Rubber (2010): An Absurdist Homage to “No Reason”

•April 10, 2011 • 1 Comment

“Are you TIRED of the expected?” asks the tagline for Rubber (2010), the tale of a murderous tire sprung from the mind of Quentin Dupieux. As someone who not only likes, but actually self-admittedly adores a good pun, this tagline assured that I would at least check this movie out. It reminded me of possibly the wittiest line in Hobo with a Shotgun (2011), a newspaper headline that reads: “Hobo Stops Begging, Demands Change.” The laugh I got out of that bit was worth the entire movie (although let’s be clear – I still loved the D-grade homage to B-movies). Beyond being merely clever, the Rubber line perfectly describes the viewing experience the audience is in for: nothing in this movie is expected. I mean that as a compliment, but others may instead find it maddening.

Synopsis: On paper, nothing could be more straightforward: a cognizant tire goes on a murderous rampage, and the police must find the killer and stop it before more innocent lives are lost.

The opening monologue is an ideal introduction to the movie. Preceded by a brilliant breaking of the fourth wall (sort of), in which Dupieux gets in a dig at Oliver Stone and a stunningly hilarious misinterpretation of The Pianist (2002), it sets the stage well:

“All great films, without exception, contain an important element of No Reason. And you know why? Because life itself is filled with No Reason… Ladies, gentlemen, the film you’re about to see today is an homage to the No Reason, that most powerful element of style.”

This is simultaneously directed at us, the audience at home, and at “the spectators”, the audience on location, watching the film unfold “live”. The action diverges at this point. One plotline follows our villain, the tire. Or it might be the hero, depending on how you feel about the other characters. At any rate, No Reason is abound. Why does this particular tire develop the ability to self mobilize? No reason. And I cannot explain why watching a tire learn to roll, similar to watching a foal learn to walk, is so funny, but it is. Why is it instantly aggressive to every creature/object it encounters? No reason. Why can it telepathically explode things with its mind? No reason. But having accepted the premise of the tribute, who cares? Especially when the results are this creative and refreshingly fun? Through simple camera angles, a well-timed pause, and a slow turn of the tire, Dupieux infuses the tire with more personality than Lucas could fit in all the Star Wars prequels combined (I know easy target, and you may ask yourself, “K, is it really necessary to keep beating this dead horse?” To which I reply, yes, especially now that it has been irrefutably proven that a tire would have been a better addition to the cast than Jar Jar Binks). This tire likes blowing shit up and watching TV (it’s particularly fond of workout videos and Nascar)… basically it’s a redneck without the neck. I previously learned that pigs make lousy movie villains; it turns out that tires, in the right hands, are exceptionally witty villains (with killer comedic timing). And the joy we feel as an audience, watching the tire cheerfully roll along the road after discovering its powers, is a testament to Dupieux’s vision; he is successful in getting his audience to identify with a tire.

The other story the movie follows is that of the spectators, and here is where I think Dupieux will lose a lot of viewers. Initially, the spectators act almost as a Greek chorus, elucidating plot details for the confused audience (one would assume). “Oh! The tire has telekenetic powers, and that’s how it blows bunnies up!” See? Helpful stuff. I thought that the spectators could easily get annoying, as they often conduct themselves in the manner of a regular movie audience – as Shepard Book would say, “there is a special place in Hell reserved for child molesters and people who talk during the theater.” But then things with the spectators go sideways, and their role becomes a lot more intricate and confusing. They begin to interact with the action unfolding before them in interesting ways, and it is made clear that there is a direct relationship between the spectators themselves and the creation/continuation of the film. I can see many film viewers becoming completely lost at this point, and I will admit that I was also unsure of what Dupieux was trying to say. However, I have learned many times over that there are people much more clever than I, and my confusion does not automatically indicate ineptitude on their part.

Samuel Beckett was among the many who taught me that, and a Beckett play is the closest experience with which I can compare this film. That is not to imply similar levels of skill or quality – I’d have to understand the film in order to do that. But Dupieux is obviously a fan of absurdist entertainment such as Beckett. Like Waiting for Godot, Rubber was hilarious, thought-provoking, and just straight up bizarre. And like Godot, I am left with questions and uncertainties of the writer’s intentions. Perhaps Dupieux was just blowing smoke, and I, like a fool, was taken in by the overall wit of the film. But I will give him the benefit of the doubt that he is saying more than I am able to deduce from one viewing, if only because he had the balls to make a movie with a tire as a central character.

It is not a perfect movie experience. Sure, sometimes the shots of the tire, rolling about his business, are a little long (even with a running time of 82 minutes, there’s a little padding, although kudos to the filmmakers for recognizing the limits and keeping it short). Sure, the purpose of (and what happens to) the spectators is a little opaque. Rubber has a clear audience who will adore it for its inventiveness and verve, and others should probably steer (ha!) clear. From this review, you should be able to determine what camp you are in. I’ve already started construction on my teepee in the former camp.

Best Scene: The final scene is just too funny, but I don’t want to give it away.

Key Quote: The sheriff, pointing to a tire, “This is what our killer looks like.”

Runner-up: “You’re nothing but a rubber shit.”

Fun fact: The film was almost universally reviewed poorly at Cannes film festival. Which means either I’m a complete film idiot, or they missed the point. I’m OK, either way.

Til the next,

K

Posted in Comedy, Horror
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Dear Zachary (2008): A Letter to Everyone About Injustice

•April 6, 2011 • Comments Off on Dear Zachary (2008): A Letter to Everyone About Injustice

Hello again! Did you miss me, or were the exploits of the hostage enough to make you regret my return? Honestly, I don’t even think he tried that hard to escape. He’s beginning to identify with his captor. Methinks the hostage doth protest too much in his complaints. So I had to make him regret his error by tossing him a thoughtful and unpleasant film.

While I theoretically don’t mind when my beliefs are challenged, I still dislike when a value I hold dear is faced with evidence contrary to that value. Who likes to devote a great deal of time defending a principle that may actually be unsupported? Watching Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About his Father (2008) was an uncomfortable viewing experience for me, and one I hold mixed feelings toward still. Working in corrections, I’ve been a staunch opponent of “tough on crime” policies, largely because they waste a lot of resources and don’t show any evidence of working. But this film is a perfect example of how horribly things can go wrong when the system fails to protect the public. Such anecdotal stories are (in my opinion) often used to drum up support for tougher penalties, despite the relatively rare occurrence of such incidents. Yet the people involved are no less destroyed because it happens infrequently – their lives are irreparably damaged, and no amount of “scientific evidence” on my part could heal their losses. It is good for me to be reminded of such, especially when I get on my soapbox. I’m all the more ashamed that this happened in Canada. I will try not to give away too much, but the course of the story may be inferred from my comments – this film brought up many reactions in me. I apologize if I ruin the film for anyone, but you have at least been warned, right?

Synopsis: Filmmaker Kurt Kuenne set out to make a documentary about his dear friend, Andrew Bagby, who was murdered by an ex-girlfriend. When the perpetrator turned out to be pregnant with Bagby’s child (soap opera twist!), the focus of the film evolved to become a story for the child, so that he might understand who his father was and why he is not around.

When I put the disc in, I was entirely unaware of what the movie was about. It had been recommended to me by several people I greatly respect, and I was happy to go in blind. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through the whole flick when it started; while I’m sure it is interesting to people who knew Andrew, repeatedly hearing his friends and family sing his praises (set to treacly music) is not my idea of a fun 90 minutes. It came across as overly sappy, bordering on sentimental. I was sorry to hear of his death, but as I didn’t know the guy personally, that was about as far as it went. However, Kuenne wastes little time before getting to the real story – a femme fatale tale of obsession, with poor Andrew on the wrong side of the Glenn Close/Michael Douglas pairing. This part of the story is endlessly fascinating and heartbreaking.

I am well aware that even in documentaries, bias is inherent, and this film is certainly no different. However, despite understanding the hatred Kuenne must have for this woman, the video and audio evidence of her instability is extremely convincing. We see the perpetrator, Dr. Shirley Turner, as she hangs all over Andrew, who is much her junior. We see her dancing inappropriately with him at a wedding (while Andrew is clearly trying to tone her behaviour down), making rude gestures, and generally acting unbalanced. Audio tapes of her explaining her alibi to police include such obvious deceitful giveaways as “I’m not going to lie to you,” and “I’m having a hard time remembering, I didn’t know I’d have to come up with this.” In fact, her guilt is never even a question, nor is it the story Kuenne is telling. Kuenne’s tale doesn’t even really begin until after Andrew’s death, with the birth of his son Zachary. The real story is Kate and David Bagby, Andrew’s parents, who hope to adopt Zachary themselves. [Getting spoilery down below]

However, the Canadian justice system has other ideas. David and Kate’s custody of Zachary while Shirley is in prison is dependent entirely on Shirley having access to her child. That means that these kind, gentle people are continually forced to interact with their son’s murderer, a woman so delusional she asks them to get a framed picture of her and Andrew to give to Zachary for Christmas. The ridiculous bureaucracy of the system is on full display, as Shirley’s hearing is delayed repeatedly, and hearings are set up to determine the most trivial of matters (which also then delay her actual prosecution). And then, along comes Judge Welsh who argues that since Shirley’s crime was “specific” against Andrew, she poses no danger to the public and should be released on bail until the trial. Shirley’s psychiatrist claims no history of a mental illness that would put her at risk to the community, despite having eight previous restraining orders lodged against her, and at least two prior suicide attempts. He felt so confident about his assessment that he posts $65 000 of her bail himself. So Kate and David must incorporate Shirley into their lives, or risk losing all access to Zachary. Because social services also apparently has no problem with returning a child to a woman on trial for murder.

Sidebar: perhaps this is just a rationalization for my beliefs, but to me, this section of the movie was a perfect example of our two-tiered system. Had Andrew’s attacker been an Aboriginal male, he would have been thrown to the wolves – maximum penalty, throw that key away! Unfortunately, Shirley was a white, middle to upper class, female doctor. In Judge Welsh’s statement of bail release, she concludes that Shirley is “capable” strictly because she has a medical degree. Anyone who has ever had an experience with an inept doctor, raise your hand. The problem in this case (again, my opinion), is that Dr. Turner did not fit the image the justice system has of a violent offender. Therefore, in their minds, she posed no threat. Clearly, images are often deceiving.

The story continues from there. It is not a straightforward or easy movie. Alas, Kuenne is not an overly accomplished filmmaker, despite this compelling story. At times, the lauding of Andrew seems excessive. I understand he was a good guy, but these people had him farting rainbows while saving puppies with his tears of awesome. Kuenne can be extremely emotionally manipulative. At one point, we hear from several cousins whose father (I think) was diagnosed with cancer. Very sad, but almost entirely unrelated to the story – it seems included strictly to pull at our heart-strings. Kuenne tries to tie it back to Bagby, with a brief comment about how he wrote his ill uncle (? Some male family member), but it still comes across as forced sentiment, rather than earned emotion. (Now watching the grandparents? That’s earned emotion.)

Repeatedly, the film drums into us that Andrew was a saint, and Shirley was the devil. Understandable given his relationship to the deceased, but the problem with this assessment is that Shirley is clearly mentally ill! As I mentioned, all documented evidence speaks of a serious personality disorder, possibly even with delusions of persecution. The system didn’t only let Andrew, Kate, David, and Zachary down (although they are the innocents, and obviously the most sympathetic); the system also let Shirley down by not recognizing when she was a danger to herself and others. That psychiatrist has some serious ‘splaining to do! In watching the film (and perhaps due to my own professional obligations), I put the greatest amount of blame for the entire tragedy on him. He certainly should have recognized the symptoms of serious psychopathology (the hostage is convinced he and Shirley were intimately involved), and to not only recommend, but actively advocate for her release on bail (which he then largely put up himself) demonstrates an unforgivable lack of judgment.

Ultimately, the only certainty I took from the film is that this is a situation which was entirely preventable, and the Canadian justice system and social services failed David and Kate Bagby in obscene ways. Their grief is overwhelming and wrenching to observe. One feels almost like we are intruding on their pain. They handled themselves exactly as society asks us to, and were viciously punished for it. Perhaps the most tragic scene in the film is David lamenting that he did not kill Shirley when he had the chance; ruing that he trusted the system to protect them and Zachary. While I can sympathize with his position (although from a distance, I can’t really imagine what he was going through), my mind was drawn back to the final scenes of In the Bedroom (2001) and I Saw the Devil (2010); I wonder if such a good man as David could have lived with himself. Would he have found vengeance to be as hollow as Tom Wilkinson? As empty as Byung-Hun Lee? Or would it have brought the peace he and Kate so desired and deserved?

OK, wow this was a long one. Did anyone actually stick with me to the end? Cookies all around for those devoted readers! Until the next,

K

Posted in Documentary
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Hostage Week Episode V: The Trials of Young Nash Bridges

•April 2, 2011 • Comments Off on Hostage Week Episode V: The Trials of Young Nash Bridges

Good day all,

It’s  good to get word out to you again, but I have to admit that the shelf-life of my freedom may be coming to its best-before date. I noticed that the Pizza Pops were down to the last row in the box this morning, suggesting I have a day, maybe two, before the Dark Queen returns and I have to start watching movies about young transvestites coming to terms with their traditional Samoan family obligations. I essentially have two choices: allow my last hours to be clouded by fear of her return or use them to watch one of the most bizarre movies I have ever seen. I’ve watched some weird shit people, I mean Man Bites Dog has been so horribly seared into my brain that I can still smell beef jerky, but A Boy and His Dog creates a vision of the future that is so wonderful that I can only introduce it with a big, Michael Bay style trailer (you’ll have to imagine Linkin’ Park blaring a shitty riff in the background, and a lot of explosions). Here’s my best attempt:

(Morgan Freeman narrates, but he sounds really angry. Shia “The Beef” stars as young Nash Bridges)

“In a time of destruction . . . . . . A land ravaged by nuclear war . . . . maybe by like Robots or something, with big explosions and thousands of really hot chicks dying, the world needs a hero. One young man, ravaged by hormones . . . . trying only to scratch out his meager survival, makes a legendary journey in the endless pursuit of trim.”

(The Linkin’ Park builds in volume, juicing an absolutely terrible guitar solo, the lead singer crying softly in the background that his dad never hugged him)

“Now. Young Nash Bridges will stand with his only friend, a telepathic, misogynistic police dog. And humanity’s only hope is that Nash can rape the surviving women before he is captured and turned into breeding stock.”

(Big climax in the music to silence, a heartbeat behind The Beef as he and his telepathic dog (a racial stereotype voiced by Chris Tucker) stare off into the distance looking real serious).

The release date shows as the heartbeat continues, and explodes to the sound of a sexual assault occurring.

Wow! I would totally see that movie, coming to me in the summer of whatever year this is; sidebar, living in an underground bunker, much like living in solitary at Guantanamo, keeps you from calculating the time of day and passage of time (is June 2012 close?). The first issue I have with this little nod to the Women’s Rights movement is that the whole point of young Nash’s existence is to achieve “sexual release”, meaning true freedom is the ability to wander around with a dog that sounds an awful lot like KITT from Knight Rider and use your bond to rape any women you’re lucky enough to run across. I will concede that the underground world, the last remaining vestige of civilization filled with the classic future evil where you have no liberty, is not the place for young Nash to be; basically they’ll use a machine to extract his seed for thirty-five women and kill him. I’m sure the director had great ideas about how the uncertainty of the world above was still a better option than the underground world of Christian rules, restraints and a small group that control every aspect of your life, but the reality is that the message never comes through. Essentially this movie is trying to be A Clockwork Orange with a nuclear wasteland twist that seems to have spaced on the point it’s trying to make (more on that after the spoiler alert) I guess the point is that the more I think about this flick the less I like what I find; ladies catch me on Camera 3:

Howdy ladies. First off I would like to say that I am a big supporter of the whole “Womens’ Lib.” thing, and I have to apologize on behalf of the penised portion of the population. See, those of you that read regularly will know that I work in an industry (sorry, used to work) that is full of guys that realized school is boring, there isn’t anything worth learning there anyway and that they could make a ton of money, without a ton of world experience, in the oilfield. Now I’ve mentioned the homophobia that exists in the industry and, sadly, misogyny runs wild as well. It’s not that these guys are stupid, because they really aren’t, they’re just ignorant. The common response to 9/11 at my work was “why don’t we just nuke all those brown fuckers” (their words not mine) so you understand the worldview we’re dealing with. Those guys would love this movie, because the whole key is that survival depends on a man maintaining his independence control of his domain (these guys are the type that would tell a guy to “keep his wife in line”). I guess what I’m trying to say, ladies, is that I’m sorry you’re the last group it is socially acceptable to discriminate against. Tell a racist joke in a room full of strangers today and most will be disgusted with you, tell a joke about God hating homosexuals and you’ll get the stinkeye from most, but tell a group of buddies about how much your wife bitches at you and the majority of the room will nod along with you. We blamed you for the whole garden thing, you know, all pain and evil in the world, and this flick is just another brick in the wall.

Sorry about that fellas, I needed a little private time with the girls (but you probably read anyway you snoopy pricks). It just bugs a cracker that a movie about a man’s quest to embrace his freedom, an idea I chose it for, becomes a thinly veiled suggestion that freedom means “bros before hos” and dominating any woman who could be a real companion.

Spoiler Alert for the next paragraph.

I guess I should talk about the movie itself for a bit, rather than the disturbing message I took away from it. The world they create is really interesting, but the story just doesn’t do it justice. The idea of a dude and his telepathic dog trying to survive is pretty cool, but there are a bunch of good ideas that just seem to get forgotten; there are people called “screamers” that everyone is scared of, and appear briefly as a green light, but are never mentioned again, a “promised land” that the dog knows about and seems to have a need to teach Nash about the old world for when they get there  and a group of rovers introduced as the “real” bad guys that disappear after being scared off by a green light. All of those ideas are way more interesting that what we get. The fact that Nash is an inept rapist, he gets interrupted trying to rape her by the local gang and doesn’t bed her until she invites it, seems to suggest that we should cheer for him; I guess the kid that sucks at rape is better than the band of roving pros, but it’s hard to cheer for him, and see him as a hero, when he whines that they “wasted” their latest victim by killing her before he could weasel a turn. We see the horrors he would face underground, getting no pleasure because of the machine that extracts his seed and eventually rescued by the girl that led him into the trap, and start to think that Nash may have made a real connection (worm in the message that a free world full of danger and hard-living can be conquered by people that care about each other). Instead he kills the girl that saved his life for the second time (admittedly after betraying him once) and feeds her to the dog so that they can keep walking. I know he has a better chance of surviving by saving the dog, but it ruins any coherent message I’m supposed to walk away with. This thing is a mess and you have to leave thinking the director hates women.

On a final note, some of you my wonder why, with all of the rich performances Don Johnson’s illustrious career, that I chose Nash Bridges to refer to the character in the movie (Vick/Albert is the real name). You see, I’ve had a realization about the nature of old people and television. My grandpa loved Nash Bridges, and I remember an episode where he had a killer on the roof, a killer that got on of his crew (must’ve been sweeps) and the crook is taunting him because here are rule for cops (see The Untouchables, cliches from), but Nash is so sure of his conviction that he shoots the guy (because he deserves it). Grandpa looked at me and said “you see, we need more cops that know how to deal with scum.” I replied that it works as long as the guy works alone and grandpa let me know there was an underworld boss he worked for that Nash had been after for a while. The look of pure hatred on my grandfather’s face when I suggested that, rather than shooting the guy, they should have interrogated him to get dirt on the boss, cut deeply. Every era seems to have a show that old people love because a take no shit character doesn’t worry about things like letting the law work as designed. Matlock would solve the crime under the nose of the whipersnapper cops, David Caruso would take off his glasses and give lame puns until the bad guy was caught, and the Law and Order crew would always get the right man in the end (interestingly, it was always the least likely character at the beginning). The show of the old folks today is NCIS. Seriously, ask anyone over fifty who their favourite character is and they will give you a season by season rundown. Mark Harmon is the guy that stretches the rules to do what he knows is right and the world would be a lot better if we treated real criminals and terrorists that way. I’m not sure if there is a point to the observation, it just suggests why Fox News does so well. I guess that world view, black and white, is how I feel about the comment on freedom here. If the key to your freedom is stripping others of theirs, no matter how certain you are that you are right, you can’t be seen as a true protector of freedom.

Well folks it’s been a blast and I hope the fare I put before you was delicious. I know I’ll be watching something in the near future and get a whiff of gas, wake up tied to something sturdy and have to accept that my brush with freedom has come to an end. The key to me, and what this flick misses, is that the blessed freedom I’ve enjoyed is fixed firmly in my mind and can be pulled up to get me through the bad times to come. I may not have actual freedom, but I’m not marching along, trying to steal others’ from them.

Until the next time, admit that a little bit of freedom done right is better than a whole world of freedom done wrong,

The Hostage

P.S. The other suggestion is that old people are stupid, just not quite as stupid as kids are.

Posted in About the site, Action, Thriller
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Hostage Week Episode IV: An Old Domination

•March 30, 2011 • Comments Off on Hostage Week Episode IV: An Old Domination

Good day all,

It’s a pleasure to get back at y’all and I hope the Wheel of Fortune has spun your way. I’ve been so caught up in the notion of freedom that I decided to try and reach back to that most wonderful of times; childhood. Isn’t it weird that the time in your life when you had the least control over your actions was the time that you felt the most free?  Your parents control every aspect of your life, but you run around feeling like it’s all yours (kids really are pretty stupid aren’t they?). That’s how I’ve put my little vacation in my mind, an opportunity to embrace the limited freedom I have in my situation. So in that spirit I’ve chosen a very cherished and special movie from my childhood, but I’m a little worried. First, I’m a little worried to bear a cherished memory like this to complete strangers; I mean, my vulnerable side might get me teased. Secondish, I hadn’t seen this film since I was about ten and it touched me in a way that I can’t put into words. I think I can trust you (I mean really, she’s eventually going to shoot me, roll me up in a rug and donate me to Goodwill under an assumed name anyway) so here we go: the film is the 1984 classic Ninja 3: The Domination.

The first memories I have of this film are nine year old me seeing my brother pick it out and taking it to mom, bringing it over to me and saying he needed me to whine a bunch to convince her I was old enough to see a ninja movie, and then acting like an annoying prick until my mom finally caved to shut me up (sorry mom, and HELP!). When I saw the thing unfold I knew that ninjas were the badassest of all the badasses in the fighting world. Way tougher than G.I. Joe, He-Man or My Pet Monster, and meaner than Oscar the Grouch (I was totally ready for a ninja movie). After getting over my initial terror I was captivated, and I found myself getting fired up at the sight of the blood and violence instead of wanting to cry. Little me held my shit together enough to prove I was ready and whenever we rented movies (and a V.C.R., Christ I’m old) there was always a ninja movie in the mix and, quite often, this one over and over again. The problem with this is that most ninja movies are awful (maybe not American Ninja… no, it is too), like so awful that by the time I was ten or eleven I’d moved on to kung-fu movies. I never got back to this one, but that’s why freedom ain’t just another word.

One more anecdote before I get to this beauty. Some of you older folks might remember a song called “Centerfold” by the J. Geils Band about a guy that sees his high school sweetheart in a nudie mag and it wrecks his innocence (instead of running around telling everyone you banged a centerfold, even if you hadn’t). I had an experience like that at a wedding some time back. Basically my grade four girlfriend, now married with three kids (though she really didn’t look it) let slip, after the normal “I haven’t seen you in ten years and let’s pretend we still share a connection” small talk that she and her husband had an open marriage and that I should book a hotel rather than crash at my brother’s. Now guys, I know you’re thinking “awesome, show her all the cool stuff you’ve learned past holding hands”, but the reality was kind of less spectacular. I mean, this person was one of the important people in developing my lifelong view on love and relationships and she’s turned into a Springer freak; it genuinely made me sad inside. I pondered this long and hard while checking in at the local Super 8. All kidding aside, revisiting this film made feel  like my fourth grade girlfriend asked me to cheat on her husband with her.

Let’s get to it then: this thing is a hot mess that just keeps giving. The leads are a cut-rate Steve Guttenberg and a cut-rate Linda Hamilton. The ninja powers are ridiculous, the cops incompetent, the gore just bad and the kung-fu laughable. Seriously, Stephen Seagal could beat these guys, and I mean current, fat, twelve-sandwich-a-day eating, let’s-go-harass-illegal-immigrants-with-Joe-Arpaio Stephen Seagal. Sidebar: Remember when he did Fire Down Below (p.o.s.) and dressed like a native and used his “star” power to promote their plight as marginalized people, and now he’s helping to quash the dreams of other marginalized people? Makes ya think. Where was I… this horrible movie that I once loved. As far as a quality film this thing just falls short. There really isn’t anything done well (maybe fourteen seconds of sword fighting) and the plot literally jumps from ninja story, to aerobics, to a lame love story, to a possession story, to a revenge story. All of the scenes that were awesome as a kid were just funny to the point stunned shock. Start to finish, all but fourteen seconds, of it is terrible.

Having said that, here is a list of things I learned watching this movie as an adult that, I hope, will convince you that you need to see it. Settle in and hold on:

– Ninjas have superpowers like crushing golf balls in their hands, Vulcan mind melds and extreme bullet resistance.

– Standing in a circle around a single enemy, firing handguns and shotguns, is totally a great strategy and you will not kill the guys on the other side when you miss.

– A woman that narrowly escapes a dying ninja, with a sword, who attacks her will pause after four steps and check out said ninja if he starts speaking Japanese with a “serious face.”

-The best way to open a film is action sequence, introduction of main characters, aerobics montage.

-The patrons of an upscale fitness center will stand and watch, calmly, as five bodybuilders try to rape a woman, and then break into cheer when she beats the piss out of them.

-If you really like a chick, calmly stand there and watch as five bodybuilders try to rape her (especially if you’re a cop). Remember to look impressed when she beats the piss out of them.

-Stalking totally pays off, but not until you get upset and throw her out of your car (which is the actual goal of stalking; get ’em to the car).

– Dead ninjas use video games to possess you.

– A one-eyed Japanese man, whose remaining eye is lazy and wears a snake-eye medallion eye-patch stands out in a crowd (and can disappear).

– Your screams make noise when someone is strangling you with piano wire. You can strangle someone with piano wire in twenty seconds.

– Two days of dating a woman is ample time tell the exorcist to keep going when the exorcist wants to stop (and the exorcist is David Lo Pan).

-If a one-eyed Japanese man, whose remaining eye is lazy and wears a snake-eye medallion eye-patch bursts into your place of work and waves you and your buddy over without saying a word, don’t go over.

– Cops totally hang out with their girlfriends at work and “try to make” the funeral for a fellow officer mysteriously killed by a sword one day after a ninja kills like, twenty-five cops. He shows up in jeans and a plaid shirt.

-Cops have stormtrooper aim with shotguns, in fact, cops suck at everything cops train to be good at.

-Zombie ninjas can hypnotize Shaolin Monks by screaming; smoke-bomb smoke automatically beats hypnotized Shaolin Monks.

-Zombie ninjas drill themselves into the ground and cause an earthquake when defeated.

Yup. I learned all of those things from this wonderful movie. The only conclusion I can form is that kids are stupid; just really, really stupid. I vividly remember this kicking ass, and my grade four girlfriend having the cutest braids, and the J Geils Band. I guess you can’t go back, but who cares, you’d just be an incredibly stupid kid again (so stupid).

Until the next time, live in the now, let the past be and laugh at a terrible movie now and then,

The Hostage

P.S. On second thought it’s almost too bad to laugh at, watch Azumi instead.

Posted in About the site, Action
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Hostage Week Episode 3: Revenge of the Cox

•March 27, 2011 • Comments Off on Hostage Week Episode 3: Revenge of the Cox

Good day all,

So good to be back with you folks and I hope you’ve had a chance to check out some Marx Brothers and Serenity if you hadn’t before. Tonight I’m pulling out a much maligned and under-appreciated gem called Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story. Now I have, used to have, a lot of friends that hated this movie. The guys at work were all “there’s dick everywhere” (and there is) and I was like “yeah, but when they do it it’s really, really funny” (see Forgetting Sarah Marshall). One guy said he hated it so much he wanted to scrub his looking balls with lye to remove the memory (I’m paraphrasing). I felt like that poor, sad kid at the edge of the field holding his glove waiting for someone to invite him to play (poor little bastard), when all of my friends hated this thing I loved (I understand Goth kids now). The key is that this flick is a perfect example of unapologetic. absurdist comedy that skewers music/biopics perfectly. To better explain catch me on camera three so I can explain my thoughts about every biopic you’ve ever seen:

Ahhh, good to be back on camera 3 (big ups to Jon Stewart). Okay, so every music biopic has some standard qualities that you can check off a list like the vampire and werewolf rules broken in a Twilight book. Sidebar: wouldn’t you love to see Angelus, evil Spike, Dru and Darla annnnnd, let’s say “The Mayor” dropped into the next Twilight movie? Pause, savour the deliciousness of that scene, sparkly corpses everywhere. Sorry, that was a little slice of heaven. Anyway, every music biopic has the drug and alcohol problems, the rise to the top and tragic crumble, the recognition later in life/after a young death, the one woman that never gives up on him/can’t save him from himself/contributes to his crash (I used the “his” because it’s just too many slashes otherwise, sorry ladies). You get the point, they’re formulaic. The real pisser is the Academy loves them and they win a ton of awards (excluding Jamie Fox, that was a ridiculous performance). Some actors, like the aforementioned Fox, do great things in the roles, but they are really impersonations. I accept the hate of those who disagree, it’s just an opinion, but we have a guy in Canada called Marc-Phillipe Gagnon, and the dude’s incredible, but does he deserve an Oscar? I recognize the quality of some, I just don’t like the genre.

Thanks for that. And just as those films have the cliches this movie does a great job of nailing them on every one in hilarious ways.

This film is very similar to Black Dynamite (among the greatest films ever) in that there is a deep knowledge and love of these films and their flaws. I don’t think this is insulting the originals in any way, they just make sure they don’t take themselves or their bullshit too seriously. It has about four or five running gags going at the same time, without overlapping or coming too soon (hee hee) that rank with the all-time greats like “two dollars” from Better Off Dead and the chihuahua from Hotshots. I mean, they play the songwriting joke to have him miss writing Lou Reed by one word in 1966. The cameos are hilarious, especially the entire Beatles bit with every English accent possible, and it never gives itself time to take itself seriously. The songs are catchy and brilliantly laced with dirty intentions (see “Let’s Duet”), and there are an unrelenting number of subtle dick jokes using his name.  I mean the guy acknowledges how dark his dark period is in the dark period montage (take that Cruella, I know fancy terms too).  I can’t believe this movie got the mediocre reviews it did (Metacritic 62, and a friggin’ bone and a half on Videohound).  It reminds me of the initial response to The Big Lebowski, and before your head assplodes I am not saying this is in the realm of that classic, it just hasn’t got the credit it deserves (no respect).

On a final note I would like to explain a term I threw out earlier. If I come across as douchey or know-it-all-ish I apologize, trust me, I get that from her majesty all the time. The term is absurdist comedy (should those be capitalized, your majesty?) and it means that it doesn’t have to be realistic. In fact it celebrates the fact that it isn’t realistic to create what I like to call a chuckle. Those of you who know Harpo get the model (and he is the model). The Zucker/Abrahams movies are the best example, especially when all three are involved (the first Naked Gun and Top Secret are my faves, but they’re all great). Basically it’s rapid-fire, stupid jokes brilliantly pieced together by brilliant writers; imagine if Family Guy had South Park‘s writers (and watch “Cartoon Wars” to boot). I love these comedies like my chillins, if I had any (and, honestly, I might), and this is a great one. It’s a great film term to throw at snooty folks when they start talking about Fellini, Bergman, Kurosawa and Boll (psych!).

Until the next time remember, freedom is a metaphor, which is a secret, that’s what a metaphor means, it means it’s a secret,

The Hostage

P.S. John C. Reilly is awesome, admit it.

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