I've been told by over half of my ever expanding cadre of readers that my movie review blogs are boring. My wife tells me this all the time. She tells me no one has seen any of the movies I've seen, so no one wants to read about them. Thus this blog is not about movies. Well it is, but it's not, even though it is (or isn't!). What follows is an intricately crafted mosaic wherein you will learn how I feel about all sorts of issues. If some of those issues happen to be films that happen to be nominated for an increasingly meaningless Academy Award, I assure you those issues will be discussed in such a way or presented in a proper enough context wherein you will not need to be familiar with said issue to understand the many jokes, both subtle and overt, in which it is surrounded.
One of the seven readers of this blog, who occasionally posts comments under the identity of Wingnut Libertarian (and who, if you are interested, has a blog of his own at www.planetholt.com...but I warn you: going there will reveal his true identity to the world), is currently in India. The country, not the state. He and I work for the same large corporation who as of yet has only laid off a few people, me not included. It is my hope if they lay off Wingnut, they at least fly him home first. An unspecified number of months before Wingnut left for India, he worked in my building. At the time I didn't really know him. I sat (and still sit) on the second floor, while he sat on the first floor, a little bit down from the first floor men's lavatory. Today, I had to use said lavatory because the incredibly shy and slow-moving cleaning lady (who drives a 2004 SUV of some sort) had set up shop in the second floor pisser. Because it's rude to pee in a room with a woman who's not your wife, I took the stairs (the stairs!) down one flight. On the way to relieve my penie of the infuriated, overheld urine I walked by Wingnut's old desk. Sitting there now is a large Indian woman. Isn't that excellent!?!
India seems to be in the news a lot lately. First, they had bombings. Second, evidently Bombay changed it's name to Mumbai. Third, a movie starring honest to God Injuns called Slumdog Millionaire is nominated for a moving picture Oscar! Now I'm sure you've all heard about how it has such a unique plot and is exquisitely woven together. A true tale of love. Bah! If this movie starred real live Go Americans instead of Indians, it would star Freddie Prinze Jr and Leelee Sobieski and would have been released straight to the $5.50 DVD bin at Wal-Mart. Here's the plot: A poor boy is on Who Wants To a Millionaire. He is winning. The government accuses him of cheating, because he's poor, and poor people aren't smart. We then learn his life story through a series of flashbacks that happen to coincide with all the questions he is asked on the show. It's as if someone was sitting on a recliner wearing their favorite "Cows are Good" t-shirt eating a bowl of curry and watching a sub-par episode of Lost. Then the person triumphantly stood and said, "If they can inexplicably make Charlie unlikeable for two episodes, I really can write the tale of unrequited love centered around my favorite game show. I'll be rich. I'll be famous."
But famous enough to be a select city? Probably not. It is now the time to mention that I am now a select city. In the past, I would have to sit idly be and watch commercial after commercial for the pretentious, award-nominated films that debut in LA and New York ("select cities") and don't get to Iowa until two months later. By the time the movie finally arrived in Iowa I'd already know the entire plot because New York and LA think the world revolves around them, and that we want to hear every detail of everything they've seen, read, or done. We don't. Fuck you New York. And to a lesser extent, fuck you too LA. This Thanksgiving my sister, a freshman in college and thus well-versed in how to illegally view theatrical releases online as well as download both music and excessive amounts of porn for free, told me where I could watch said theatrical releases illegally. I tested the site, by watching Zack and Miri Make a Porno. I note this only because the two main characters are inspired to make a porno after going to their high school reunion and meeting a classmate who is dating a gay porn star. The gay porn star's name? Bobby Long.
You know how every group of people from Bayside (Screech) to New York (Phoebe) has that one screwball that will someday die in such an amusing fashion the group won't even be able to mourn him/her? That person usually (always) has several strange quirks that would cause a considerable lack of shock at the following headline: "Bobby Long charged with all sorts of boy love...accepts and defends his charge inside." Not only that, but deep down you know they will at least experiment with or be addicted to pornography at some point in their life? That person for my group of friends was/is Bobby Long. I'm happy to report he thus far is not a child molester, and to be honest, he probably won't be. He prefers sexing large and/or married women. Anyway, the same guy I used to hate being in public with because of his tendency to randomly stand up and dry-hump the air shares the same name as a fictional gay porn star--an inspiring gay porn star at that. That right there is my proof of a Divinity.
Since the movie site worked so well, I decide to watch all of the movies with awards buzz early, instead of spending $9 of my hard earned gift certificate at the theater. I watched Milk and Frost/Nixon first. Frost/Nixon was great if only because Nixon is my favorite president. Not only did he forever ruin people's trust of government officials and turn the whole "A government run by the people," mantra into a running joke most American statesmen have yet to figure out, he's scary looking. That or presidents have a way of morphing their appearance into their personality. George W looks like a complete and utter doofus. Bill Clinton may not be a player but he looks like he crushes a lot. George Sr looks like a father of a complete and utter doofus. Jimmy Carter looks like a guy who by-golly may not be the smartest man in the world, but he sure can swing a hammer. Meanwhile creepy, corrupt Nixon looks like a guy who would have zero issues sneaking into your room while you sleep and digging out your eyes with a sharp icicle. Then, when you wake up and are distraught over not having any eyes, he'd give you a big glass of ice water that you don't realize until later when you piss out a chunk of eye was once a weapon used against you. What a great movie!
I also really enjoyed Milk. It's about the election of the first openly gay official in the United States. He was elected in (gasp!) San Francisco. He was later shot and killed because some people are really scared about where other people put their penises. They should only be used in women aged eighteen or older! Anyways, the movie does a great job of proving how demented those who say, "Them people are tryin' to turn mah boy into a homersexual," sound...it shows that the gay rights movement has made some, but not a ton of progress in thirty some years.
Speaking of, last week I learned that one of my close friends from high school came out of the closet three years ago. This excites me if for no other reason than I'm now friends with a real lesbian (since my sister has yet to admit anything). If you're keeping track: over the last two years I've gained two black friends, a lesbian friend, a California Jew friend, and a large friend in a rock band. Put that in a skillet with some AAA eggs and you got yourself one fine diversity omelet. From henceforth I shall be known as The Diversity Dynamo. Changes to be made in one week. No guarantees.
I'm betting there are five of you still reading at this point. Ashley probably gave up because this blog is too long. Her husband may or may not have seen this one, because she probably closed out of it when it got too long, and he never got the chance to catch it open on their laptop. My wife stopped reading as soon as she found out it was about movies (kind of). My mom fell asleep four paragraphs ago. My dad is mad because I said Injuns, and he now thinks I'm racist because his generation doesn't understand satire. Wingnut is in India and thus can't access United States of America websites. So, Hampton, Dallas, Jon, Jeff, and Fyodr, the rest is for you.
I don't get the big deal. I like to read. It's an unfortunate testament to the state of society that a blog that is probably three to four printed pages in Microsoft Word, font 12 Times New Roman, is too long. Are you aware there are whole books longer than four pages? In the movie, The Reader, a young plastic looking boy reads a lot of books to a very naked Kate Winslet. In my sophomore year of high school I had a crush on a girl named Cassie. At least I think I did. I don't remember. We ended up going and seeing the movie Titanic together, even though it wasn't a date even though it was, because everyone had to see that movie. I remember being embarrassed as I sat next to a reasonably cute girl I may or may not have had a crush on in a theater as Kate Winslet posed for a nude portrait with Leo Dicrapio. This was the first magnificent breast I'd seen in a theater without the wet blanket accompaniment of my parentses or my friends' parentses. I remember thinking, "I like that. I'd like to see more of that." The "that" I thought about referred to boobs in general, not just Kate Winslet's. If I could somehow buy a DVD copy of the Reader and send it in a time machine back to my sophomore in high school's self (along with a DVD player because I didn't have one until college), I would have made my younger self a very happy man. And if you're one who believes that changing the past would change the future, then I'd probably be just as happy as I am right now, albeit semenally lighter. While this movie in no way deserves to nominated for an Academy Award because only fifteen people saw it, it's not as good as the Dark Knight, and the last hour is horrendously dull, I will accept the nomination on the official grounds of, "Boobies are good."
I also like to write. I don't do it as much as I'd like to, but I'm getting better. I've been aided by the fact I no longer have four bookshelves of movies to stare at each day. I must find other ways to preoccupy my time. Someday I'll be a novelist. I don't care if I'm a best selling novelist. I will also continue to work in Corporate America, so I can appreciate the fight of my soul against reality. I have lots of ideas for stories that I start, but I never quite finish. One of those ideas is about a couple who ages just like you or I, that is to say they start real young and grow real old. Except at some point in their lives they start to wake up and occasionally they will be in the past. They fall asleep in 2008. They wake up in 1984. They stay there for a bit. Then they wake up and go farther back. They are drifting backwards through time as they grow older. I'm nowhere near a talented enough author to pull this story off right now, but when I am, I will write it.
This story idea is similar, if not completely the opposite, of the nominated film, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. While the movie borrows its title and general premise from an F. Scott Fitgerald short story, it shares nothing else with it. Seeing as the movie shows genuine emotion wrapped in a nostalgic twist of reality, I loved it. It might not be the best movie of the last year (in an overall weak year that recognition belongs to either Forgetting Sarah Marshall or the Dark Knight), but it's my favorite of the five. That said, I want Milk to win the Oscar. After the ridiculous repeal of the gay marriage law in California this past November, a movie honoring a truly brave individual is called for.
And with that: I shall bid you...I shall bid you several adieus.
8 comments:
What an offensive post. Offensive on SO many levels. I'm most offended by the fact that you implied I wouldn't read it - when in fact, I did. I'm changing your report card.
First, if you were paying attention, The Dark Knight taught us what happens to those who attempt to reveal the secret identity of bloggers—wait, strike that—super-heroes. Only difference here is that I’m certainly not going to put my 300C in harm’s way to save your chubby ass.
I have a friend whose name is John Holmes. He’s actually a few years younger than me, so I think he was born after the famous John was, uh, “active”. I’d try to verify that but I just found out that our corporate internet filter has the capability to block certain Wikipedia pages.
Finally, we do have the intertubes here in India, so take that. And that!
PS—the time stamp on this post is wrong. It’s 2:32 p.m., not three in the morning.
This truly was an intricate mosaic. Kudos. I look forward to discussing it with Fyodr over some Borsch. That said, you're wrong about Benjamin Button having genuine emotion in it. It doesn't. However, you're right about boobies being good, so I'll let it slide.
"semanally lighter" - excellent!
TOO BIG OF FOREHEAD.
i've not read the blog yet, but ye gods that's too much 'diversity hero' to stomach.
Jay the movie Milk looks gay.
Am I Fyodr? If not, why don't I get my own "my writing is too good for this person for this reason" line?
*Charlie Brown walk to sad piano music*
You acquired me as a friend long before I moved to California. Although, you have always known me as one of God's chosen people.
I would like to hear more about your take on movies. Many of them we have already discussed.
On the subject of Slumlord Landlord, you are not a select city. You are a "Now Playing Everywhere." Also, they have added "A Danny Boyle Film," above the title. Is that supposed to make me want to see the movie now? I guess what I'm trying to say is, Danny Boyle is a sucktard who can't dress himself.
Speaking of dressing, right now we have the clothes of the lead actress of Slumcat American in our lobby behind a glass display. I don't recall her name, so we'll just refer to her as Freida Hot Tamale.
As for your novel you want to write, do this:
1. Watch Forrest Gump
2. Write each scene down on a notecard.
3. Switch up a few people and places, but keep the plot points the same.
4. Add your premise.
5. Boom! Your story is written. Your book is now nominated for an Academy Award.
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