Olympus Has Fallen

Imagine my surprise when the credits rolled and the director was Antoine Fuqua. I expect Fuqua to be uneven, maybe a little hammy/epic, but well shot and almost slavishly devoted to plot.

Or maybe I'm just talking outta my ass here. I'm probably at least partially conflating my expectations of Fuqua as a director with Gerard Butler as a producer/creative input.

See, I really enjoyed Law Abiding Citizen. I owned it. It was a comfort movie. Not a fall-asleep comfort movie, but one I would def watch on the regular couple times a year.

It was horrifically and viscerally violent in parts (dat opening scene), it also had lots of implied violence that was just as (if not more) disturbing. C'mon man, that scene where Clyde is calmly and cheerfully informing the rapist/murderer/pedophile(?) about how he's going to torture and dismember him and keep him conscious and looking in a mirror while it happens? That is some fucked up shit, man. Very disturbing. And well played.

Which is a long winded way of saying that I like violent movies, hell, I even like violent Gerry Butler movies, but I don't like Olympus Has Fallen. This is not the fun kind of violence. Which is a shame, because there's a shit ton of it. This movie had so many dead bodies as part of the interior and exterior props that I kept expecting Sheriff Rick to bust through bushes and lay six slugs from his heater into soon-to-be-zombies.

C'mon y'all: admit it. Rick is a Badass. And whoever has done the season branding and concept art totally has to be consulted if they ever do any film on the Dark Tower series. Fo realz.

There were some really good (and inexplicably unarmed) hand to hand combat scenes. They did a nice job with several of the Special Forces aspects, including knife defense and offense, tactical takedowns, and general gun competence. But, a lot of the action felt almost mean spirited. People were hurt excessively for no reason. I mean, they don't even make the evil guy a sadist or anything. They just need excuses to head tap or beat the shit out of anybody in the room who has a vagina. Am I supposed to be grateful because no one got raped?

And that's what I mean--lookit that thought right there. If a movie is entertaining me, I don't have time to draw that kind of conclusion. This movie, it gave me lots of time.

Gerry Butler is handsome and buff and skillful and manly and quippy and loves kids and he is completely wasted in this film. I'm not sure how Gerry was trying to play this. It's almost like he is doing a Mel Gibson/Lethal Weapon meets John McClane/Die Hard thing. And he doesn't realize that everyone else is in the Baysian Overkill Kablooey But Totes Serious Drama mode. Gerry's approach was too light hearted in the wrong places for a movie where not only to we get to see the killshots up close, we get to see the smear of blood left behind for the rest of the movie.

Gerry, you are better than this. You have your own charm. Don't conform to the blandness enforced by the rat bastards. You can act--I've seen it!

And just in case none of that was applicable and you were acting your heart out in that movie: stop fucking with your face, Gerry. I don't care if it's not technically surgery. Stop. It. Your face is fine. It's great. It's one of your most endearing features; don't pick at it.

Again---see? What kind of thought is that? How you gonna blow up the White House, BLOW IT UP, and me be over here thinking about Botox and the state of Gerry Butler's soul? It's your own damn fault, Olympus. You bring it on yourself.

It ain't just Gerry, though, to be fair. I'm pretty sure Dylan McDermott got tired of hearing, "Now we need you to literally snarl this line while you're waggling eyebrows here." I'm pretty sure they had to edit out most of Angela Bassett's takes because their genuineness clashed with the whole scene. Also pretty sure that Morgan Freeman will escalate to the Bitch Slap level rather than let you mis-direct his performance. Could be wrong.

Aaron Eckhart. Hmm. Okay, buddy. You're on the watchlist. In the past I would have scoffed at the mere thought, but that was before I, Frankenstein. New evidence has been brought to light, Dude. Watch yourself, Eckhart. Yes your a stupidly handsome blond--which is an accomplishment, in my book. However, you are still a blond. And you know for a fact that your nose rating is adversely affected by your chin/jaw ratio. And you're a blond. Which means, Mr. Eckhart, that you are not Required. We merely Tolerate you. And it would do you well not to fall out of Our favor. And no, We don't know why We are using the royal We now.

So, this has gone on far too long. The plot was ridiculous but not fun, grim but not realistic. The acting. . . was. Gerry Butler admittedly looked fine as hell and yes, I am always happy to see Ms. Bassett. But, the glibness, the disrespect you treat the subject matter with while offering nothing in return? You can't make that movie now. You can't show us our vulnerable underbelly and then try to soothe us with macho bullshit. That time has passed.

Furthermore, if you're gonna come at me like you are shooting at the White House, try building a set or five. Try not making your greenscreen so frickin obvious. And don't skimp on night effects just because the screen is darker. 

Wrong tone, wrong time. And a shame, because there was plenty of talent in front of and behind the cameras to make this collaboration something special.

Also wik, here is a delightful Q&A with cast from Walking Dead, addressing the Serious Issues.

*i was gonna put a disclaimer here about how the only reason i feel so free to glibly criticize like this is because there is absolutely zero possibility of this ever a) reaching or b) reaching and harming the critiqued. They will never see this. And if they did, would they really give a fuck what some loser on the interwebz thinks? It's almost unfathomable. But then i typed this instead.

Fokken Prawns

What's been going on lately?

temp housing

It's nice, but we have one terlet. In the master suite. Yeah.

berfday fleurs, hurney

Molly!

MOLLY!

My dad's birthday dinner request. When my mom told me I said, "Holy shit. Hello Texas."

75 hour trip to Lowes with my moo. They chased after us outside to check our receipt. Because when I make a break for it, it's pushing 100+ lbs of tile. Cheese and rice.

It's Kubrickian!

 

 I figure this will always be relevant to me.

The Grand Budapest Hotel: I'm Utterly Charmed

With no real attention to narrative, cohesiveness, or accurate description, let me relate to you the experience of watching The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014, dir: Wes Anderson).

This film is charming and vulgar; lovely and crude; quaint and pointed; apolitical and sharply mocking.

The entire cast is like a movie buff's dream team: Jeff Goldblum, F. Murray Abraham, Adrien Brody, Tilda Swinton. Willem. Freaking. Dafoe.

And of course, Ralph Fieness. Who should no-shit win an Oscar for his performance. It was perfection. His timing was impeccable. Even when I knew a joke was coming, he still managed to surprise me with it. His character is pompous, vain, bitchy, and demanding but also brave, loyal, talented, loveable and inspiring.

Wes Anderson's style doesn't always speak to me, but Grand Budapest bowled me over. The characters all hit the right note between whimsy and realism. The world is beautiful, but it still has very ugly parts. And the ugliness really strikes you--in the midst of determined quirkiness you are shocked and affronted to be reminded of the very plain and boring evil of which man is capable.

F. Murray Abraham is luminescent, Ed Norton is grimly dutiful, Goldblum is directly ethical, Brody is a foul brat, and Dafoe is menacingly fascinating.

This movie was sort of like if Inglorious Basterds (which I enjoy) had been made from love of life rather than love of justice. I was smiling as the credits rolled. I smiled every time I thought of it today. In one viewing this movie has evinced an ineffable fondness from me. I will be enjoy this one for a long time to come, hopefully.

Watching Spike Lee's "Oldboy" Pt 2, 3, Final

• Oh dude, what if they fed him false info on who his daughter is? Those tv shows, the specials. What if the Olsen girl is his daughter? Oh man, what if this gets Greek?
• And at 1:07 we have our gratuitous butt shot. Of Evil Wickus. I did not know that was in here. I will never stop misbehaving if I don't stop getting rewarded for it. REWARD!
• Pertaining to the plot, Sam Jackson is a badass, natch. EW has some interesting torso scarring. Does this explain his bizarre facial hair? Can he only grow it in that ridiculous shape? The plot sickens.

TBC

1:16:16

• Oh wow. I really hope that's not his daughter dude. Evil Wickus looks alarmed as well.
• Speaking of, how the hell does that bastard have cameras EVERYWHERE this guy goes?
• And what is up with a recent sexual assault victim getting all bathtub-y and walking around in a towel? WTF Hollywood? People do not respond to physical assault by making themselves uber vulnerable immediately afterwards.
• Oh christ. Is she in on it? This movie is making me paranoid. I should not do realtime reviews. The pause button is my enemy.
• I like this actor, he's grown from a character into somebody I feel like I know.
• Well, I'm guessing that ol' Brolin is the cause of EW's scars and he did him some Turrible Wrong in prep school.

TBC

1:41:00

• Well, it really sucks to be right sometimes. It got crazy Greek up in there. 
• Now I'm interested to see the Korean version. The plot was a little spacey and a little too neat in some places, thought the overall tone was so grim and violent that it softened those effects.
• Very strange that it all led back to high school, basically. 
• Interesting that Brolin took a monastic/Catholic style of repentance. I would have killed myself. But he is punishing himself way more than that.
• Evil Wickus was interesting. I guess that's a modified Luxembourg accent? Some of his line delivery was a little too "No Mr. Bond, I expect you to listen to my exposition." It may just be b/c the other Copley roles I've seen obvs had a lot of improv thrown in.
• To the Google! For Lux-accents and plot comparisons!

Watching the Spike Lee "Oldboy" Pt. 1

Never seen the original. SPOILERS AHOY!

Know it's a revenge flick. Supposedly there's a TWEEST. Have had Korean original on my radar for years, but I'm expecting hella brutality. An hour in, here are my thoughts:

• Damn, Josh Brolin be unlikeable. He's going balls out on this. I call this "shameless shameful" acting: when you are willing to look real, real bad. It's a compliment.
• Wow, this is a stylish movie. The color themes are quite beautiful and surprisingly bright while retaining a gritty, dirty look. Sounds oxymoronic, I know. Maybe it's just moronic.
• They feed him vodka to prevent DTs? The choice of tv shows is rather serendipitious: mixed martial arts, yoga, kung fu movies. Is that on purpose or a shout out? There are some strange choices going on here.
• Oh shit! Sam Jackson! MULTIPLE VILLAINS! Score!
• Okay, so my homey Brolin has been mentally and physically prepped for something that took 20 years to reach fruition. He's being unleashed as some kind of retribution, on the surface. But what if it's further revenge? Or what if he's supposed to be the revenge visited on the Main Villain's opponent? That was a tortured sentence. And that's a helluva job on preparation.
• Main Villain (here on out: Evil Wickus) has a completely different voice from this actor and I can't place the accent. I really can't, it's throwing me bad. I am eager to see the Korean counterpart to Evil Wickus. I have a feeling he'll be a bit fey.
• Holy shit, Brolin just hammered up the entire cast of the Beat It video. This is a really well shot fight sequence. A little too much delay in the mass attacks for believability, but easily forgiven with the great camera work and linear visuals.
• Does this Olsen chick remind anybody else of Maggie Gyllenhaal. How the fuck do you spell that? Gyllenhall? Gylennhall? Gylenhal(llllllll)?
• So here's the proposition: Who is Evil Wickus? Why is this happening? Let's have a mini breakdown right here. Think out loud with me, won't you?
• EW raped and killed Brolin's wife
• EW is threatening Brolin's kid
• EW has a badass bodyguard
• EW offers confession, proof and suicide (bullet to my brain) if Mr. B can answer his questions three  two. Who am I? Why am I doing this?
• EW has told Brolin to think on his sins, his past misdeeds.
• As EW was the rapist, putting his current age from 38-48, citing an approx age of 20 when rape/murder occurred. 
• EW's offer of suicide/confession implies that he has a deathwish/no attachment to life. If he's not lying. I don't think he is, for some reason.
• Is EV terminal? For 20 years? Unlikely.
•  EW is ridiculously rich. Diamonds. Untraceable. Extravagent. Why? Why wouldn't the offer of a sparing Brolin's daughter's life be enough? Strange gesture.
•  Is Evil Vickus* actually illegitimate or cast-off Brolin Jr? Is this a daddy thing? Man, that is some serious patience to work out your abandonment issues.
• 20 years is also a long time to torture someone and then let them possibly escape from torture. Why? The truly devious mind would envision this whole thing as a way to torture Brolin even more--forcing his admittance to his complicity in his own demise or forcing him to kill his remaining family (daughter). If subject is a family annihilator, he is the slowest one ever.
• EW's own daughter, own wife, own family were taken from him by Brolin, tangentially? Did he maim EW's daddy in a bar fight? 
• I'm getting nowhere with this.

43 minutes to go. Well paced so far. TBC.

*sorry about all that. Sometimes I type it like I pronounce it. 

"True Detective" Is The Best Television Since "Deadwood"

HBO knocked another one out of the park with True Detective.

POSSIBLE SPOILERS TO FOLLOW - just my thoughts and theories on S1 to date.

Just watched S1E3 and I'm all a jumble. This work speaks to me on so many levels. I know that's cheezy to say, but it's true.

Having lived in the Southeast US for quite a spell, I've never been really interested in romanticizing it. Not a lot to get nostalgic about, I thought. But then I started seeing interpretations of the South and Southern culture in media. I visited different places, developed an appreciation for the for the feel of each place. Even with my limited experience, I could pick up on some themes, some similarities.

(It probably all started with a trip to Savannah, but that's another story. It might even be another lifetime).

True Detective is capturing something true about the South. There's lots of facets, lots of modes to the region. This is the one about desert without sand, scrublands, rigs in the distance and squalor all around. Miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles. How the empty highway at night haunts you, even during the day.

But it's not arid. It's a humid, fecund environment. So when it's not breeding green, what is it growing?

Casting Harrelson and McConaughey in these parts is genius. Dead bang on. They sell every moment, every line. They are not just inhabiting these characters, they are the dreams these characters have about themselves.  They are simulteneously inside the character and standing outside the character, offering subtle critiques, hints, and clues.

The dialogue is superb. It's melodic and lyrical without being oratory or intonated. There's speechifying, but the kind you do when you want to hear yourself talk, maybe trying to convince yourself of something. Maybe it's the soundtrack of the constant conversation in your mind that you never reveal to others. It does not strike one false note.

Presented with Cohle and Hart, two seemingly disparate men, I can't help but feel they are the same man. This whole series could be one man's existential crisis in reconciling his two natures. In their personal philosophies, neither man is wrong. Neither one is entirely right. But I adore that they haven't made Hart a thoughtless rube to Cohle's moody nihilism. Pessimism, while rational, does not equal higher intellectual capability. Outlook is a choice you make based on the information you ingest.

And back to the dialogue again. It's technical in all the right places, but there's plenty of context that allows for interpretation and understanding. Took me most of the episode to realize that "DBs" stood for "dead bodies." But when they rattled off putting out an APB and looking for "KAs", I instantly knew that meant "known associates." It takes really good writing to go into lingo without losing your audience. 

And tonight's episode. The tent revival preacher who sounds almost Buddhist in his sermon. The fact that you knew, you just knew, that Cohle had braced the suspect and caused him to shit his pants. Before he even said those almost exact words, the line had already popped in your mind.

McM was fantastic in the date/dance scene. Look at his hands as he's leading, he even holds his fingers rigid in an attempt to avoid contact, intimacy. His whole body is screaming that he wants to be far, far away. He can't even hold eye contact with anyone.

Except Mrs. Hart, played by the fearless and awesome Michelle Monaghan. I called it first ep---Cohle and Mrs. H are gonna have an interesting relationship, if not a straight up affair. It won't end well. But nothing in Cohle's universe ever does.

And they got the wrong guy for the murders. I'm pretty sure they put down a pretty bad man, but he wasn't the one. And Cohle knows it. I suspect Hart does too, but has lied to himself for so long that he might have forgotten.

I could ramble on for quite some time. If you are not watching it, you should be.

In Hart and Cohle's exchanges I find myself cleaved perfectly in two, feeling that each character is speaking for me. How often does that happen?

"We know what we want. And we don't mind being alone."

Skyfall Review

Go see it. I did. Don't you want to be just like me, kids?

I hear instagram does fx like this. Too bad I already have Photoshop, you twittering biatches!

If you loved Casino Royale, you will love Skyfall. From the kaleidoscopic opening credits to the panoramic vistas to the artful framing of the action shots and close ups, this is a beautiful movie.

Beautiful may not be a term you normally associate with the Bond franchise. (Besides the Girls). But this film is a cinematic achievement, at turns breathtaking, gloomy, inviting, and dazzling. And for some of us, we should recall that's what Bond films used to be about: exotic locations, beautiful people, beautiful sets. In short, a recreation of Fleming's lush and snobby sensualism. A chance to see the incredible.

So many films these days rely on images of the future, faux worlds, manipulated pixels, that it's easy to forget how compelling planet Earth can be. And it's not just the rooting in the almost-real world of Bond that's a throwback. The film is rife with nostalgia and nods to the 50 years of franchise. It's a strange tone choice for Craig's third outing, but in the context of the larger Bond universe it makes sense. This may go down as one of the best of the series.

Considering the director is Sam Mendes (American Beauty, Road to Perdition, Jarhead) it's not surprising that the film is so damn good and pretty to look at. And it is stunning. There are too many to list, but I can still see the aerial shots of Shanghai--never has a modern city looked more beautiful. There's an amazing fight sequence done in silhouette with eerie, beautiful ghostly images in the background. Even London is shot with love, each take lingering just a bit to let us soak in the venerable lady.

Casino Royale sold me with its opening parkour scene. I never thought that would be repeated, but Skyfall did it again with an extended chase scene that will convince you MI-6 employees can't possilby be paid decent enough salaries. My mouth was literally hanging open for the duration of that scene.

But a hero can only be as good as his villian, right? Well Javier "Method Hair" Bardem is crazier than a bag of cats and twice as fun. The man even uses his freaking nostrils to act. Act KA-RAY-ZEE. So great, so incredibly great.

Side note: Daniel Craig wears the hell out his suits, even more so than usual. For those interested, Tom Ford dressed him. God bless Tom Ford, y'all. For real.

So, Skyfall. Maybe I was just primed to see a Bond film. Or maybe it's just that damn good.

Post dedicated to Shik. Hope the sacrificed length is made up for with instant gratification.

Movies! Movies! Movies! Pt2

Continuing on with pointless ramblings that have no interested recipients.

Beyond the cut lay films that include Joanna Hogg, Paul Newman, Baz Luhrman, PT Anderson, and my Sweet Baboo.

Blogging: Duty Versus Relief. And Eat Your Oatmeal.

Hey there, BlatherBlahg. Feeling neglected? Well, our relationship has been a little rocky lately. Trust issues and all. Where will we go from here? Let's not talk about it now. This heat is not conducive to rational and calm discourse.

On a related subject, my brain is like a cross between the results of "the push" from Firestarter and The Ballad of the Flexible Bullet. Say what you will of Stephen King, he has a handle on being Not Quite Right. In The Head.

Which is to say that things get kicking around in there and I should probably be purging them more often than I have been. Because the longer they ping, the greater the velocity, and the crazier shit gets. And the longer I wait, the less relevant things seem, and the less likely I am to write/talk/whatever. But the backlog never quite goes away.

Which is the long form way of saying you may be seeing some extra random posting in the FUCHER, as I attempt the Herculean effort of mucking out the stalls of my mind.

As noted before, this happend:

Double shot of my baby's love.

The New Beverly Cinema is amazeballs awesome. It's $8 for a double feature, the most expensive concession is $2.50, and I just found out that it's owned by Quentin Tarantino. Say what you will about his film career, the man loves movies with an unabashed joy and enthusiasm. He says, "As long as I'm alive, and as long as I'm rich, the New Beverly will be there, showing double features in 35mm." God bless him for that.

Now the double feature last Sunday had the director from Khan, Nicholas Meyer, do a little spiel before the film began. It's always interesting to hear how movies actually get made, like how much of a business it is, and how crazily that business is handled.

Mr. Meyers contributed several pieces of set trivia, the most important being the confirmation that Ricardo Montalban's pecs were indeed FOR REALZ.

Damn.

I know, right? Even with proof, it's still kinda hard to grok.

I am now going to refrain from the various geek minutiae that occupied our discussions after the movie. For now.

I had never seen the other film, though of course I knew it by reputation. John Carpenter's The Thing was an awesome surprise. Very well done and amazingly funny. The guys presenting the movie pratically jizzed their pants talking about how influential it was, so I'm sure you can find lots of critical analyses on the Interwebz if you are so inclined. Here's my quick take:

• Kurt Russell is such an effortless badass. Can you be badass in a parka and a floppy sombrero in the middle of Antarctica? Kurt Russell can.
• Furthermore, Mr. Russell does not get enough credit for his acting chops. There's a scene where he's in full beard, huge parka collar, and face goggles, and he stills gives a wordless reaction shot that is completely expressive. That is some mad actorly shit, right there.

Emote through this, bitches.

• The blood test scene is tense and freaky, suprising, ends with two different comedic beats that had the whole theatre laughing. All just with masterful pacing and editing, really.
• Speaking of funny, there is a visual gag in one scene with Wilford Brimley in the shed that is Pure Genius. I did a genuine double take, and when I finally realized what I was seeing I lost it. I'm not usually surprised like that, and The Thing has secured a place in my affections for that moment alone.
• Now, there is intentional humor. And there's the kind you bring with you, in your own head, that the filmmakers could never anticipate or counter. EVERY DAMN TIME Wilford Brimley came on screen with a concerned face, I got the uncontrollable giggles. Because some version of this was running through my head:

Space Diabeetus! The Silent Killer.

In other news, it is now officially Hot Season here. Which is still complete bewlsheet pantywaist conditions compared to other places I've lived. However, I am without A/C and the inside of my tiny abode is far warmer than I would like. If I hold real still and don't breathe too hard, I can avoid breaking out in a flop sweat. Anything more than that leads to yuckiness.

I don't know about you guys, but I have SRS problems sleeping in the heat. I can't think of a reasonable explanation for it, but it really messes me up. Well, this entry took forever, and doesn't even scratch the surface of my wellspring of neuroses and disturbing behaviors. More for later!

Prometheus Midnight Showing

Happy to report that Prometheus is a fun, tense, skeevy film. If you like the Alien movies or just a good sci fi action flick, check it out.

I have a rocky relationship with Ridley Scott, but I think he's in his element here and it shows. The film itself is quite beautiful (when it's not being nauseating). From the exterior shots utilizing amazing Icelandic terrain to the special effects that integrate almost seamlessly, the movie has a wonderful polish.

Speaking of special effects, they are pretty damn good. Good as in "I just realized one entire segment must have been CGI and I didn't even notice at the time" level good.

The plot itself is pretty straightforward and the script telegraphs most everything that's going to happen well in advance, but that doesn't detract from some of the really fun jumps and scares. I feel like the screenwriters took extra care to try and make all the pieces of this plot fit together. There are a few scenes that have me wondering what really happened, but overall I didn't see any gaping plot holes. (Yes, sci fi does get a bit of slack from me in this department. I'm far more credulous for this genre than, say, romances.)

As far as weak points go, the dialogue is a little wooden and over expository at times, a little too lacking in other times. The script doesn't spend adequate time developing certain characters or allowing characters to evolve in an understandable way. The actors do their best with the material.  And their best ranges from creepily good to serviceable. Nobody turns in a boner performance, which is nice.

Some spoiler stuff after the cut.

Schlepping Out Into the Daylight, Once More

After all the phone calls, personal emails, and what not that poured in over my recent difficulties with a chemically malfunctioning brain, some people might be moved to look at the world in a different way.

Why, if I had a dime for every concerned call, engaging voicemail, encouraging email, or apprehensive text, I'd have about .03 cents.

What I did get, however, was my head out of the Morass of Doom (AKA my Ass) and ask and receive some help from my pal Handy J--chauffeur service around town for a coupla days. Allowed a few key things to happen, including bill paying and banking, yadda yadda yadda. And we got to play with guns. That's always fun.

On a health note, I'm sort of really over these headaches and these neckaches, which seem to crop up independently, but work amazingly well to augment each other. Oh, what Palestine and Isreal could learn from my body: separate systems working together to achieve the common goal of rendering me cross eyed with pain. It's a beautiful thing. 

Drug my own ass out of the house (post script: driving is feasible at this point, but let's keep it to low stress situations that don't require high levels of awareness/fast reflexes) and saw The Avengers with my pal RJ. We then managed to geek out about various things for approx 6 hours afterwards. That's a pretty impressive timespan, even by my records. I have the outrageous parking receipt to prove it, too.

And the hype for Avengers is well deserved. It's fanboy fun, a good movie, and a rather amazing writing feat on the part of Whedon, b/c those were some disparate storylines to interweave. And in the end the story, while serviceable, wasn't nearly as interesting as the people in the story. I could watch a whole nother hour of Stark, Banner, Widow, and Cap just shooting the shit.

Also, Hulk = LULZ. And I think that Bruce Banner's secret is a lot of people's secret. It never stops. It never goes away. It's just dialed down. Maybe I'm just feeling empathetic these days. It aint' easy being green. And green is what I be.

Also also: pretty. Pretty shiny things. Pretty boom ka pow. Pretty action sequences that mostly make sense. And pretty, pretty, pretty men and women running around naked, half naked, and nekkid. And in nerd glasses. And in rumpled suits. And in Black Sabbath tight t-shirts. Geez, even Thor's ridik armour was revamped to maximize his shoulder to hip ratio. And god bless them for it.

As always, RDJ wins the prize for maintaining the fiercest ass on any white boy to date. And he works it honey. Somebody needs to put this boy in a Western, he's got the hip movements down.

Special note to Chris Evans:

Dear Chris,
    You seem like a nice, serious young man. I'm glad you went to therapy to help deal with the fame monster. I respect your dedication to your roles, and hope you continue to pursue both your popcorn fare and what you seem to consider more personally rewarding roles.
     With all that in mind, thank you for every single shot of you from behind in this move. Standing, running, whatever. Seriously, just, thank you. That is a masculine silhouette that should be used as a template for future reference. Or just stored in my bunk.  And I don't even like big, muscley blond tall dudes. You are just that impressive.
      Sincerely,
      My Ovaries

Okay, well off to fend off zappity synapses in the search to deposit an actual paycheck (!) and search for one of the most elusive creatures in the world: the right pair of shoes. But this is rather serious. My go to pair of Earth sandals (which actually correct your posture and stretch your hammies and just Never Hurt Your Feet) have shuffled off their mortal coil. Not Cool. And finding some is proving to be a challenge. Babby is no in mood for challenge. Doom requires complete satisfaction and utter submission!*

*Full disclosure: Doom's been waiting on this a long time. Doom has contacted Doom's lawyers, but those wankers never do anything right. Doom begins to suspect Utter Bliss may be longer in coming than previous assurances made out.

Giallo: A Review

It pains me to say this, but the truth will out.

The movie Giallo sucks. Just plain, flat out bad film making in nearly every aspect.

From "Italian horror master" writer/director Dario Argento, this movie plays out more like a bad made for television yarn than anything worthy of a cinema showing.

I'm familiar with Argento by reputation, as a gore-fiend horror director who apparently pushed boundaries with his over the top bloodfests of the 70's. But I've never actually seen one his films, such as the famous Suspira. Based on Giallo, however, I'd say he's still working with same 1970's cameras, filmstock, and laughable special effects.

Following the anemic, by the numbers tale of a cop trailing a serial murderer, we are treated to a host of plot turns that range from cliche (our cop is a loner with PTSD-worthy skeletons in his closet) to the ridiculous (in Italy it's apparently par for the course to show a potential victim's sister all the grisly photos of what the perp does, like slashing throats and cutting off lips---yay!).

Adding insult to injury, this movie doesn't even bother to treat the viewer to any sort of procedural sense. We are the Law & Order generation, weaned on Silence of the Lambs and the X-Files. Don't you dare flash an FBI logo jacket (from New York FBI???) and then fail to use basic terms like, oh, I don't know, sociopath, UNSUB, signature, M.O. or anything else even remotely police-like. For the love of Agent Starling, our detective doesn't even use the word serial killer to describe our killer. He's a pattern killer. What? That's not what it said on the DVD label. Seems the marketing guys had some info they didn't let you in on, ABrods.

The lighting is off and inconsistent. There might have been an attempt at thematic use of color, very blatant, but it was undercut by the constant changes in film quality.

The framing of the film even seemed amateurish, with shots and angles that looked like one-offs or like the second unit director let his film school nephew run around for a day.

The ADR is probably the only truly terrifying thing about the whole film. And I don't think having Adrien Brody do loops for various characters that he wasn't playing was a wise choice. If you've already got the dude ~SPOILER ALERT~ doing two characters in the film, don't have him voice over a third. WE WILL KIND OF NOTICE.

On the whole ~SPOILER ALERT~ front, how amazingly unclever to have ABrods play both the detective and the the prosethically challenged killer. Wait, what's that? The credits list a "Byron Deidra" in the villain's role? I could have sworn that was Brody, underneath about six ounces of Max Factor pancake makeup and an bad Bruce Springsteen wig.

Wait a minute. "Byron Deidra." "Adrien Brody." I C WUT YOU DID THAR, D'ARGENTO. And fuck you.

And to top off the bad dialogue, glacial pacing, and Seriously Questionable Wardrobe Choices (which could be a whole entry on its own), we have a director who seems obsessed with the notion the Ultimate In Gore and Horror is achieved via the use of gratuitous amounts of ReCockulously Fake Ass Blood. This shit was so fake looking, I kept expecting penne and rotini to spout out of the victim's wounds.

It was really creepy, because there was the hint of sexual aspect to the maiming, with lots of stabbing, and tons of spurting. Apparently one of the victims carotid artery was located in the finger she had lopped off. Bitch bled buckets, shot blood across the room, blood *rained* down on her. All from a snipped finger.

It's called corn syrup and red dye, Argento. Try it out sometime. Beats latex tomato sauce any day of the week.

But really, all you actually need to know about this movie is that it is this monstrosity manages to obfuscate one of the Great Universal Principles--it makes Adrien Brody look like he can't act. This is patently false, and by physics as I understand it, this movie should actually implode on itself and cease to be. ABrods can act. We've all seen it. I, more than many, perhaps. Imma go testify behind it and tell it on the mountain.

This movie manages to negate that Universal Invariant. What next? Land wars in Asia?

If you would like to see the lovely ABrods in a thrill-kill movie, do yourself a favor and watch Oxygen instead.

Post Script---I still heart you Adrien. Call meeeeeeeeee!

Dark Little Treat of a Scene

SPOILER ALERT (for a movie you will never see) called Dream Lover. If you like the idea of film noir, or if the film Double Indemnity means anything to you, stop reading this right now and go find a copy of this film. Shoot, I think you can watch the whole thing on the YouTubes interwebz you kids like to use.

I have just rewatched the ending to this movie three times in a row. I'm posting the very last words of the scene, and of the film. On paper it probably doesn't look like much. But the delivery in this whole scene is prime.

He: Who are you, Lena? Who will you be when you die?


She: You don't have the guts.


He: Don't I?


She: No Ray. You're too practical. And what about the consequences?


He: There are no consequences. That's the flaw in your plan. I'm crazy. You've driven me crazy.


She: That was the whole idea.


He: Well crazy people aren't responsible. Crazy people aren't legally responsible. Not guilty by reason of insanity. In a year, I'll be sane again. And they'll have to let me out. 


Okay, I know I've been fanwanking about Spader here a bit. But Got-dayum. This may not be the best movie he's ever done, but this may be one of his best pieces of acting ever.

Bold words, I know. Especially since I have barely touched a third of his film oeuvre, but this is striking me as really good. I mean---look, I just told you I watched the last ten minutes three times in a row.

The trick here is that we get all of the Spadery-goodness wrapped up in one character. But you don't even realize you're getting it, or that he's done it, until the credits roll. For the price of a single admission you get Sensitive!Spader, Schlemiel!Spader, Sexy!Spader, Breakdown!Spader, Crazy!Spader, and a special appearance of the legendary Shark!Spader (know him by his eyes, his cold, predatory, hypnotizing eyes).

Okay, let me take it out of Spaderisms and put it like this: what's done in this film is to take the Everyman role, place him in the WTF Is Going On plot, and have it sell, completely. Our protagonist is a nice guy, but not too nice. He loves his wife and wants to believe her, but he still has doubts. We suspect right along with him, probably more than him. And we get to watch him talk himself out it, fall for seduction, and develop the quirks, paranoia, rage and other emotions you'd imagine a real person going through in such a situation.

Lots of actors do great jobs playing characters that kind of blow our minds. Anthony Hopkin's Hannibal Lecter is great example. It's a stellar performance, and Sir Tony does the amazing job of making you believe in an unbelievable character. An unrelatable character. A person (most) people will never meet, yet we believe he exists.

But playing the character that you do know. The guy you could be, or could be your best friend. And watching *that* person go through a slow descent into a surreal crisis. Watching your Everyman evolve, adapt, or maybe just finally flex a muscle that was only hinted at earlier---that takes some talent.

I'm not doing a very good job here. In other movies, when the villain gets their comeuppance at the hands of our Finally-Driven-To-The-Edge hero, it's usually an accident. Or self defense. Or temporary insanity. Or just a nice satisfying bullet to the face that makes the audience feel good, but doesn't really necessarily jibe with the Hero's character. But it works for the plot, so. . .

What's amazing about what Spader does here is that it is totally within his character, within the realm of plot possibility, and even though it's surprising, it's still plausible. When our Hero gets his revenge, it's beyond revenge. And even though we know he's this sweet, loving, caring, Average Joe, we also know that he's smart enough, mad enough, has the history for it, and maybe just secretly shitty enough to pull it off.

The last scene is the corker. Because that's when it all gels. You get about 5 Spaders! in rapid succession, but it isn't hammy or overblown. It's just our Hero, taken to a logical conclusion. And maybe, just like all of us, with a little more of the abyss inside than we ever like to admit.