Friday, June 26, 2015
So you became middle-aged. You got a divorce and then realized you were gay. You spill gasoline on your shoes everytime, and the paperboy throws the morning news in the azalias. Everytime. People don't try to make eye contact with you until you've got the entire tip of your finger in your nose, hunting munsters, as it were. Your children use you as a free ATM and the ex runs you down on facebook, how she ruined you for the other team, that you're hung-up on her and yadda yadda. You think about Arnold, what he did in his private life, how some lady did his laundry, and the sheer potency of Arnold from his dirty clothes made her pregnant. You think maybe you will go safari on the paperboy, that little go**amn sonofab**ch. You think, prisoners get free medical, probably beats medicare, and thats what you're looking forward to: the little card and the lady at the window making a copy with a blush on her face because she thinks you're a loser. A retired loser. And you want a silver plan, but you can't afford the silver plan, so you have to make do, becoming familiar with the hospital business office employees, not like you do with friends, but like those people are the school disciplinarians, and you're the class clown. Maybe you wanna buy a Miata and cruise for gay cowboy types at the KFC, where you fake a knowledge of horses and agriculture. You talk acreage yields and equastrian diet, nodding and smiling like a loon, over Original Recipe; you silently hope your gaydar is right, and the cowboy type doesn't beat you to death in the parking lot when you try to hold his hand. Maybe you're just lonely, you think, driving away from the KFC with a bloody lip and a footprint on the front of your shirt.
Friday, June 19, 2015
Just as Tony Stark says "We've got a Hulk", and everyone oohs and ahhs, Barack says "We've got a John Kerry." Witness the massive property loss, the devestation wrought. And instead of a Black Widow/Scary Jo, they got Ruth Bader Ginsberg, who is intimidating enough to Middle America. Iron Man with Margaret Sanger tracts in his back pocket, if that darned suit even has a back pocket. It should, but as Kyle Reese said "I didn't build the f**king thing!". It's like having a pack of serpents watching your back. Who would direct such madness? Favreau? Nah. The man who brought us House of the Dead and the semi-static rotating camera trick. Because crap like this takes vision. A hell of a vision. Imagination. The kind of faith in the face of back-breaking reality that only liberals can muster. And they ask why we aren't winning in Iraq, but we're reminded that we're not even in Iraq. I say bring on the Kurdish might, get those factions united and behind a common goal, kick some booty. How about issues of Captain America where Cap is training soldiers rather than fighting? What is that shield for anyway? An umbrella to block the sun while he is drinking his iced tea after a long day of training those defense forces. For this fictional film, I give a ranking of 5.5 of 10 stars.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Truly, Arnold was born to play the role of a cybernetic murderer from the future. And in the new film, he even has a go at a younger version of himself. This must be cathartic, confusing, one would think; perhaps inspiring a tantrum from the former Austrian: the old rooster trying to destroy the younger, presumably more vital version of himself. However, he's playing a robot and can't express emotions, so here again we see the brow-beaten formerAustrian schoolboy, repressed, stone-faced, yet probably managing a few bad jokes at the expense of a lot of car wrecks, gunshots and explosions. Sounds like a good time. -furthermore, commando was the ultimate made-to-formula film of the 80's. sequel? perhaps with someone like bobby rodriguez, who tends to bend these formulas within a pleasing comicbook sensibility.