05.31.09
05.30.09
Pressure Drop
For the mo’, anyway. Hi. Many errands and odd jobs have been completed, and this week-end I’m basically in solo tidy-up mode. Since this note will be brief, and with a desire to keep you entertained, I very nearly changed the “theme” (style) of this “blog” (stupid fucking online babble shit) — however (and I quote): “To install a theme you generally just need to upload the theme folder into your [stupid fucking boolsheet] directory.” Well, I found a suitably strange and potentially irritating theme, liked it reasonably well, set about this allegedly simple business of uploading it — and, of course, there is NO apparent tool on this entire system for uploading fucking anything.
Thus, I simply bid you a very nice Saturday.
Thursday and Friday were interesting, and involved not only Pat Boone, James Cameron and Mena Suvari — but also very nice people, very nice people not being very nice, newish friends, oldish friends, and Typical L.A. Boolsheet. If I feel like it on Saturday, I’ll tell you about it via an official Update or something. Phrases such as “she is the sort of woman I would very much like to wear as a hat” may be involved. You never can tell!
But mainly I’ll be padding around, moving and packing things, and writing much more important things, and eating reasonably well, and maybe getting in a bit of exercise since that’s the American way of communicating with other people (”Dude! I just ran seven and a half motherfucking fuck fuckleton fucklestick and the fucklevators…” etc.). Like I care. But there’s good company around (mostly), and somebody congratulate me on my endurance test: TWO OF MY FOUR GODDAMMED INTOLERABLE NEIGHBORS HAVE BEEN EVICTED AND ARE GONE! Whew. Alas that this is how it goes — but, friends, this is how it goes.
I even know better now than to bother with any women in L.A. From experience. And I’ll be delighted to tell you all about it.
So…mainly…it’s kind of a happy, healthy and productive mini-era; mostly lonely and totally devoid of romance, sure — but I didn’t cause that. The fucktastic flying fucklefuckers did that! (Quoth Randy ‘n’ friends: “WE LOVE IT!!!”) When in L.A. — give up on anything remotely emotionally healthy: You’ll have a much happier and easier go of it, I promise!
So have a good Saturday — I shall — and I’ll be back with something perhaps more substantial, soon.
Luv,
~G
05.27.09
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR CHRISTOPHER LEE!
There is one entertainer — one — in our era, who fully deserves the mantle of Genius; and friends, his name is Christopher Frank Carandini Lee. He is tall, he is polite, he is very talented, he is the coolest human ever.
In 2001, prior to the release of the film of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, it was my great pleasure to interview Mr. Lee. The heat of his most recent resurgence of popularity had not yet risen, and he was very generous: I chatted with a legend! As a happy side-effect, the interview provoked envy in an uppity journalist who was always competing with me for stories (when he wasn’t actively attempting to shoot mine down), and thus, although some of it got published in Los Angeles and San Francisco, the rest of it (and there was quite a lot) I have kept safe, and shared not. This must change! I shall transcribe and deliver that interview soon (within a proper context).
What I can tell you is that Mr. Lee is an Artist amongst Actors.
And that he is first and foremost (with Messrs. Bradbury, Harryhausen and Vonnegut) of my Honourary Grandfathers (for I never knew my own).
I have one grand plan for Mr. Lee. (IT’S BIG! WISH ME LUCK!)
A fine role model, to say the least! Let us behold but a few simple facts:
Mr. Lee has made more film and television appearances than any Western actor (Joe Dante’s Gremlins 2: The New Batch was his two-hundredth — way back in 1990!).
Although he has been singing — most sonorously! — for decades, Mr. Lee released his first album, Revelation, in 2006, at the age of eighty-four! (”Just a number,” indeed!)
Mr. Lee speaks a crazy amount of languages.
Good films, great films, films less-than-worthy: Mr. Lee has done them all. (And a great many of them can be found — from obscure VHS to collectible DVD classics — in my abode.) One factor unites them: Mr. Lee shows up, provokes the imagination, and leaves the viewer richer for his presence.
Despite appearing with Roger Moore in the superb adaptation of The Man with the Golden Gun, Mr. Lee isn’t afraid to admit that Pierce Brosnan is the best Bond.
Mr. Lee votes Conservative — and while this may sound troubling at first to reactionary Liberals, having spoken with him, I feel that his Conservativism leans mostly toward the common good; call it Intelligent Conservativism.
Mr. Lee hunted Nazis.
Mr. Lee’s family comprised the first opera company ever to tour Australia.
Mr. Lee bore what is probably the silliest character-name in all of the Star Wars galaxy — and made it work. (A lesser talent would have crumbled.) Count…DOOKU!
For those who love the Fantastic (I know I do), Mr. Lee has portrayed Frankenstein’s Monster, the Mummy, Dracula (of course), and even found his way into the Werewolf genre, via Philippe Mora’s astounding The Howling II: Stirba — Werewolf Bitch.
Mr. Lee is the star of the film I sincerely consider The Third Greatest Motion Picture Of All Time. (And soon — if you’re really, really good — I’ll tell you what it is!)
But above and beyond all that, I consider this to be True Success: Mr. Lee has been married to his beautiful wife, Birgit Kroencke, since 1961!
Yes, indeed, I have read Mr. Lee’s fine autobiography, I admit to having a couple of his more noteworthy action figures atop one of my many bookshelves, and I have even seen films featuring Mr. Lee which have not been released yet (when I care, I get around). Am I obsessed? Not in the slightest. But I feel there is a great Beauty in this man’s presence — an Elegance, Grace and Energy which resonate from each of his highly distinctive works.
He’s Georges Seurat! He’s Sherlock Holmes! He’s Dr. Fu Manchu! He’s Grigori Rasputin! He’s Rochefort! He’s Captain Zandor!
He’s Skull! He’s Flay! He’s Willy Wonka’s Dad! He’s…(and this is his fave role)…Mohammed Ali Jinnah!
This is an Artist; this is Christopher Lee!
And on his birthday, today, I wish him much joy and good company, and to commence a jolly evening: “to live happily ever after, with a Chablis and some laughter…”
With you, Dear Reader, I share this favourite of mine — among Mr. Lee’s many, many, many, many, many scenes. It’s from Philippe Mora’s wondrous and very funny The Return of Captain Invincible, wherein Mr. Lee portrays Mr. Midnight, with this song written by Rocky Horror’s Richard O’Brien, and co-starring the always-impressive Alan Arkin…plus a gaggle of mega-hotties and sidekick Julius. Behold: Mr. Lee, singing, dancing and taking New Wave pop by storm!
(Really, I cannot tell you how much I love this. Happy Birthday, Dear Mr. Lee!)
Love,
~Gregory
27 May, 2009
05.26.09
anon
I’d like to thank my regular visitors for keeping regular…
…however, this particular Tuesday is much like a Monday…
…and I fully refuse to participate in Monday rituals of any kind.
Plus, there’s a HYOOGE amount of work I need to do — quite outside of here.
Plus I’m happy — and who writes anything interesting when they’re happy?*
Thus: Thanks for clicking in, but I haven’t anything new for you here just yet.
Later on Tuesday, I’ll celebrate a good man in prose and imagery.
Also: I almost wrote an essay called “FUCK WORK” — but we’ll see if I get back to that (obviously, it’s intended to be inflammatory — but I aim to instill it with truth, too).
Anyway: Have a nice Tuesday, even though it’s essentially a Monday.
Have I mentioned that I hate Summer?
(*Dubious conundrum.)
05.21.09
Greatest. Balls. Ever. (a teaser)
Upon waking this afternoon I turned to my “facebook” comments for company, and entered into a feisty but courteous argument over the relative merits of Ken Russell’s TOMMY (1975) — a movie I love (and am attending ce soir). Turns out not everybody loves it. News to me! Feeling a bit more sensitive than usual (if that’s possible), commented I: “Please help me find my people. Or am I the last of my kind?…”
Ask…
ASK!
…and thou shalt receive:
A fuller appraisal COMING SOON…but I’ve been attending this Festival for years…since it started, as far as I can declare (with increasing enthusiasm each year)…
…and…
…words cannot express the size of the smile on my face.
Oh…I’ll be there…and this may be an ideal catalyst to put me over for that long-overdue return to New York…
05.19.09
Old Friends (Update #5)
Why Simon & Garfunkel? Why not? It’s such an audaciously beautiful and poignant song. When I was a teenager, sometimes I “babysat” some local kids, and their parents were cool, and their dad in particular had a very impressive record collection. He essentially introduced me to Dave Brubeck; but in the main, he really wanted me to play his Simon & Garfunkel records. This I did — and I am amazed to this day that an older guy would cordially invite some young whatever-I-was to risk scratching his first-edition vinyl like that! Thanks, man! You have a lovely family, and I very much appreciate not only the music, but being allowed to relax (after the kids finally went to sleep; or pretended to go to sleep) in your beautiful home. I also tended to eat all of your Cool Whip; thank you for that, too.
(I presently consider whether or not I should tell “the car story” — a related, woeful tale of Youth Disappointed and Made Distrustful — but it’s too much to fit here.)
Why “Old Friends”…well…first let’s do another Star Trek letter. This is from Bonnie, from one of those “Reston, Virginia, USA” locales, maybe D.C. or something?
Just read your review in Rotten Tomatoes. I thought I was the only one on the planet who wasn’t thrilled to pieces with the new Star Trek. But every comment you made was dead on.
I felt like the screen writers wanted to make a movie where every scene was “cleverly crafted” to thrill the movie goers. Never mind having a cohesive story.
“Lets have Nimoy in the movie. The crowd will love it”
“Lets do the worm torture scene”. The Khan fans will love it”
“Lets do the barren planet scene (even if it has nothing to do with the story). The Star Wars fans will love it.
And so it went. The Eewok lookalike had me slumping in my seat. Or maybe he was left over from the Gremlins. Either way, certainly wasn’t very original.
I love fantasy movies, but this one had no depth. Again, thank you for such an excellent review.
Bonnie
Yeah. Thank you, Bonnie. Please pardon that my response to you may be less “passionate” than those to the actively hostile — but while there are certainly people in this world who would chime in with you and proclaim, “You’re right! I am pretty great, aren’t I?”…I’m not one of them. Three notions, though:
1. Thanks for pointing out that Star Trek is FANTASY. There are all sorts of definitions for Sci-Fi, and we’ll let the mega-nerds duke it out over that stuff. To me, simply, Star Trek has always been “Science Fiction Sans Science” — which is not to say that there’s a dearth of scientific consideration put into its production; but rather, any and all Science in this Fiction is quite subservient to Human (and, though mostly metaphorical in intent, “Non-Human”) Endeavour…and just crackling good stories. One of the few ways I think the new movie gets something right is that, despite its terrible clumsiness and franchise-wide petty thievery, it still wants to engage people in a great FANTASY adventure. I don’t feel that it succeeds — but, in this regard, its goal is noble. (Maybe, with that, my film-school peer who had a big hand in its production may eventually forgive me my frankness…while he’s busily tripping over his bales of money.)
2. “Scenes” — yeah, this movie is essentially a warmed-over (more like boiled-over) hodgepodge of Trek-isms (and other-isms), which technically combine to tell a story — but oh, does that story ever suck. And yet just Sunday night I received some wisdom as to why people love it so much: I was hanging around a cinema and chatting with some cool fellows, one of whom walked out of Trek XI after ten minutes (he hated the opening scene; which may be the “best” in the movie — it’s certainly the only thing approaching originality, which ain’t sayin’ much), one of whom hadn’t seen it yet but offered up a terrific pantomime of Spock sodomising his own grandfather — and one (notably, the youngest; even though he’s also very smart) who saw and loved the movie. To him I posed this question: “When Nero witnesses his planet (Romulus) being destroyed, then escapes through the black hole created by Spock in a too-little, too-late attempt to stop the catastrophe (which unleashes a whole slew of other questions), he goes back in time twenty-five Earth years (?): So okay, IF HIS PLANET STILL EXISTS AT THAT POINT, AND ALL HE NEEDS TO DO IS PREPARE HIS PEOPLE (PRESUMING EVERYBODY ON ONE PLANET IS ONE PEOPLE; THESE MOVIES OFTEN DO, WHEN CONVENIENT) FOR THE CATACLYSM APPROACHING IN A FULL EARTH-QUARTER-CENTURY (THAT’S A LOT OF LEAD TIME!), WHEREUPON THEY COULD GET THE “RED MATTER” THING GOING AND SOLVE THE PROBLEM OR AT THE VERY LEAST EVACUATE THE PLANET AND GO LIVE ON NEARBY ‘REMUS’ IN HIGH STYLE, WHY DOES HE CHOOSE TO IGNORE THE PROBLEM ALTOGETHER AND INSTEAD FOCUS HIS RAGE AND REVENGE UPON THE ONE PERSON IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE WHO WAS ACTUALLY TRYING TO HELP HIM AND EVERYONE ON HIS PLANET?” (paraphrased) And came the smart fellow’s reply: [Gesture of Eating Popcorn].
3. While I certainly appreciate your letter (as well as the others), and I’ll answer more if relevant, I have to admit to some mild embarrassment that the most attention my reviewing has gotten in a long while involves chewing out an enormously popular movie for being insipid. Not exactly a massively humanitarian and philanthropic career path. But despite my snarkiness and brief jumbling of narrative details, I am pleased that the words resonate with people who care — one way or another — about these things. I tend to like these sorts of people (when they’re not yelling). Thanks again.
*
Funny — since Star Trek is technically a post-apocalyptic franchise (for Earthlings and Vulcans alike!), I find it a bit odd that a friend and I are off to another post-apocalyptic sequel-prequel-reboot Tuesday night — helmed, similarly, by a guy who may or may not have Clue #1 about how to do this sort of thing. We’ll see.
Funnier, to me — and a bit sad? — is that I really was pretty much sewn up and satisfied with this year in studio movies by about the first quarter: Tentpole movie: WATCHMEN (nobody’s going to top that); Family-fantasy movie: Coraline (ditto); and Comedy: I Love You, Man. All three of these delighted me. Being an elegant man who likes elegance (although, these days, it may not show), I admit to complacency verging on smugness in this regard: Three great movies from Hollywood. Why roll the dice and risk another Star Trek XI?
*
Returning to the topic of “Old Friends” — although there are some old people in my life (almost surrogate grandparents; how direly I have needed them!), and some friends (I’m blessed with a brilliant handful), this topic is meant in a more ethereal sense: Those “Old Friends” who haunt you (if you let them); who are, indeed, a part of you (if you can find a way to acknowledge them).
I awoke on Monday so fucking miserable that I went into one of those “May I Just Die Now?” modes. It builds up, the crud: “Parents” don’t care about me (no; they really, really do not: Evidence abounds); Women have been sensationally shitty to me; The career path turned out to be like pouring my blood into a shark (a fat, ugly, stupid, toothless shark — but a hungry and unconscionable shark nonetheless); FUCKIN’ FUCKED-UP FUCKERS OF NEIGHBORS (latest word on one of them: She confided in another she was going to “return” their adopted child if it proved too expensive); Give love, get shit in return (thanks, girls); Etc., etc. It may sound petty (it is petty!), but little stuff accumulates and depresses me — like, after losing my job/income/community, a popular arthouse cinema chain stopped sending me their annual entry pass for all of their theatres. I LOVED that card! I LOVED being a part of that! But it stopped showing up, and I wasn’t in that club anymore. Again: petty — but I sure missed it when it was gone.
The big one Monday morning was that I seemed to have fallen out of the loop with an institution of higher learning where I did indeed do some higher learning — the emails dried up, the notices of events, etc. I awoke to severe pangs of missing that stuff. I love more than one institution, but this one is right up there, oh yeah. As Monday ravaged the terrain outside my place (quite literally: when those motherfuckers aren’t blowing their ILLEGAL leafblowers, they’re chainsawing the living fuck out of what could be pretty trees until they BUTCHER them), I ached: Was this beloved institution next in line for parties wishing me to be sucked into Oblivion?
Dutifully, I switched on the computer and checked my email.
Smile.
SMILE!
Not only was there a brand-new, totally fresh email from said institution in my mailbox — it ALSO happens to concern EXACTLY the sort of programmes I love, for the foci of which I have been desperately yearning. It is truly difficult to navigate one’s way back to one’s loves — when one’s loves aren’t apparently sending up any sort of signal flares. But this one: Bull’s-eye!
I have a lot of loves and interests — but this, this crystalised it perfectly for me: It put a Genesis in the Chaos. It’s been with me all along, gradually evolving, but here it was and is, in my mailbox, spelt out!
Whew.
Thanks.
*
Which leads us, finally, to the topic of “Old Friends”…and how it’s…well…sometimes it’s people you actually know — maybe bloated now, or smoking too much, or embittered, or religious-crazy (one hopes not, on all counts) — but sometimes it’s…energies. (”Pure Energy”?) I have a few sweet and wonderful people in my life, and yet, for years, there’s been this almost all-encompassing loneliness — for me, it really feels like being a little vessel at the bottom of the ocean, with the hull crunching in on all sides. Like: WHY AREN’T ALL THE GREAT THINGS THAT COULD BE HAPPENING, HAPPENING? BECAUSE NOBODY IS FUCKING TALKING WITH ME, THAT’S WHY! WHY THE FUCK DON’T THE VERY PEOPLE WHO SHOULD (”Should” — heh.) FUCKING GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ME EVER SAY USEFUL OR WISE OR EVEN JUST MODERATELY FRIENDLY WORD #1 TO ME, AS YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS PASS???
Today it occurred to me that perhaps loneliness is vanquished from the inside.
You can’t wait on people; they most likely will not show up.
Ever.
What are you going to do? Talk to their gravestones? Make a web-page dedicated to them? Whee.
Yes, I am often extremely resentful at how things COULD be great (or even reasonably good), but instead they’re mostly muddled and pointless because most of the people I need like to sit around with both thumbs up their asses — but I do perceive a path for getting beyond this.
Today wasn’t any sort of epiphany (although my dead Mac did suddenly start working again; a true miracle — I just tried the power button on a whim, and my work is suddenly my work again!)…but something did…connect.
First off — and maybe this is a bit like the conclusion of Zemeckis’ Cast Away or Irving’s The Water-Method Man — I’ve been letting go of hopes and dreams like a hope’n'dream fire sale. “Visitors” to my previous “blog” may recall an ethereal “M” for whom I often expressed affection. She’s real. Not at all convenient — but quite real. I’ve been through a considerable amount of relocation and loneliness and even desperation in my adult life (few things hurt worse than wanting to be with someone, and being encouraged to be with them, and then being shoved aside for some butthole-of-the-week guy) — and a scant few times I thought, perhaps, I’d found happiness with a woman. As far as I understand, this is what men are supposed to do (or, mostly, try to do; it usually fails). For twenty years, I have struggled in that arena; and for twenty years, M. was the woman I loved — or, better, the woman I liked the best!
This is no longer about M. — no Judi Dench jokes, please; I find her repulsive — but it is, for me, about giving up, letting go. I wasn’t ready to be the right man for her at twenty, and thereafter, life has a way of wafting one around. She got married. She got divorced. I kept trying to do either, with no success. I loved her, though — partly as an Ideal, but also as a Friend and Lovely Woman.
M. would shun all of this — she has, actually, when I professed my interest and hopes — and now the woman who told me she’s “not on the market” has declared that she’s “in love”.
Well, don’t talk to me about “in love” (I have solid theories about it — backed up by some of the finest thinkers in the world — which upset some people to the point of madness) — but I get it: That ain’t gonna happen. That Dream must die.
Okay.
Actually — really no bitterness intended — I am fucking sick of striving to do something for someone or give them the best I’ve got — and then having it not be good enough. This, I am supposing, would be the way of things with M. — she has grown quite spoilt in her age; and the winsome, wonderful and really quite practical girl I knew twenty years ago…she’s probably just in my memories now.
I made some wrong turns (not tragic; just not right), and as a result I feel I have nothing when what I wanted was lifelong love — but I thank M. for being the face I saw, the voice I heard, when I hoisted the torch (you may keep your comments about that to yourself, thank you). Even from a long way away, she brought quality into my life while ALMOST (correction) all the other girls brought crap (and agony).
All of these matters are intricately related, incidentally, and tonight I went out in search of food and ended up taking a walk, and I really looked around, and crazy stoned kids shouted at me and burst into giggles, and homeless people hissed for “spare change,” and three tough assholes who seemed only one step genetically removed from being large bipedal pigs in baseball caps cut in front of me at the pizzeria and none of the staff noticed me at all for several minutes and I felt like the ghost that Grant sometimes calls me when he thinks I’m not listening, but within it all…
I was listening to D. making weird jokes and New Agey comments in the snowy fields of the Pacific Northwest…
…and I was struggling to comprehend even half of what our Sound professor at USC was saying…
…and I was at one of several Jane Siberry concerts…
…and I was in a milk bar somewhere in Melbourne, dreading the gradually dawning awareness that my life would not unfold there…
…and I was reading the graffiti on the bus-stop near Loch Ness: “THERE’S A BIGGER MONSTER IN MY PANTS!!!”…
…and J. and J. — the twin redheaded boys who lived up the street — they were working on their mammoth snow-fort, and I was helping them, and seriously, it was HUGE and VERY COMPLEX — all ramps and tunnels and even a central atrium — and could we muster enough snowfall and hands-on wherewithal to do something like that today?…
…and…
…well…
…I’d like to find something pithy or at least philosophically soothing with which to end this ramble…but mainly it was lots of people and places and things which aren’t part of my life anymore…but which also, kind of, are.
It risks entering “Dorothy” territory if I drag actual, present friends into this, so I won’t do that — but:
It is worth noting that with release comes revivification. I dropped the prism through which I was seeing life — it wasn’t a bad prism, but it was no longer an appropriate prism — and it broke, and all those little rainbows and tricks of the light, and of perception, they sort of swooped in and played THIS IS YOUR LIFE with me in no particular order whilst I sought a decent Sicilian slice in Southern California (no mean feat).
“Old Friiends,” y’know? This is such a trade-up, me-me-me, bullshitty environment in so many ways…I needed to recall that some people don’t vanish, some people actually stay, and evolve, right alongside you — even if you can’t see or hear them all the time, they’re there.
This is nothing life faith, incidentally — I don’t like faith, and I don’t like hope; actually, I believe in neither (this whilst one of the pushy bipedal pigs was wearing an Obama “HOPE” t-shirt — I look at that thing, and think it might as well say: DRUGS).
But I am happy to have Friends in this world.
Thanks.
05.18.09
I Am Legume (The Vegetarian’s Response to the Southerner)
Quick one from the mailbag:
The link to the “I Am Legend” review pulls up “The Last Mimzy”. – Just thought I’d let you know.
I’d love to fin dout what you thought of “I Am Legend”!
Nicole
Well, thank you, Nicole — a Leo from Georgia, USA — for expressing interest!
Last Mimzy…hm…that’s uncomfortable. I liked the movie, and still bemoan the fall of New Line (whose invitations and holiday cards I keep finding all over my apartment — like letters from the dead!) — but if I could change one thing about the past couple-plus years, it would be the night of that screening. Afterward, I wandered past a place where a bunch of icky freaks hang out and relentlessly co-depend on each other (I didn’t know this back then) — and something drew me in, and it seemed okay, and somebody I thought was a pleasant and intelligent person hastily attached herself to me…and I was okay with that…until it turned out that she was and is, in fact, a really nasty, shitty, mentally deficient, horrible person. Let us say, if there were another world war, I’d take out St. Louis first, so her wretched kind doesn’t get a chance to spread. That bad. Thus, unfortunately, I have very bad memories attached to a pretty good movie.
Anyway, as I’ve stated many times, I’m definitely not a web-designer — and so I thank you again, Nicole, for catching that glitch. I’ll amend it, most likely, with the next (hint: POST-APOCALYPTIC) review…which will arrive this week.
AND ACTUALLY, IF ANYBODY SANE OUT THERE HAS WEB-DESIGN SKILLS, FEEL FREE TO LAY ‘EM ON ME: WHICH SOFTWARE WOULD YOU USE TO CREATE A TEXT-HEAVY, EASILY-ACCESSIBLE SITE FOR A HUGE BUNCH OF REVIEWS AND ARTICLES AND INTERVIEWS AND ETC.? (YOU CAN COMMENT HERE, OR ELSE GO TO THE SITE PROPER.)
As both a tip and a plug for www.RottenTomatoes.com, Nicole, you can always go there and find my reviews, then click over to them (pretty sure I Am Legend is up there — but I don’t review Will Smith movies anymore; and Jack Black is next on the polite-refusal cutoff).
Without regurgitating the whole review for you, I thought Will acquitted himself well, that the shocks were fun, the moodiness impressive for a studio movie — and Akiva Goldsman totally sucks in every possible way, but particularly as a screenwriter, a position he should quit immediately because he totally sucks at it the most out of anyone ever. Akiva Goldsman should be an assistant dishwasher.
My fave bit about the movie — and I’m pretty sure it was a Canadian critic who wrote this (I wish I had) — was that the crazy plague turns its survivors into “albino acrobats” — gawd damn, that’s funny!
Anyway, pretty sure you can read the whole thing here. What did you think of the movie, Nicole?
Thanks for writing, and have a nice Monday!
P.S. Oops! And this just in, from somebody with a ridiculous fake name but whose initials are, appropriately enough, “W.C.”…
How you can give watchman such high marks astounds me, did you even read the comic, OR watch the motion comic. Forshame, the movie emphasized far too much on needless action, changed many of the origins — destroying them. Used music from the 60’s when the MOVIE was set in the 80’s.
The fact you gave INDY4 even higher marks is astounding and DISGUSTING.
Um…hm. Okay. Lemme go with relative brevity here:
I think the Watchmen movie is terrific, clearly one of the best and smartest movies of the year, and a visual triumph to boot. Frankly, I was never a big fan of the comic, but my appreciation for it grew significantly upon viewing the film — a film which clearly owes as much (or more) to Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons as to our visionary friend Mr. Snyder (last time I checked, many of the scenes in the comic are played out verbatim in the movie). Does it include all the massive loads of character backstory? No — but that’s why it’s a movie and not a book. And “destroying” seems a very harsh, Monday kind of word. As for the music, these are mostly Baby Boomer superheroes; it stands to reason that they would continue to play their musty ’60s records rather than suddenly getting all excited by Duran Duran (but that’s another movie altogether…)
And…
I like Indy 4: For me, it sits perfectly balanced with Indy 3 as the second best of the series (NOTE! With Raiders AND Temple of Doom tied for #1!). I also know that younger people love to gloat and hate on Indy 4 and use it to show how “stupid” people are who claim to like it. Well, I like it; I find in it mystique, adventure and several very exciting scenes. I don’t even like the damned LaBoof kid, and Spielberg certainly could have tried harder to match or surpass the exotic flair of Indy 4’s predecessors (even the score is lacking, a bit) — but the more I think about Indy 4 — ludicrousness and all — the more I like it. Narratively, it boldly breaks new ground, rather than crawling timidly up its own ass. Which is the polar opposite of Star Trek XI – where everybody and especially ALL the young people love it and forgive it its countless narrative bullshititudes…but the more I think about it, the more its cutesy, melodramatic, smug, idiotic presentation annoys me.
But thanks for writing, “W.C.” — and despite your mild grammatical shortcomings, I thank you sincerely for staying above the belt, and for demonstrating more of that good, unshakable Canadian courtesy!
P.P.S. Happy Monday, again. I’ll be spending most of it pen in hand — and avoiding as much of the rest of it as possible. Good luck out there!
05.17.09
‘Gators! (Update #4)
Given relatively new technology such as this, it often amazes me that people can go around “blogging” whilst also actually DOING THINGS. Apart from some of the moronic new sub-”blog” applications (a.k.a.: “tweets”), this seems to me a contradiction in terms — not unlike severely depressed people possessing the wherewithal to make art based on their misery. Have you ever been miserable? Have you ever noticed how heavy a paintbrush is when you’re miserable? — or how much pain it causes to strike two notes on a piano? It seems to me that there must be some sort of detachment — a sort of assigning a different part of the psyche to the “telling” (or “art”) part, whilst the more active part is off “doing” things (or, at least, being wantonly miserable).
Just a thought. I don’t greet you in this post from a stance of wanton misery — although, from a Sunday morning perspective, things aren’t looking too good, either. I’ve been in SoCal for most of my adult life now, so it is difficult for me to ascertain whether it’s “me” or “the place” — but I generally have a rough time with week-ends. Not meaning devastating or worrisome…just more…empty. It’s not that I don’t love people (well, smart people) — it’s more that being social (or, “full”) seems to involve shouting, “HEY, LET’S GO DO THIS STUPID FUCKIN’ THING TOGETHER! THEN TAKE PICTURES OF EACH OTHER YET NEVER SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN! YAY!” — and, with that as my option (if any), I’d rather rearrange my CDs or something equally useful.
I guess I wasn’t expecting the chronic Nothingness; again, it may be the environment; to some significant extent, I am quite sure it is (people are SO up their own asses here).
Actually, I’m in reasonably good spirits, I have barley-sweetened dark chocolate, and have drawn up a list of plans and objectives — so it’s cool. It’s just: When does this total and absolute non-fun end?
As if on cue, church bells ring. (Heh.)
[Note: Please, friends, pardon my current lack of photos; I know you like purty pitchers online, but I'm a writer who finds posting photos supremely tedious; working on it.]
Rather hilariously, the day started off with a scary dream! In the dream, I was sort of vaguely playing the diplomat in a summer camp environment run by creepy gay dudes. Now hold your horses — even though, only yesterday, I heard the three-letter-’F'-word used in a VERY liberal and public (and family-oriented!) entertainment context (through loudspeakers!), I intend no hatred here (nor does my unconscious); rather, this camp was run by gay dudes who happened to be creepy as an additional trait. (Over here there’s your Stephen Fry — over there it’s more the leering-’n'-seething-w/unresolved-hostility kinda thang.) The camp was like being in a gay club — and, speaking only personally, I don’t like being in gay clubs. (At the same time, I have no problem with their existence — in one way, at least, meaning that they’re a point ahead of churches.)
Anyway, the funny summary would be precisely this:
I awoke to a scary dream wherein I was faking smiles in a creepy gay summer camp, then accidentally caused the violent death of a friend’s mother via alligator attack.
Seriously, that’s what “happened” — and after the initial startle, it was quite funny.
(Goodness, you’re actually paying attention, aren’t you? Somebody wanna pay me for this?)
Obviously, as in most dreams, there were a lot of details, but the primary action consisted of me shooing an alligator (?) away from the general populace — only to discover that I had sent it (and another one) straight into a trajectory with said friend’s mother, who was wading in a nearby river — and, I should note, really didn’t stand a chance in hell against two alligators.
The problem was, everybody had to watch. Oh, man. Including my friend — whom I’ve known since about sixth grade. Sorry, friend. I’m sure “your mom” was intended as a symbol (as were “you”; and everything else) — but nonetheless I apologise for the rather severe faux-pas.
Bummer!
Then I arose to discover that I’m very alone, my shower is leaking, my place is a mess (although, finally, a comprehensible mess), and I very strongly dread spending another summer in SoCal — even though, ironically, a different childhood friend is FINALLY promising he’d like to visit in a few weeks — pending a potential move to silly-ass Schwarzenegger country. Hm. Patience? Duty? Fuck!
I get to do a lot of cool things — and for this I am very grateful — however, twenty years ago I had a life: It was vibrant and fun and filled with pleasant and wonderful people. I wonder why it all went away? (The conventional — American — answer to this is, of course, that it’s “my fault” somehow — but no, I could feel the initial aridity, the gradual sucking, the drudgery, the growing pointlessness…and I fought, baby! I shouted unto Earth, “Heaven” (as if) and “Hell” (as if, again), “NO! THESE ARE MY FRIENDS! WE WANNA DO COOL THINGS! WE WANNA STAY TOGETHER AND NOT BE ASSHOLES AND MAKE A LIFE WORTH LIVING AND ENCOURAGE OTHERS TO FIND THE GRACE, WONDER AND IMAGINATION IN THEIR OWN LIVES, THAT WE MAY SYNTHESISE AN HARMONIC CONVERGENCE UNLIKE ANY BEHELD BEFORE IN THE UNIVERSE!”
And from the Void came the raspy reply: “Nah. I think we’re just gonna have (almost) everyone fuck off, get old, and watch TV.”
Hm.
Well, great thanks to those without whose presence, in this mostly Not-Life, I could not do.
*
Today also started off brilliantly with a gift from the mailbag. Behold, this gem of grammar and context, from “William,” from San Diego, CA, USA:
god your a prick… get over yourself…
Uh, thanks, Bill. Caps. Comma. Apostrophe. Good day.
*
Of course, I cam only assume that this vital correspondence has something to do with my review of Star Trek XI – which, admittedly, could use a couple of tweaks — but by which I comfortably stand. And actually, given that even intelligent friends who initially jeered at it seem to have joined the nearly-unanimous global choir in dropping to their knees and passionately fellating it as “The Greatest Movie Ever Made” — this has given me cause to think: WHY is it so insta-beloved? A partial formula:
1. The world is currently depressed (more than usual), and this movie is FAST and KICK-ASS.
2. People who have never been into Star Trek (or even Sci-Fi [or even thinking]) suddenly get to “get it”.
3. Trekkies/ers finally get to feel like they’re part of something hip and shameless. (Thanks to TK for this.)
4. Young, “hot” cast.
5. FUCKLOAD of ad budget.
6. Movie never once allows its viewers breathing room to consider how insanely bullshitty it is (thus: It’s “thrilling”!)
PLUS…and this only occurred to me today…I figured out what the bait is — why people swallowed this stinky fish: hook, line and sinker. Pardon that I’m not going to tell you, because I worked for it and you didn’t — but it’s pretty simple, and you may figure it out for yourself.
Mainly, I had to go, “Wait…I loathed this movie in theory, then met “Young Spock” at a festival and gave him the “Live long…” fingers, and he seemed pleased, and I struggled to warm up to it, and Paramount (perhaps wisely? they did after all invite me to Crystal Skull, which I still think is a superior movie) did not invite me, but even that didn’t bother me — hell, first Trek movie in seven years? That’s a big deal! I (like a lot of other single adult males) happily took myself to see it! And…alas…when Star Trek XI isn’t being mediocre or silly, it’s flat-out sucking hard.
But, I reasoned to myself, there is no way that J.J. Abrams is a stupid guy. No way! Franchises, family, A+ slot in Hollywood, plus he’s properly educated, and back when I was a glorified grunt at Paramount, he was getting Regarding Henry made (which my then-boss’ son called Regarding Boring).
So why did J.J. Abrams crap all over the soul of Trek, and deliver this suckfest, cha-CHING? Apart from the huge payday, why would a smart guy do that?
And then, this morning, I discovered the secret ingredient — the one causing the hypnotic appeal and the massive box-office and religious devotion — and I went: “Oh.”
Well, anyway, although I LOATHE box-office stats (it’s truly sickening that the art form has come to that — I mean in such an instantaneous, in-your-face, make-or-break way — it’s sick!), I derive a small chuckle from Tom Hanks’ Angels & Borings besting Trek at the box office (way to go, Catholics*).
(* sarcasm.)
Okay, enough about movies — I’ll have a new BIG review up this week (or whatever).
*
Let’s see…got a friend’s mother shredded by huge, ravenous reptiles; pissed off the gay community; pissed off the Trekkers/ies; pissed off the Catholics (not that they aren’t already irritating the shit out of everybody this week-end)…let’s see…something good…
Oh: I like art. I like good art. I have a lot of art books. Sometimes I look at them, and I think to myself, “I like art.” Maybe someday I’ll share more about this topic.
Meanwhile, it occurs to me that Successful “Blogs” generally have to do with their writer(s) being all puffed-up and hyperconfident as they bestow upon thee the sweet, distilled nectar of their worldly adventures. But since Life apparently does not want me, and I continually cling to Life by my fingernails, I’ll just say that, right now, I’m all about breakfast — and if any sweeter details emerge, I’ll be happy to divulge.
05.13.09
Star Drek: The Undiscovered Email
Oops, one more: This is from Fenrir, a Scorpio from Ontario, Canada:
I suggest you see star trek again. Not that I mind the negative review but your not keeping some of the facts of the movie straight which detracts from the quality of the review. Just a suggestion but i DO like the criticism god knows the writers need to hear it and do better. That corvette scene was awful. Not enough McCoy was criminal and Uhura what was the point of that???
First: I LOVE CANADIANS! HAVE I EVER MENTIONED THAT I LOVE CANADIANS? I DO! I LOVE CANADIANS!
Second: In addition to your beautiful Canadian intelligence and diplomacy…Fenrir…here’s the thing: I probably would go see this alleged Star Trek movie again, very much in the way I am likely to eat more candy bars someday, even though I know for sure they are not good for me. If I weren’t already inundated with fascinating stories, I’d probably go see this alleged Star Trek movie several times — bringing along some aspirin because it’s a damned headache of a movie, even with (or possibly due to) every single digital artist in the whole world working on it. But I don’t have the money, the time, or the interest — and it does sort of depress me a bit that all these haters are bagging on me for “not getting the ‘Red Matter’ boolsheet”…whilst NEVER admitting that, as but one example, it is mind-blowingly stupid that Young Kirk just happens to land on “Hoth” within about a quarter mile of where Old Spock is waiting to discourage that big improbable ice-lobster/”Cloverfield” CG beastie with a frickin’ TORCH. Okay? Somebody else, please NOTICE THE STUPIDITY. (Plus: Planets generally ROTATE: How could “Nero” have possibly known that Spock would be ideally positioned on “Hoth” in order to watch Vulcan implode? EXACTLY.
Third: Turning to Uhura, back in the ’60s, there was a great point to Uhura: She was a black female star on television. Apparently Dr. Martin Luther King himself wrote to Nichelle Nichols, imploring her to stay with the show, because it meant a lot to him and other African Americans to see her, on the bridge of the Enterprise, each week. But this new Uhura…she’s not even African, as far as I know (Caribbean?), and I found her boring. As for Karl Urban, he is quickly emerging as the true star of this movie — even granting that he’s totally lifting his shtick from DeForest Kelley. Just shows how much we as moviegoers love CHARACTER — we’re willing to embrace a guy copying the style of another guy. And who’d-a thunk it, from ol’ Éomer?
Fourth: Fenrir, dear Canadian — it’s “you’re” — thank you, and pass it on.
*
Okay, that’s enough Star Trek for a while (although I may just dig out my CANADIAN VHS of Nemesis and watch it this week in defiance).
Summer is coming up quickly, and I cannot do another joyous (Mods & Rockers!) yet otherwise despondent/pointless summer! No! Yes! (to Mods & Rockers) but NO! to a ghastly solo summer. So I’ll be doing what I can to update and upgrade this site (and the new one), plus I owe reviews to a few friends for their feature films (bless ‘em) — and it’s time for me (and my fellows) to make something! — because if these guys can make this watchable but really rather lame movie and get away with it to the tune of millions and millions of dollars and religious devotion, then damn it, carve me and my fellows a huge chunk of that pie. It is our turn.
A photo? You’d like a photo? Okay, here’s a photo:
The late great Mark Lenard — not only fifty thousand times better as Vulcan Ambassador Sarek than Ben Cross…but also, niftily, the first Romulan to appear in The Original Series (and first “forehead” Klingon to appear — in the glorious Star Trek: The Motion Picture [which I happen to love]); roll that around on your tongues, Trekkers.
Star Drek: The Wrath of Mailbag
Hi. I’d like to note that stupid, insecure, fat, short and/or ugly people may accidentally read haughtiness or self-righteousness into my comments here and elsewhere — but I swear, I’m pretty cool with most people, just not with sheeple…at the moment, sheeple who seem perversely determined to proclaim a shallow, mindlessly aggressive and almost unendurably choppy Star Trek movie as the greatest thing ever. To this end, I’m getting slammed a lot for mostly disliking the movie — and mostly in ways which I feel are unfair and woefully incomplete…presumptuous. Presuming I’m a hard-core “Trekker” (which I’m not; I just dig the stuff) who hates change…nope, that’s not it at all. Or that I didn’t get the plot (I mostly did — but the plot of this movie is so relentlessly bullshitty that I feel very much absolved from having to glean every stupid geekism they waft through at warp speed, expecting it to make their crap writing look good — which it most certainly does not and is not). I also don’t think the whole new cast sucks: I could deal quite happily with more Trek work from Quinto (if he works on deepening that adolescent voice) and Urban (whom I enjoyed quite a lot, actually — if, as with anything else in this movie, mainly because it struggles to imitate something from the past, something with actual SOUL).
Anyway, I’m sorry if some people don’t get me for not getting this alleged Star Trek movie, and I do actually have some eensy little hints of a life outside this topic, but since four new personal correspondences have just shown up re: this vital matter, I choose to publish them here for the enjoyment (if any) of my readers (if any). Note: Each correspondence appears in bold, and I’ll intro each and then deliver some sort of response…apart from the longest one, the points of which I’ll answer in the body of the note.
First up is Steven, from Little Rock, AR:
Your review of the new Star Trek is not objective. If you are qualified to review movies – I don’t see how. Just because it’s not lame like the original star trek’s doesn’t make this a bad movie. In fact this is the best movie I’ve seen in years including transformers. My only thoughts one why your review is so ridiculous and sorry is that you are “daring to go against the grain” even though – deep down inside – you know this movie is far better than anything ever produced by the original creators…
Okay, thank you, Steven. They’re clearly not teaching English in Arkansas anymore. Let me help you: AN APOSTROPHE DOES NOT — REPEAT: DOES NOT — MAKE A NOUN (EVEN A PROPER NOUN) PLURAL! PLEASE LEARN THAT, AND PASS IT ON! And, ironically, that very apostrophe would have come in handy in your phrase “My only thoughts” (probably), where it would have made for a nice contraction of “thought” and “is”. As for the rest of your note, unlike a lot of Americans, I’m pretty good with “deep down inside” — and in this case, “deep down inside” was precisely the source of my ire at this alleged Star Trek movie, which (as my friend S. deftly put it), “entirely misses the essence of most of the good incarnations of Trek, that sense of hope and wonder, the notion that there are more elegant solutions to problems than blowing shit up real good.” Which…Steven…is probably why you love Transformers. Which is fine…if you are a child.
*
Now here’s one from Phil, in Purchase, New York, which is at first personally gratifying, then kind of fascinating in its advancing weirdness:
Your review of Star Trek was just grand. It is as if the world has gone to sleep. It is as if the world has been paid off. I hear they’re taking this piece of superficial garbage to IMAX!! This over-hyped, expensive TV movie on the biggest screen of all! How even more pointless. Reading your review was like a sanity check, you know like in Blue Thunder where Roy Scheider checks his watch to see if 60 seconds to him, is 60 seconds to the watch…I simply do not understand the overwhelming acceptance of this film, it is beyond my comprehension…it is…ILLOGICAL, and yet there it is…the story of this new Kirk reminded me of Oliver Stone’s “W” (Dubya), where I guess here in America, we just love drunken loser dickheads who get away with everything, who will drive fossil fuel cars in the ‘politically correct’ future, who will swear and curse for no reason, and bang anything that breathes, and make hasty arrogant decisions while holding people’s lives in their hands!
…because heroism is no longer of interest…we just like cocksuckers who can ‘fuck shit up.’ If this is the New Star Trek…something it NEVER was…this is how we see things…this is what we accept…it is truly disturbing to me…as the pulse of the nation was taken with this film, and it has been discovered by old Bones McCoy…”its dead Jim” the soul of our culture is truly dead. Where’s my new Star Trek Ipod, that has the ‘kick ass’ American Flag with the Starfleet Logo in the corner instead of the 50 Stars, I want beat somebody up and shove it up their ass after I ejaculate all over it, and say “Fuck Yeah.” Then I will feel not only patriotic, I will feel like I have finally psychologically reached the level of where I should be so I can enjoy this new Star Trek Franchise. I will look forward to “Startrek Troopers 2: Attack of the Tribbles” coming Summer 2011. Howbout you?
Hm. I mostly really like this correspondence — all the way up to “ejaculate all over it” — even though, actually, I can see how the rabid “fuck shit up”-itude of the extreme media (including this alleged new Star Trek movie, which is a prime example of it) can foment same in its criticisms: It’s like hitting somebody back for hitting you. But grotesquerie aside, I feel that Phil here feels essentially as I do about this movie (and its many, many sheeple) — put simply: THIS IS NOT STAR TREK. (A little bit, around the edges maybe, just to sell it — but as with the reboots of Bond and Batman [which have also claimed massive numbers of glazed-eyed religious converts around the globe; shudder], this thing is mainly fast, harsh and idiotic…rather than smartly-paced, wondrous and nourishing — as ALL of the previous Trek films, to one degree or another, are.) HERE, TO ILLUMINATE MY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS ALLEGED STAR TREK MOVIE, HERE IS ONE OF MY FAVE PASSAGES FROM A MASTERPIECE OF REAGAN-ERA LITERATURE, JOHN IRVING’S A PRAYER FOR OWEN MEANY:
They drove off — in the direction of St. Clair, and the reservoir; they went the wrong way, of course. Their plans were certainly unclear, but they exhibited an exemplary American firmness.
Yeah, that’s this movie to me, in a nutshell. And as for Tribbles (which I love, including in Star Trek: The Animated Series), sure, Phil, why not? But they won’t. This reminds me of the stars-out, balls-out promotion of the mostly-lame Lost in Space movie (with an early craptastic script from Mr. Craptastic himself, Akiva Goldsman). I went to see the stars and producers stump for their movie at the Los Angeles Comic Con in 1998, and, then as now, the casting was stupid (Gary Oldman as Dr. Smith? Have you ever heard the word “WRONG”?). To the point, I asked moron Goldsman if he planned to bring the Robinson family to the “vegetable planet” for their next outing (it’s one of my fave episodes of the original Lost in Space series). Moron Goldsman — a smug and idiotic man by any appraisal — mainly sneered and mocked my question. And so it is here, with this alleged Trek and Tribbles — Phil, they’re not going to go there. Next up, Kirk will probably command his stolen ship to Planet Bu’fu’, where Scotty will get to make “hilarious” sphincter jokes, as Simon Pegg is replaced by Mike Myers in “Fat Bastard” gear. For all I care, after this one, they may as well do something like that. Thanks for your letter and insolence.
*
Okay, here’s one from somebody called “Tere,” from Amsterdam, the Netherlands.
Very spiteful, totally biased reviews–your parents used to beat you up a lot, didn’t they?
Well, Tere — kinda. If you actually read my reviews (and lay off the hash-brownies for at least a few hours), it may be revealed to you that they are neither spiteful nor biased: They are the voice of a single individual speaking his opinion on matters of popular currency — no more (I have never intended absolutism) and no less (I feel that the more one experiences this field, the more validity — and originality! — one’s voice may accrue). As for my parents, alas, they didn’t actually beat me up (because then I could sue them) — but despite vaguely cheerful outward appearances, it is true that they are mostly joyless, loveless, ignorant and unsupportive people: certainly a form of abuse in terms of their children, and it often makes me feel sad and lonely — but it most certainly does not affect my ability to gauge (from my perspective) whether Whale Rider is a masterpiece or The Wrestler is a piece of shit. The bottom line is, I came to “Hollywood” because there was more love for me to experience here than anywhere else (egad), and I’ve thus far stayed (and commented) because…hm…actually, I’m not sure why I’ve stayed. If I figure this out, I’ll let you know. (Maybe it’s because, unlike many Trekkers, I’ve never been able to go hide from reality “in my parents’ basement” — because that is where [to my eternal shame and dismay] my “dad” “lives”.)
*
Hm. Now here’s the big one. This is from “Darth Xor,” a Scorpio from Atlanta, Georgia, USA. My comments, in standard font, interspersed:
WARNING: SNARKY AND GENERALLY OFFENSIVE MATERIAL AHEAD!
Upon reading your rather badly-written review of Star Trek, I noticed a plethora of factual errors and misconceptions. As a hardcore Trekkie, I am somewhat miffed by this. I decided to go ahead and point out the major ones to you, for your own education. It is my hope that this will enable you to write better film reviews in the future. However, given your track record, this is probably wishful thinking.
Ha. At least kiss me first.
Red Matter: Spock did NOT invent red matter. Nowhere in the movie did it state that he invented red matter. Frankly, I don’t know where you got that idea from. Spock merely state that he intended to USE the red matter to absorb the supernova.
When a movie plays as fast and loose with logic, common sense and the patience of intelligent audiences as this new alleged Star Trek movie does, I do not feel it to be my responsibility to catch every little bullshit plot contrivance they fling at us between the ridiculous CG setpieces. Case in point: “Red Matter.” Whether or not Spock invented it is irrelevant to me. But I am offended by that dangling and unnecessary preposition you use (”got that idea” completes the sentence more admirably), and you may wish to tag an ’s’ on the verb ’state’ — you know, since you’re “educating” me.
Supernova: The red matter does NOT turn supernova into black holes. It CREATES black holes. The idea was to use the black hole to absorb the shockwave from the supernova, before it destroyed Romulus. However, Spock was too late to prevent Romulus’ destruction. I find myself amazed that this simple narrative logic managed to elude you.
And I find myself amazed that this is worth discussing — so here’s a counter-point for you: If “Red Matter” CREATES black holes — then WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY is it necessary to DRILL A BIG STUPID HOLE INTO A PLANET’S CORE IN ORDER TO USE IT? HUH? WHY???? As I asked in the review: Why not just throw the “Red Matter” at the planet? Would that not prove adequate to destroy it?
Sabotage: What, you’re saying that two centuries from now we won’t be listening to any music from the past? I know a few classical composers who might disagree with you…
100% absurd: You do not know any classical composers from two centuries ago (they. are. dead.) — and calling the Beastie Middle-Aged Men “composers” is genuinely nauseating to me. But more to point: It’s an ugly, stupid, distracting insertion — payola, no doubt, for friends of Abrams — but nonsensical to the extreme that such a recording would prove popular so far into the future (just think about all those wax cylinders you listen to whilst cruising around in your step-dad’s Edsel).
Canyon: It wasn’t a canyon, it was a QUARRY… which makes sense, given the GIANT SHIPYARD sitting next to the QUARRY. Try paying attention to the finer details next time.
You’re right — OH MY GOD, YOU’RE RIGHT! I FORGOT: THE ENTERPRISE IS MADE OF ROCKS!
Homoerotic brawls: You know, they say that people accuse others of homoeroticism when they’re hiding strong homosexual feelings themselves. I’m just sayin’…
Guy goes into a bank, pulls a gun, says to the teller, “Gimme all your dough!” — and you happen to be standing there, and say, “Oh, look: There’s a bank-robber!” Tell me — does this make you a bank-robber?
Apple: If you really were the Star Trek fan you claim to be, you’d realize that Kirk eating the apple was a tribute to the Genesis Cave scene in The Wrath of Khan.
Hey, I have humility. I forgot that. Honestly. BUT I still think that Chris Pine delivered the moment with hideously annoying cartoonishness — plus chomping that apple twice was overkill on top of overkill.
THREE YEARS LATER: Your comment concerning the time skip betrays your utter lack of knowledge concerning narrative convention. Kirk’s academy time was skipped over because it would have been unnecessary, dull and ruined the pacing of the movie.
You wrote that very nicely — but my utter lack of knowledge utterly disagrees (lazy-ass screenwriters, ho!)
Starship Troopers: SERIOUSLY? You’re saying that Starship Troopers was UNDERRATED? That movie was nothing but a bunch of soap-opera pretty boys (and girls) mixed with senseless violence, blood and gore, topped off with heavy-handed and altogether tedious satire. On second thought, that sounds like the perfect movie for you… unintelligent, poorly-written, and a plot so simplistic a five-year-old could figure it out.
Yes, yes, and here we are. Darth — may I call you Darth? — Darth, please allow me to spell this out: YOU. DID. NOT. GET. THAT. STARSHIP. TROOPERS. — IN. ADDITION. TO. BEING. A. THRILLING. SCI-FI. ROMP. — IS. ALSO. A. FIERCE. SATIRE. ON. SHALLOW. PEOPLE. DOING. STUPID. THINGS. Which is exactly why I loved it. Sorry it was beyond your range.
Lifts: If I didn’t know better, I’d say that this section was written in parody. You’re saying that they stole the ‘heavy breathing’ bit from ALIEN? My friend, you need to go watch a movie called 2001: A Space Odyssey. Granted, its intelligent story and masterful directing will probably bore you to tears, but you would be well served to take notice of a HEAVY BREATHING IN SPACESUITS scene that features quite prominently. Please note that this film came out over ten years prior to Alien. Also, Star Wars was NOT the first movie to feature a planet being blown up. Frankly, I’m not at all surprised that you’re so ignorant of the history of film.
Hi. Still there? Yes…those three paragraphs were indeed written as parody. However, what may not be translating is that I am guessing (with rather strong hints) where this alleged Star Trek movie’s “writers” (lifters?) stole “their” “ideas” — not the actual origins of those ideas. For example, the Cantina — this was CLEARLY a lift from Star Wars…and not from the general iconography of the Western genre (which, I’ve heard whispers, came out a few years before Star Wars). Likewise, the heavy breathing. I’ve seen 2001 in 70mm on the big screen more often than you’ve had hot meals — but these shmoes, very probably, stole that isolating breathing sound from Alien. (It also occurs to me now that, rather than conceding that some of my points may be accurate, these haters — even the ones “educating” me — are all about obsessing over nitpicky stuff — much more than I ever am whilst reviewing a movie!)
Depth: You say that it requires depth to offend somebody. I’m afraid I must disagree. Your review lacks any sort of depth, yet it offended me (and several others) greatly.
Moral of the day: stupidity offends quite easily.
My review also pleased a lot of people. But since you’re so good at recognizing stupidity, perhaps you’d like to refer back to your homoeroticism theory?
Mind, these are only the major factual errors in your review. There are many, many more minor ones. I have neglected to point them out because doing so would be both a waste of my time and yours. I have no doubt that you have already become bored of this email, if you haven’t already given up reading it. Your review of Star Trek betrays your short attention span and inability to recognize narrative patterns or details. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were afflicted with the very ADD you accuse Star Trek of displaying.
Ew…”short attention span” — Darth, listen: This alleged Star Trek movie is the epitome of the short attention span (and truly shitty camerawork) — which is precisely why I don’t like it…much. Again, I tried to like it — I swear I did — but I sincerely feel that it makes a mockery of the franchise, rather than supporting it. But please note that I have read and responded to your snarktastic note as well as possible. Also: Feel free to write back any time and tell me how my web-design skills suck; for unlike J.J. Abrams, I do not throw money, noise and nonsense at a project until everybody is fucked in the head with “excitement” over it — rather, I strive to make the foundation as strong as possible given available tools, and then let it grow organically — which is the same reason that Star Trek the franchise is such a glorious achievement — and Star Trek the new movie such a flatulent annoyance.
Live long and prosper.
Don’t insult me and then throw some cheap benediction at me, Darth — that is way too American for my tastes (Amen). But you go have yourself a nice day. (Pat-pat.)
