The Cinephile’s Lament: When in Rome (2010)

•April 25, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Well, he managed it. The hostage somehow wriggled free of his restraints and escaped in the night. Sigh. I can’t say I didn’t expect it eventually; whatever else I could say about him, he’s not stupid. But K, you ask, shouldn’t you either be out looking for him, or preparing to flee the country from the police? Nah. I’ve thought this through. There’s only so far he’ll go before realizing there’s nothing anywhere close to this bunker; he’ll have to return, or succumb to a life of eating berries and sleeping in lean-tos (if he’s lucky). Besides that, this feels more like an act of rebellion than a genuine escape attempt; as I’ve previously said, I think he’s starting to enjoy this captive life. Once he feels he’s demonstrated how in control he is, he’ll be back for Cheetos and beer. The trap is laid.

So then, how to kill this time by myself? I don’t want to move forward with any of the films I have waiting for the hostage – I have chosen those very deliberately, and he can’t miss out on any of the fun. Despite the true joy I take in tormenting the hostage, there is one genre which we have largely avoided, because even my cruelty only extends so far: the romantic comedy.** Blech. Those words almost certainly guarantee an amount of suckage so large, you will question the existence of God. They can be cute and fun when done well, but therein lies the rub – they are almost never never never done well. For every Love Actually (2003), Easy A (2010), or The Wedding Singer (1998), there’s every other romantic comedy ever. I’m not sure if it’s a dismissive attitude towards female film-goers on the whole, or just laziness in an industry that continually rewards it, but hot damn, romantic comedies suck. We ladies are at least partly to blame; we keep going to see these terrible movies! But my theory is that so few films are targeted at women, that we pay for crap just to feel like we matter. I have the same theory for why the Madea film line is so popular with the black community… either that, or it’s a culture thing, and I am way too white.

Yet, when flying solo for an evening or two, I often find myself drawn to the idea of a romantic comedy. Even though I know, that I am certain that it will suck as well, there’s a tiny voice in the back of my head that is convinced that this one will be fun enough to justify 90 minutes. Or at least have one or two swoonworthy moments to satisfy the stupid romantic part of me, the part that gets so invested in TV couples that I get jealous for them (what the hell kind of name is Piz, anyway?!!). So it was with When in Rome (2010), which I was drawn to for no other reason that I adore Kristin Bell. I heart her so much. Veronica Mars (2004) is one of my favourite shows of all time, largely because Bell rocks so hard. If she would marry me, I would change teams. Even after I saw this movie, which is saying a lot.

Synopsis: A high-strung career-obsessed woman flies to Rome for her sister’s wedding. While there, she drunkenly steals five coins from a wishing fountain, and the five men who had tossed the coins originally fall in love with her and pursue her relentlessly.

What can I say about this movie? A long time ago, a little rabbit taught me that if I can’t say anything nice, I should keep my fat trap shut. So I’ll keep it brief: don’t see it. It was the exact same experience I had watching Simply Irresistable (1999), as at the time I had a similar love-on for Sarah Michelle Gellar because of Buffy (1997). I loved both women for the strong, kick-ass, smart-ass characters they played on television, and both took roles in the most mindless, fluffy, “magical” movies… and then duped me into seeing said movies by being so awesome on TV.

I don’t actually blame them. Who knows what roles they’re being offered, and I’m just happy to see Bell working. But dang, this is one stupid movie. Bell is charming and charismatic as ever, but her character and everything that happens is… just… stupid.

Hopefully the hostage finds his way back before dark; otherwise, he’s in for a cold, hungry evening. Until the next,

K

** This post only applies to modern romantic comedies. The genre was in excellent form in the 30s/40s.

Posted in Comedy, Romance
Tags: , , , , , , ,

What’s in a Name: Worst Movies with the Best Titles

•April 23, 2011 • 1 Comment

In a couple of weeks, Fast Five (2011) will be released – the fifth installment in The Fast and the Furious franchise. With each film, not only does the quality of such trivial details as plot and character development decrease, but the producers scramble to find a new, different, exciting title that will harken back to the earlier gems while still conveying the modernity of the film one is about the see. With each film, their efforts either become more lazy and/or desperate – the result is the same: a series of the most stupidly named films in recent history.

Ok, with The Fast and The Furious (2001) – that’s not a bad title. From that, I am able to deduce that I will be watching angry people go fast in cars. That’s basically all you’d need to know going in. So, not overly creative, but not offensive either. Then we get the sequel: 2 Fast 2 Furious (2003). I’m almost willing to give them this one; they’re trying to do something different than just The Fast and the Furious 2, which I can respect nearly enough to forgive the terribly pun-age. So close. But wait, we could probably still score some more dough off this trend of idiots putting tens of thousands of dollars into POS cars to make them go fast! So along comes The Fast and The Furious: Tokyo Drift (2006). Yawn.  That probably  means something to people in the drag racing world, but I’m not one of them. Next! Ah, my fave: Fast and Furious (2009). How much time have we been wasting on this stupid article, “the”?! Get it out of there, to show that this time, we really mean business. We don’t need no stinkin’ “the”. And wrapping it up, the latest brainchild, Fast Five, which could also easily be about a relay team or a prostitution ring.

So here’s where I’m at: if you’re going to shovel out a pile of manure and ask to audience to pretend it’s a daisy, at least paint it up to look like a flower. Get creative with that title! Who would have seen Hobo With a Shotgun (2010) if it were called Had a Bad Day? No one would have paid money for Sky Terror; Snakes on a Plane (2006), however, sign me up! (p.s. I think we’ve figured out why I have not been asked to attend the Movie Titler’s Ball.) With that, I would like to honour those films that may not have any redeeming viewing qualities, but at least had the creative verve to come up with an interesting title. My hat’s off to you.

Shark Skin Man and Peach Hip Girl (1998): Whenever anyone says that Tarantino is all style, I will now show them this film to demonstrate what a film with zero substance really looks like. Trust me, Grindhouse is a philosophical meeting of minds in comparison. A Japanese tale of lovers on the run that buys way too much into its own hype, and believes the exploitation ideal that narrative is incidental. But everything looks really pretty! And just knowing that there’s a Shark Skin Man out somewhere there makes me smile. I just wish he was, ya know, an actual man made of shark skin.

He ate Peach Hip Girl!

Dr. Butcher M.D (aka Zombie Holocaust; 1980): I’m not even going to say anything bad about this one. Come on, that’s two of the best titles I’ve heard in a long time – on the same movie! I would go to Dr. Butcher – hey, at least he has a degree. A group of explorers must contend with island full of cannibals and zombies. Both want to eat your flesh! How to choose….

Um, could I please see your credentials?

Don’t Torture a Duckling (1972): Ah, Italian horror. You can’t go wrong. To be fair, I haven’t even seen this movie. It could be fantastic. But then again, it’s directed by Lucio Fulci, master of gross-out/insanely stupid filmmaking. I’m willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, and assume that it’s not actually about fowl torment. According to IMDB, a reporter and “a promiscuous woman” hunt for a child killer together. Too bad she had to be promiscuous. Now God will undoubtedly thwart all attempts to bring the child killer down (seriously, I love that they point out what a ho she is in the synopsis). But that is one dynamite title.

But seriously, if you were going to torture a duckling, wouldn't you just hire a pro?

Please Don’t Eat My Mother! (1973): Here’s my advice to you when you’re grabbed by a film’s title – first make sure it’s not actually a porn. The hostage and I ordered this from Zip, as it was supposed to be a spoof of Little Shop of Horrors with a female plant. Um, sexy? How could we have known this plant only devours her victims once they have been undressed… and you know, gotten a little? As if low-budget porn isn’t bad enough, the plant looks like a paper mache covered trash can:

Feed me, Seymour!

Birdemic: Shock and Terror (2008): Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds as remade by Michael Bay. Ok, not really. There aren’t nearly enough explosions for that. This movie has the guts to answer the age-old film question – if I don’t see the hero filling up his car with gas, how will I know why he didn’t run out on the way to his next destination?! Also, how will I understand how he got home if I don’t see him back out of his parking stall? And then put the car into drive? And then exit the parking lot, turning left? And then drive for a while, and then pull into a driveway? Elliptical editing is lost on these people. It’s as though they genuinely believe the audience would be completely confused without all the mundane details that most other movies have the sense to leave on the cutting room floor. Dear god, he JUST left work… how did he get home?! And so quickly!

Oh no, now where will our hero get gas?!

Oh yeah, then some birds eat people. If you’re going to subject yourself to it, the Rifftrax version is really the only way to survive.

So thank you, steaming garbage movies, for investing a little bit of creativity in your titles. Obviously, many of them have duped me, and will continue to dupe others. Job well done (initiates slow clap). Until the next,

K

Posted in Action, Horror
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Double Indemnity: Classic Noir that Hits Home

•April 21, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Good day all,

Nice to be chatting with you all again, and nice to be free from the bike-lock hitching me to the support beam (think Walter in Breaking Bad Season One). Also happy to be discussing an absolute classic from a genre that I love; Noir. Something about a detective character digging around and solving the mystery just hits home with me, and the grittier the better. This movie essentially establishes all of the of the clichés in later crime movies that tried to rip it off (though Hitchcock deserves a nod too). This is one of the first great, beautiful-woman-walks-into-some-schmuck’s-office-and-plays-him-for-a-fool movie,  and, in this case, the poor sucker has no idea (more on that theme later). The leading lady is Barbara Stanwyck and she is hot in a way that a cracker just can’t put his finger on. She is not classically beautiful, but she has look that just smolders in the best way possible (know-what-I-mean, nudge-nudge). In this case the sap is an insurance agent that falls under the foul temptress’ spell and thinks “hey, I can pull off the perfect murder and keep banging this oddly hot chick.” Long story short, the sap is not as bright as he thinks, the lady has more dirty little thumbs in dirty little pies than first appears and the whole shebang blows up. The realization I had was that I am that sucker (minus the murder part), and I live as I do because of it. Catch me on Camera 3 for a public service announcement:

Hello again. Today’s topic is one that men in general just have to accept; that incredibly hot and cool chick that you’re dating, the one that seems too good to be true, is actually a crazy woman who will abduct and abuse you. Let me paint a picture: a twenty-five year old man heads out for the seventh date with the most amazing woman he’s ever met (hit it on the fourth and knocked it out, whoop whoop). There was something in the air that made me think of Old Marsbeth. She was introduced as “my girlfriend’s smart friend, she reads the same shit you do” by a welder friend of mine. The first date was a wreck (we saw Saw 2 because we missed our meeting point and missed Jarhead), but the second ended in a three-hour conversation at a sports bar, over beer, about baseball and music and football and, most of all movies. Back to date seven, when our strapping lad was in the car, on the way to the restaurant, and a little voice in his head said “this girl is way too good for you. You’re like a six, six-and-a-half tops and this woman is perfect” (you should see her). I lied and told myself I was awesome and talked down that little voice. Now I live in an underground bunker that she described as “my little place in the woods” where we would spend a weekend for our eighth date.I stepped out of the car to open a gate and got the Dexter treatment in the neck from behind. The point gentlemen is that if she is too perfect, and honestly too good for you, then she is probably playing you. Ladies, that goes for any guy with a six-pack that isn’t as clearly retarded as the Jersey Shore guys, or any guy about whom you’ve said “you don’t know him like I do, he’ll change” (psst, he won’t). Listen when I didn’t people, and avoid a poor hostage’s fate. Sigh.

The key to a great Noir flick is the detective character in the lead. They are not always a detective, I mean this guy is an insurance salesman, but they are placed in a position to either solve a crime or pull one off. This movie is the classic “she says he treats her badly, and she’s really hot, so we can totally get away with killing him” kind of story, you know, that old chestnut. Women tend to be either girls next door we don’t want or vixens that manipulate us that we can’t stay away from. We know they’re no good, and that they’re just after the evil husband’s money, but they make-a-the-sex-so-good that we keep on following them. The poor chump in this one thinks he’s the balls and can tie off every loose end, because he’s in the business see, and the whole thing ends up more complicated than he expected. Most Noir movies have the detective taking a few mean beatings on the way and I don’t think this movie is different. The beating for these characters is the impending and growing dread as the plan starts to crack. The performances are great, and the reality that they’re like every person that ever thought they would get away with it is harsh as balls. It’s a little light on action, but does a great job twisting up the suspense on the rise and fall. Basically it’s a classic and you should watch it.

The lady already stole Brick and Winter’s Bone to compare back, so I’m going to tie back to Noir without really looking like it; Dark City and Shutter Island. Dark City is a Sci-Fi movie in which a futuristic race recreates reality while we sleep every night and one, chosen man has been foretold to come and collapse the whole shebang. The character wakes up before the masters can imprint him and he has to solve the mystery (oh, and everyone on the world thinks he’s a serial rapist/murderer while he does it). The film is not perfect, and Jack Bauer as a scientist is the worst character I’ve ever seen, but it’s a trippy little flick that hits all of the marks of great Noir. Shutter Island is a classic detective flick with an atypical slant. For some reason the trend is to hate on this movie and I don’t get it. Leo gives a solid performance and the look of the film is spectacular. A lot of people hate that there is no real resolution, or that the whole thing is just pointless, but the psychological beating this guy takes on the way to the truth is brutal and it hits a lot of the elements of Noir without looking like classic Noir. Both are worth a watch, or another watch, and provide solid leads in trippy worlds.

Well folks, until the next time I have to chance to let you in on the truth about whatever she puts in front of me, learn from my mistakes. Listen to that voice that tells you true things you don’t want to hear, and take the time to have a background check done on that dynamite gal that steals your heart. You might luck out and have actually found the perfect woman, but you may end up watching The Wedding Banquet. Until the next time I pick the bike lock (it was pretty cool actually), see every angle and protect ya neck.

The Hostage

Posted in Classic, Thriller
Tags: , , , , , ,

Double Indemnity (1944): A Smooth Shiny Girl, Hardboiled and Loaded with Sin

•April 19, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Noir done well is close to unbeatable, in my world (perhaps topped only by good horror). Having just finished reading The Glass Key by my favourite detective fiction author, Dashiell Hammett, I could not be more in the mood for a good seedy story of intrigue. Hammett gave us Sam Spade, Nick and Nora Charles, the Operative, Ned Beaumont… he was tremendously influential in shaping the hardboiled noir tale standards. In the past few years, I have seen two outstanding modern noir films, each of which transplanted these conventions onto unfamiliar and original scenarios. In Brick (2005), Joseph Gordon-Levitt enthrals as our gritty detective, a teenager wise far beyond his years, shrewdly navigating the ugly underbelly of the candy-coated high  school scene as he looks for his ex-girlfriend’s murderer. More recently, Winter’s Bone (2010) applied the conventions to the story of a survivalist family of Hill people, as the eldest daughter searches for her criminal father amidst the dangerous world of justice that exists outside the law, in an attempt to save her mother and siblings from being thrown out of their house. Both cases are immensely successful in invoking the spirit and tone of noir, despite the apparent incongruence of setting (a teeny-bopper high school noir?!). However, Hammett had given me a yen for the old-fashioned, traditional structure. It was about time I got back to basics, with a true classic – a film amongst the best noirs ever produced. Double Indemnity (1944), I’m ready for you.

Synopsis: An insurance salesman is taken in by a beautiful woman in an unhappy marriage, and they conspire to murder her husband and collect the insurance money.

First of all, let’s take a moment to marvel at the pedigree involved in this movie. Double Indemnity is directed by Billy Wilder, a master of the camera and the man behind some of the greatest movies of all time: Sunset Boulevard (1950), Some Like it Hot (1959), The Apartment (1960), The Seven Year Itch (1955)… etc., etc.  Add to that, the dialogue and storytelling of Raymond Chandler, who co-wrote the script with Wilder. It is no wonder that the screenplay is so wonderfully snappy and clever. It’s easy to bemoan the lack of wit in dialogue these days (damn kids these days!), but of course, it’s no surprise. The current film industry is one that likes to pretend the success of Inception (2010) was a mere fluke to keep from having to pay quality writers and directors to come up with original and exciting stories. It’s an industry in which Michael Bay hired the writers behind Mission: Impossible III (2006) to “fix” The Island (2005), originally written as a quiet, disturbing and thoughtful examination of human cloning. In its current atmosphere, the movie industry is one that rewards lazy, simple solutions, and punishes creativity for being too risky. The snap-and-crackle banter between Walter and Phyllis is woefully absent from modern cinema, but the optimist in me hopes for a day the pendulum will swing back the other way and witty dialogue will once again become fashionable. Thus, from the start of production, this film was created by two contemporary masters who excelled in their respective fields. And that isn’t even to mention the acting. Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray, and Edward G. Robinson… this is a recipe for success, as far as I’m concerned.

Double Indemnity perfectly encapsulates what I love so much about the noir genre: its sparse, minimalist nature. In every way, a great noir works through understatement and subtlety while rejecting the grand operatic drama popular in entertainment, and Wilder’s masterpiece is no different. The characters say more with fewer words; the music quietly creates a sense of tension and uncertainty without an emotional symphonic sound; every scene serves a purpose. There is a narrative efficiency that these stories take on, likely because intricate plots of intrigue demand concise storytelling. With so much material to get through, there just isn’t time for the sweet shot of the lovers walking hand in hand, or getting to know each other over coffee. I have no doubt that such scenes are necessary in other genres to develop characters and create drama; perhaps I appreciate how noir cuts through the typical bullshit and gets to it already, much like the prototypical hardboiled hero. Walter, who may be a rube (admitting as much in the opening scene), is still the traditional noir protagonist: composed, clever, unsentimental. His plan for murder is genuinely brilliant, and he has zero tolerance for lies and manipulation. Which would have worked out well for him, had Phyllis not been the prototypical femme fatale: intelligent (hard for Walter to avoid manipulation if he can’t recognize it), ruthless, and sexy as all get-out. Hot damn. Check out those gams.

But this sexiness is not Megan-Fox-bending-over-a-car-hood sexy; it’s not school-girls-licking-lollipops, or bikini-mud-wrestling sexy (if that’s your kind of thing). It’s not boobs-in-your-face-and-thong-peeking-out-from-over-jeans sexy. Of course, back in 1944, such images would have been considered pornographic. Forced by censorship laws to convey sexual attraction in more subtle ways, Double Indemnity is filled with delicious innuendo and double entendres. The sexual tension between the two actors is made palpable through lingering stares, clever wordplay, and the intensity of their body language. Plus a smooch or two, which is as much as we ever see. I am not one for censorship in any fashion; I believe that I can choose for myself what to watch/read/listen to, and if I find something offensive, I just choose to stay away. Nor am I against more overt images of sex. Many of the films I watch contain graphic sex scenes, and I don’t find them distasteful or off-putting. But I rarely find them sexy. The sexiness in these old movies maintains a bit of mystery. Real pornographic films (not soft-core or art-house, but Back Door Sluts 9 level of hard-core) actually bore me; nothing is hidden or suggested, there is no enticement or seduction – it’s just sex. On camera. Repeatedly. In-your-face sex is just not sexy – nothing is left to the imagination. The movies from the era of strict censorship had to seduce the audience; they were forced to find ways to make the audience feel the sex without showing anything of it. Not only does this take more talent, but it also is much more effective, in my mind.

Overall, the story is a tight, well-crafted narrative with no loose ends. It goes in unexpected directions, has dynamite dialogue, and is superbly performed. If you’re a noir junkie too, do not miss this. If you’re not, watch this, and be converted.

Favourite Scene: Der… the murder was so wonderfully plotted.  I also loved Keyes rant on suicide statistics.

Key Quote:

Walter: You’ll be here too?
Phyllis: I guess so, I usually am.
Walter: Same chair, same perfume, same anklet?
Phyllis: I wonder if I know what you mean.
Walter: I wonder if you wonder.

Fun Fact: Author James M. Cain later admitted that if he had come up with some of the solutions to the plot that screenwriters Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler did, he would have employed them in his original novel.

K

Posted in Classic, Thriller
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

She’s Back: Crazy Newfies, Angry Rubber and Accepting Reality . . .

•April 13, 2011 • Leave a Comment

Good day all,

Well folks what can you do? Regular viewers have already heard that the lady is back, and irregular viewers will just act weird. I was half-way through an episode of South Park when I froze: there was no sound or shifting in the earth above, just a sense of impending doom (the closest I’ve come to actually experiencing the Force) and I knew it. Of course, I went black from the purple knock-out gas and woke up strapped to a chair, faced with a confidently smiling Annie Bates cramming a DVD in my face. I really didn’t listen to what she said, or accept the reality of her being back and saying it, but the word “documentary” was in there. She saw my face fall at this word, saying “this one’s really good, and I have a great horror/comedy to follow it up with.” You know, you start to trust your captor and she was happy that I wrote so much while she was out skinning the most adorable, baby bunnies you can imagine alive (just a guess at where she was), so I took this as a peace-offering and dug in. Now I have to clarify, I didn’t hate either of these movies, in fact I kind of liked them. The first is incredibly aggravating in the fact that good people had to live through the events, while the other is so bizarre that I had to chuckle along with it. The problem I have with both movies is the way in which they go about their business. One goes way too far in making a certainly flawed human being a saint and the other gets so caught up in denying reason that it misses an opportunity to tell an awesome story. Here we go. . . . .

Dear Zacharay: A Letter to a Son About His Father: Don’t Mess With a Crazy Newfie . . . . .

This is a film that looks at the sad fact that terrible things happen in the world, and they happen to people who don’t deserve it and that really sucks. It also does a great job of pointing out some of the flaws in Canada’s justice system and that real people get hurt when the machine breaks down. I have to preface everything I say about this film in case any of Dr. Bagby’s many friends or family run into this on the intertubes. I will be making jokes and criticisms that in no way diminish the outrage that I feel at what you, and especially Andrew’s parents, have had to endure. I make jokes because that’s how I deal with the tragedies of life (like my life) and it’s my way of not making sweet mouth-love to a shotgun. This is a film that tells an important story in a way that hurts it.

This is the story of a young man almost obsessed with the dream of becoming a doctor, traveled to Canada to pursue that dream and ran into a relationship that ended in his murder. The film goes to great lengths to paint Dr. Bagby as what he seemed to be, a young man with a great deal of potential and the type of friend that would help you get rid of a dead hooker three seconds into a 3 A.M. phone call. Everyone loved Andrew, and held an astounding and completely understandable amount of rage for the woman who killed him. We get an endless stream of footage starring Andrew as the clown, the groomsman and the foul-mouthed buddy. We get current footage of friends commenting about those memories and the emotion is potent. The one theme than runs through every testimonial is Andrew’s dependability; a lot mention his good nature, many talk of their powerful trust of him and a few mention his quiet doubts and thoughtfulness (in both senses of the word), but the key is dependability. When the story shifts to Newfoundland we meet Shirley, the older, graduated (but not working) doctor that Andrew met and dated while at university. She is weird by all accounts from step one and brings about the most important line in the movie, in my opinion, when a friend says that Andrew told him he thought Shirley was the best he could do. It is one of the only moments that presents Andrew as a real person with real problems. I’ve been the guy dating a woman he doesn’t like, and sticking with it because of my own doubt (and it was worse than life now, even with her back). It was the most interested I was in Andrew, because I understood why he was with this woman who ruined everything. My major criticism is that the director, a friend who sees Andrew as perfect, does a disservice by showing him as perfect. A Chris Farley-like guy, always joking but a little insecure and without the blow, is more interesting than the perfect human being. My dad died in a car accident when I was a baby and until I was 16 I thought he died heroically saving a co-worker (because that’s what my uncles told me). I was so angry when I heard it was a simple accident, and that he drank a bit and could be a prick. I’d much rather chat with the real, flawed dad than the saint. Shirley ends up pregnant with his kid, it turns sideways once and then sideways again and leaves you infuriated. It is a film you should definitely see, but I will warn you that it will leave you angry. Explaining any more would ruin it.

Two more points; one a realization and the other a public service message. The realization is about crime. My gut reaction is to lock em’ up and throw away the key. This family, two amazing people especially, were ruined because of the flaws in Canada’s legal system. This woman was insane, had restraining orders against her and, on two occasions, had officers of the court (a judge and a lawyer) explain her defense, what she should say and how to write her f-ing appeal. Those people should be locked up. The failure here was that the defendant was a white woman with the word “doctor” in front of her name. If this woman had been Native, or black, or poor, she would not have got the “legal advice” that she got. It bothers me that there are two justice systems and we worry about punishing criminals when we should focus on treating mentally ill people. For the opposite opinion see the Conservative Party platform (but no more than five questions and only when the budget is balanced and we’ve paid for stealth fighters). The other point is a public service announcement about the wonderful people of Newfoundland. These are the most amazing people on Earth. I mean their one, traditional industry got over-fished and their lifestyle collapsed, so they move to Alberta and take care of the labour for the oil industry (to send money home). The danger of Newfies is that every emotion is amplified. They are the kindest people in the world, in fact Dr. Bagby’s parents fell in love with Newfoundland and continue to live there because of the friends they’ve made. They are hard workers; I used to ask for Newfie labourers because they worked their balls off and were funny as hell (if you can understand them). The problem is if you go drinking with them, because that’s amplified too. Then the Newfie crazy shows up, and that’s most amplified of all. This woman was the very craziest of Newfie crazy, like without the drinking, and was allowed to do some terrible shit because she was a doctor.

Rubber: Huh?

I get it. Big speech about “no reason” in movies, when the last movie reference is reasonable (which has no reason). You’re clever, I get it. I can tell you what happened; a bunch of French guys were sitting in a room, smoking copious amounts of cannabis and Quentin says (in mock, French accent) “imagine a movie with no reason. no motivation or walls. Yeah. . . . and a psychic tire that will assplode everything it comes across with its mind.” His French buddies all go “honh, honh, honh” and tell him he’s brilliant and they all smoke another bowl. The actors are all pretty good, and everybody buys into the schtick, but an awesome movie got lost in a visual art experiment. There is no reason the tire is killing, or explanation of his powers, and there’s a crowd watching that aggravates my balls to new limits. I know that I’m stupid, and that I just don’t get it, but this would be a much better movie if Robert the tire had a voiceover. You could make a spectacularly gory, ridiculously funny movie about a tire on an absolutely ludicrous mission and it would make my lifetime. I know there would be moments of reason, and that would ruin the whole point of the art project, but it would be a much better movie. Again, see this thing and laugh your ass off, but imagine with me (with a tear perhaps) the movie we could have seen based on Quentin’s stoned revelation.

Well folks that’s the that of it. I’m faced with the eternal dilemma; should I hate the glorious freedom because its fleeting time has passed or should I hold it close to my heart now that Vader’s come home, to keep me safe. I think I have to side with holding on to the memory. As for her torture these two were pretty good, but each could’ve been so much more.

Till the next time I dislocate a wrist to get the cuffs off,

The Hostage

Posted in Comedy, Documentary, Drama, Horror
Tags: , , , , ,

« Previous Entries
Next Entries »