut up. Just shut up.

What I've Learned About Americans (from foreign films)

2011-03-13T22:39:00.000-07:00

My ears tend to prick up in that way people's ears can totally go except when they can't which is always, when I hear of a foreign film that involves an American character. It's not only because I am nearly guaranteed at least bits of English, where I'll feel like, say, Russian speakers feel when watching any pre-21st century Hollywood action movie. That is to say, beaming at the in-jokes you totally get with your native language. The sudden adjustment you must make, having spent a good portion of the movie reading subtitles. Of course, I could easily get this same feeling from a British character, or an Australian character, or hell, even that brief dialogue between the Chinese lady and the French lead in La Moustache, but there's something about a familiar accent, an accent I'll hear all day (except for that one British substitute at school), but among a sea of French, Korean, German, Italian, whatever language, it's kind of a comfort. A relief, if you will.

Right. I'm done now. Except I'm not. I forgot.

WE ARE SUCH TOTAL DOUCHENOZZLES, YOU GUYS
Ah, yes. An international favorite. The boorish, greedy, stupid-ass American businessman or tourist who just won't stop harshing the lead's mellow. Bon Cop, Bad Cop had the Texan guy who wanted to buy a hockey team, then went off on some random tangent about steaks. Cause we're like that. Love us some meat.

Or in Contempt, where Palance is a blunt jerkoff of an American producer, scolding Fritz Lang (yeah, that one) for his artsy take on an adaption of the Odyssey that he commissioned him for, buying Michel Piccoli to rewrite the script, probably to include more boobs, meanwhile blatantly flirting with Piccoli's wife, Bridget Bardot. All of this flinged at his co-producer/interpreter, Giorgia Moll, an Italian who must additionally translate French into English, French into Italian, German into Italian, Italian into German, German into French, German into English, etc, etc, poor dear. One is left to assume Godard did all this to avoid studio dubbing.

Right. I was going somewhere with this. In Memories, segment 'Stink Bomb' (最臭兵器 Saishū-heiki), we get the US military involved in a case where a young lab technician gets infected with a stink bomb that kills everyone around him. Again, they are shown, through the US Secretary of Defense, as bullying, cocky assholes. Never mind that they very obviously just got a Japanese guy to read off English dialogue phonetically.

There's another Godard film, Breathless (duh), where Jean Seberg, an American in Paris, shacks up with a French outlaw. He, at one point, comments: "You Americans are dumb. You admire Lafayette and Maurice Chevalier. They're the dumbest of all Frenchmen."

Bong Joon-ho, who I like to think of as my Spiritual South Korean Bestie Until Park-Chan-wook Gets Off His Ass With This Whole iPhone-Movie Nonsense, certainly has no high opinion of American military. In The Host alone, we've got a sixties-era doctor who insists his Korean, despite his better judgement, pour all the toxic whatever down the drain because the glasses aren't properly washed, a modern-day soldier who runs around, screaming "I've gotta help! I've gotta help!", and another military higher-up who's quite proud of a certain cover-up he and the folks down in Washington got boiling, if only to be discovered by one characters inexplicable knowledge of at least a bit of English, but I'm rambling again, aren't I?, so sorry...

What is my point? I have no point. Sorry to have wasted your time with this huge anti-climax. Of course, if you want to name some of your favorite moments of foreign-film Americans, then go right ahead. I, after all, can't stop you. Except for my wizard powers. But I don't like to use them unless Tom Cruise is on screen. Carry on.

Thoughts on Labyrinth

2011-03-09T15:08:00.000-08:00

-Bowie. If they have a gun, for god's sake, give me a sign.

I'm on my way.

All terrible joking aside, Bowseph is certainly testing my undying worship, isn't he?

-Where to fucking start.

-Okay. Jennifer Connelly. I like her. She's a good actress with a not-terrible choice in movies, she's pretty in a non-generic way. As far as Jennifers go, you could do a lot worse. So why the fucking fuck do I hate her so here?

-Well, she's a petulant little pisser who goes off on her stepmother for daring make her babysit (when, might I add, she clearly has nothing better to do than reenact scenes from her favorite book with her damn dog), then throws a bitch fit when her Dad doesn't go knocking down her door, begging for forgiveness with a bloody knife in one hand, his severed tongue in the other. She yells at her baby stepbrother for crying (as babies are apt to do), and accidentally-on-purpose sics a herd of motherfucking goblins on the infant. This is not twenty minutes in. She proceeds through the next ninety-something as a slack-jawed idiot gaping at all the Muppets that dance around her in wisecracking glee.

-Oh, yeah. And when she refuses a crystal ball he offers her, Bowie throws a fucking snake at her face.

-Not twenty minutes in. I'm strongly considering turning this shit off and rewatching The Man Who Fell to Earth.

-Oh god, the fucking muppets...

-Such ridiculous director, such ridiculous effects, such ridiculous everything (except for the soundtrack, of course). Yet, oh well. Entertaining at will.