My short play,King Leer, is the basis for a student project over in the Czech Republic. Some pics from that and the link to my play.
Like I promised, September is Promote Myself month. Instead of rando political spurts and hey, sad about the state of my pumpkins. I’ll save those for October!
Oh– if you or your group are looking for short plays, check out–ten minute plays
Directed by Jan Janout, for a university project. I am sharing a few stills from the filming project. I’m not sure of the actors involved or tech people, but can add those in later.
From the King Leer page over on Facebook–
Short film King Leer is directed by Lucie Gukkertová who also wrote the script based on a short play by The Ann Wuehler Experience. This is their second collaboration, the first film Lucie shot based on Ann’s play is Traces of Memory which is now in post-production.
Her last short horror film was a historical horror based on the work of H. P. Lovecraft Psychopompos. It has been shown on film festivals all around the world. After finishing it Lucie has mostly worked on fashion and burlesque videos under the name Gukkertová Neskutečná produkce.
Hello, various readers and passers stopping by on a snowy evening. Some Bob Frost to start us all on the road to hilarity and good cheer.
I’ve lost count of the rejections this week but it’s a LOT. I either need to write up a new batch of stories, poems and plays or keep sending out the same old crappola. Hoping this time. That time. This time over here.
That it will be different.
Except right now, truth is so much goddamn stranger than any fiction I could fart out or compose while munching French pastry and sipping Italian wine. While seated outside at a sunny cafe in Athens, Greece. I’d write longhand, of course. Using my own blood as ink.
Cause I’m a writer, dangnabbit! That’s a word you hear in old timey cowboy movies as they were not allowed to say ‘god damn it’.
Yes, the American political and all other scenes are just rife with WTF, then topped with Is That An Actual Tweet? followed by Don’t Read the Comments Section, ended with I Am So Done With Social Media, I’m Off To Raise Sunflowers To Help Third World Scarf Herders. Then the cycle starts all over again. With variations.
It’s the downward spiral. It’s the we’re imploding and prolly gonna take the entire world with us. It’s…it’s fucking hot right now.
So my thoughts are roughly—it’s hot. I should write something. About. Something. It’s hot.
Being poor, air conditioning is one of those unheard of, rich people inventions that exist in movies. Sort of kidding. I have a tiny fan. It helps. I go outside, throw water on my squash. I dig out weeds. I hear the hawks raising their kids down the road. Noisy bastards. Shut up, hawks! The corn hides the ditch bank road so the dogs have to listen real hard instead of watching to see who drives to and fro on what they obviously consider their bit of territory. Any engine gets them still and holding their breath. It’s rather creepy-cute.
What to write about. My hot take on politics? Nah, that’s just solid cuss words at this point. Eve Carlin, from hell, shouts out, hey, throw in some other words there. Feminist issues that affect us all? Golly, I’m either too much or too little here or…eh?
Oh!! Sidetrack. Here we go.
Saw the Spy Who Dumped Me. We have free Epix, whatever. So, the plot, eh. Some international whatever, been done a gazillion billion times. However, what’s fresh, you ask? Or haven’t asked at all though you’ve made it this far?
The relationship between the two best friends. Played by Mila Kunis and Kate McKinnon. It rang every true bell. How they support each other, are there for each other, their acceptance of each other’s faults yet the irritation over those faults…it’s all there. I especially found my bell rang over Kate’s character being called ‘too much’ by a lot of people, including the secret spy/boyfriend of Mila’s character. And Mila’s character siding with Kate’s character, then telling her she’s not too much. Ah!! I almost teared up.
As someone who’s been repeatedly called ‘too much’, which I ALWAYS took as—
there’s something very very wrong with me; nobody likes me unless I act quiet and not myself. I am a monster!—
That moment reminded me of what great friends I have.
I could write about my own experiences with people trying to whittle me down to acceptable size.
And never show that writing to anyone because it would be like ripping my face off and gluing a salted strip of razor blades in its place.
How I have the self-esteem of a dead rock and yes, have let other people define me because 99% of those people tell me I’m ‘too much’…!
And when I try to not be a monster, I find that I am silent and limp as moldy lettuce stuck to the gunk under the veggie drawer in the fridge. And that I am angry. Then I explode and people walk about me as if on the most delicate eggshells and…yeah, pattern.
Pattern! Yep. Pattern detected.
So I’ll stick to making up monsters or writing about sexual encounters between dinosaurs and women. Is that still a thing?? What about man’s inhumanity to man?
Oooh! I smell a Nobel outta that one!
I’ll call it Man Being Mean to Men. It will feature no women characters whatsoever. It will just be two white straight guys on a beach arguing over who’s the bigger victim of post-post modern society as the world literally burns. I will use a thesaurus a lot. I will describe their inner penis. A lot.
I suspect if I actually did write something like that, it would probably actually sell.
I’m not bitter.
I am. I am so bitter I’m a walking moldy lemon at this point. Okay.
Rejections fast and furious this week. I’ll not buck up at all. I’ll stew in my own sweat until autumn shows up and it’s STILL FUCKING HOT GOD DAMN IT FUCK FUCK FUCK. But hey, the nights are cooler. I should move to the Artic. Except it’s on fire where they’re not drilling gleefully for oil. Where else is cold?
Minnesota? Maine? Montana? It would have to be within walking distance. How much can I stuff in a backpack? I’ll have to dig up my jars of pennies I buried for a rainy day. Some jars only have one or two pennies in them but hey, that first step, amirite? Amen! A cave, some berries.
I can be the Unibomber without all the baggage.
Holy moley, what a scattershot post. But I felt it important to not write yet another political scream that is only heard by some wide-eyed mice in a deserted choir room.
I am dithering over a project. A project I will need to turn in eventually to my publisher. Yes, I have one. Stop snickering or giving me pitying looks at my delusions of being a real writer. Snort in your general direction, haters.
Okay. Sarcasm aside…!
Saint Lysette and Bloody Alice. It’s the third in my House trilogy. Alice in Oregonlandia is done, and in line to be seen by Kensington Gore’s editor/s.
Alice takes up about ten years after House On Clark Boulevard ended. The ‘tale’ moves to the world of Alice, Nancy’s daughter. Stuff happens. The end.
Yeah, I should write PR and press releases! For more money than the actual novelists ever get for their words, phrases and entire pages of words and phrases.
My mind went, hey, there’s a third book here. With everything neatly wrapped up, explained and then burned to the ground or somethin’. Cause. Trilogies. Every author should have some.
It’s like. That can of tuna on your shelf. Just in case.
I don’t like tuna so my can of tuna would have dust on it. But it would still be there in case I needed it for something. Maybe a sammich? I’d also have to have pickles, lemon, dill, onion powder, garlic…basically my tuna sammich would taste like anything but tuna. I like tuna melts.
I’m weird and contradictory. I realize that right now at this moment. Personal growth!
I know why I’m starting this last opus over and over. I HAVEN’T DECIDED WHAT THE ACTUAL STORY IS.
I knew, vaguely, that Alice would have to return to that old house and…and something would happen that would not be what was expected by any involved. Vague, sure. But. That was the general story in my head and it seemed to write itself for Alice in Oregonlandia. House on Clark Boulevard had the same feel to it but different. Is that crystal clear to everyone??
I just got into ‘that groove’ that hits when you write. Whether it’s novels or poems or short stories or plays or manifestos about why tuna is gross.
I’m not a fish person. I find the taste of fish gross and yucky. I’ll eat fish sticks but only if they taste more of the tarter sauce or whatever dipping sauce is available. I’ve never had lobster.
Living in the interior high desert [Southern Washington State, Eastern Oregon, Western Idaho] most of my life tends to keep me away from lobster binges. Can you buy lobster or find it where I live or have lived? Yes. Did the price of lobster tend to send me off to the lunch meat aisle to see what’s on sale? Yes. Do I think it’s cruel to boil those poor sea spiders alive?? Yes!!
Story. I’ve dithered here in Saint Lysette. It’s changed POV’s. Many times. I now have Nancy, Alice and Lysette all telling the story. Whatever the story is. Which I’m not sure. It won’t coalesce, even a little, somewhere in my foggy writer brain. It does but it’s campy garbage!
Gol darn it!!
I might as well add some clowns and reptilian overlords!! Not that there’s anything wrong with reptilian overlords. There is something profoundly wrong with clowns. Yes, I have fear of clowns. Yes, I do. There’s a fancy word for that even.
I think, therefore I am…sorry! I think I need to pick a path. Write to the end no matter the horrified faces I make as I write.
GET THAT MOFO ON THE PAGE YOU DITHERING DITZ!
Get a rough beast shaped up, that I can then go back through and despair over.
After all, I have scrapped entire drafts. Written better versions. Or worse versions. Dang it.
I must examine why I am dithering so. I blame tuna.
Oh if it were that damn easy!
What is the story. That’s what I need to crucify in place with big iron nails. Then watch it rise from the dead a couple times or something? Ugh. Must stop listening to atheist podcasts or atheists taking apart Christian movies made so badly they’re actually in the good column.
I’m also trying to get a screenplay done. A director from the Czech Republic found a short play of mine, made a short film out of it. Traces of Memory. It’s in actual post-production now, as I write this. It looks great. I’m pleased with it.
She also, Lucie, found my book of short stories, Oregon Gothic, and found a tale in there that she wished to turn into a feature-length. One based on…necrophilia. On a woman helping her boyfriend procure a freshly dead woman for sexual purposes.
Lucie wishes it more focused on their relationship. She has the general idea of where she wishes this to go and I am helping shape it out. It’s called Prince Charming so far.
I hope it doesn’t turn out to be another Serbian Tale. If you don’t know what that is or have never heard of it, great. Keep your ignorance. If you do know what that ‘movie’ is, then no, I don’t think Prince Charming is even in the same universe as that one. I’m being cheeky. I’m a cheeky little primate!
Humans are primates, after all, no matter what screaming manbeasts with Jesus tats and a pulpit say.
I am working on making the rather repulsive pair sympathetic. Understandable. Which gives the horror element an extra punch in the gut. Layers, y’all.
Must go force myself to work on…something. It’s almost my birthday. I might go to the hills for sustenance and soul feeding as I turn…gulp…fifty. And ponder on the smoking ruins of my life.
When-is-this-on?? Hold the sherry! This is an actual movie. It won’t be on Masterpiece? What the…? Oh polite eye roll and sniff of suppressed annoyance! Excuse to leave house, though…!
A ROYAL VISIT??!! What wine will they serve the queen?? Which queen is this?? Must remember to look up what queen that is. Will not remember. Sigh!
I am so there for Downton Abbey the Movie. I know. It’s a snobby exercise in snobbiness. Yep. Don’t care!
Lady Mary with that really cute short haircut! Will she and Edith have their sisterly rows or have they declared a sort of sisterly armistice? Oh hey, is that the same actor who plays Vampire Dude in A Discovery of Sugar Cookies? Is Lady Mary’s second hubbie VAMPIRE DUDE? Mind. Blown. Blown. BOOM. Just checked and yes, it is. Matthew Goode. Wait. His name in real life is Matthew, too? Hold it together, brain.
Back to squee central.
What is Thomas up to??!! Are Anna and Bates SUFFERING AWAY AS PER USUAL?
The [new] computer is now working. One of those refurbished deals. Man alive, it’s FAST. Whizz! Whoom! Oh hey I can play Candy Crush now. My priorities are catawampus a wee small bit.
Lesson for writers: Send out lots of submissions. Instead of, like, three. Yep. Glad I could help! Volume. Volume is the key here. That way when you get rejected, it won’t seem so thousand percent everyone hates your work. Volume will spread that out a bit. That’s the theory, anyway. Wink!
ABPIP– always be positive in public
Notre Dam has burned. Something ancient, something grandly lovely, something fragile, has been destroyed. For now. It was being renovated. So perhaps something sparked. As it can do. Whomp whoosh, medieval wood ceiling might as well be made of gasoline cans. I did hear great efforts managed to save some of it. And I am glad of that.
People claim terrorists did it. Like Glenn ‘Puppy Eater’ Beck. Or that God is sending a message. [Most of the crazier religious sorts on Twitter.] With various interpretations as to what that message is. Others make jokes or shrug. I guess the football team can still play…seems to be some people’s confused take on the fire there in Paris. [As Notre Dame is a school and…yeah.]
So am figuring out things and stuff on the new computer. It does read my thumb drive/s. That’s excellent well. Very leery of this newish machine. I trusted the old one, after all. Which was also refurbished. And worked for ten years. If not longer.
Oh! Game of Thrones was on all week on free HBO. Which is good. As it was the week my elderly other machine decided to beep forlornly at me to bury it in the computer graveyard known as ‘stored in the closet somewhere’. Yes, I did see the new ep and I am literally a quivering, miserable happy mass of cells. Will Jon accept his birthright? Will Dani find out she’s likely preggers with her nephew’s kid? Will the Night King discover that Cersei is far far far colder than he is? Will Sansa and Tyrion get together for real?? [Heard people contemplating that one…] Arya and the Hound, a new buddies cop spinoff? Brienne and the big red-headed guy? Romance or…? [my absolute fave want them together couple ever on GOT. I am not alone in this one.] So, one zombie dragon took down the Wall?
I was also watching Return of the King, as I had to find a new app to play DVD’s and the like so…and it was right there. Shh. Now. Where were the elves at? Mirkwood and Loth-whatever? [Did they all go get on the ships? All of them?] I mean, that group of elves showed up for the Battle of Helm’s Deep. The elves couldn’t send twenty or so to fight in the big ass giant battle in ROTK?? What about the dwarves? Gimli cannot be the only dwarf left and he was a fearsome, awesome fighter. So? Was there some plague that killed off the dwarves or they were busy or…did I miss that in the umpteen times I watched the LOTR movies?
So!! I have two books for sale. House on Clark Boulevard and Oregon Gothic. They’re GREAT! I also have Aftermath now in editing. It’s about Boise and…ZOMBIES. But aware zombies that run the world. Yeah, now you’re hooked! You’ve always wanted to know about Boise! Ha ha ha!
[[note– I promise this is cheerful. Fluff. Absolute fluffy kittens and unicorn dreams. ]]
I went to the movies yesterday afternoon. Guess what I saw? Not the cute dragon movie. Not the anti-romance romance comedy that I will probably really enjoy when it finally gets to TBS or TNT. The one with Rebel Wilson. That one.
Yes, that’s the obscure art house pic I suffered through. As those art house pics generally demand that you SUFFER to get to the end without throwing up, falling asleep or generally giving up ten minutes in during the first of many twenty minute monologs on how swift life is by a teen girl working retail as her mother does crack in the alley out back.
There were other people there. Sigh. I go to matinees because they’re [A] cheaper and [B] not attended by other people. Okay, whatever! Popcorn rustles, comments flying about me, soda pop being sucked loudly through hollow plastic tubes. The sounds of cinema! I arrive just before the previews start, so I don’t have to sit there pretending not to be making snide mind comments about everyone else there. As you do.
Previews. Avengers!! Tony Stark in outer space giving some sort of Hamlet-like speech. Captain America filling up with HOPE that some Hail Mary plan will work against a [guy, thing, god, dancer, evil bad farmer, etc?] who just took out half the known universe. What’s this…a new avenger might join in to CHANGE THE GAME? What???? Yeah, I’m so going to this it’s not even funny. I’m a weak-souled consumer drone mind-raped by Hollywood’s Satanic influences. You heard it here first.
LION KING. Now!! I’ve seen the cartoon version X number of times. Yet! I’ve got oddly wet eyes, so there must have been a drive-by onioning. Shouldn’t a live-action movie about animals use, um, actual animals who are not…Stop that, brain! The heart is sobbing right now! Shut up, brain! Disney, how dare you pile on the pathos!! How dare you!
There’s also a preview for a movie I’ve already seen soundly panned and ‘not wanted by anyone’– Dark Phoenix. Which is Sansa Stark getting all evil on Mr. Tumnus. There’s lots of screaming, explosions, people in extensive makeup with superhero hair looking truly magnificent. I wanted to see it. How evil does Sansa get?? Like, super-evil or just mildly evil where she kicks a puppy then goes to work for the ASPCA? I’m hooked! I also can’t wait until it’s on TNT in two or three years. Yay! Also, maybe the X-Men can call on Dani and her dragons to KICK DP’S bottom. Oh my, the crossover potential there. Game of Thrones meets X-Men. Somebody get on this one, stat!
I could just do a blog post about listening to people snack in the near-dark and my reaction to the various trailers.
Here we go:
Captain motherfucking Marvel.
That’s a Sam Jackson shout out.
Pretty much what you expect to happen, well, happens. Plot? There was an actual twist here that was pretty solid. I thought it went well. It was set up through memory loss flashes. Plus, any time you have a British guy in an American superhero movie…yeah.
Ooh, that was a sort of spoiler. Yikes!
But I had my suspicions. I don’t trust people who seem ‘nice’. They’re just not. In real life or superhero movies.
Carol, played by Brie Larson, was everything Girl Power needs. She’s fierce. She’s a fighter. She’s got hot hands…hands that light up and shoot lasers. Or fire. No, lasers.
She’s also a hothead who’s…wait for it…emotional. [I let out an actual WTF gasp at this.] Of course the Nice British Guy [Jude Law] hammers this one over and over and yet over again.
Our heroine also keeps having this memory of a female scientist [Annette Benning], being an Air Force pilot, having a life on earth. Vers, as she’s called now, lives on the Kree planet…here I just clocked out. More comic worlds I should know like the back of my hand??
God damn it, no thanks. I have enough crap crammed in my cranium at any given moment.
So we get Vers crashlanding through a Blockbuster after chasing the Bad Aliens, who are shapeshifters. Who can be ANYBODY, right down to their memories. Some of their memories…again, I checked out here, just rolling my eyes.
The movie took place in the Nineties. Ah.
Nostalgia, you tricksy blighter. Everybody laughed and sighed over the Blockbuster bit. The Blockbuster here in Ontario, Oregon went under overnight seemingly. In a day. It’s now a gym or get your taxes done here office front.
CM goes on a Journey of Discovery with Sam Motherfuckin’ Jackson, which is Great Fun. We get to see her Kick Ass. A Lot. She was a one-woman Rambo aboard the Bad Aliens ship, after all. Well, she beat the crap out of large groups of extras. Those scenes where Our Hero or Heroine [Yay, girls can be heroes, too! Yay!] takes on legions and just GOES TO TOWN on their bottoms. Yep!
So, we get the Plot Twist. We get the Betrayals. We get the Moments of Doubt. We get the If You Need the Suit You’re Not a Hero moment that all Marvel movies seem to employ unblushingly. [I just watched one of the new Spiderman movies, where Tony Stark says this to Spiderboy.]
Now. All of that? I still enjoyed the ever-livin’ crap out of this movie. I was glad I left my house to go see it. I enjoyed the heck out of the trailers. I could totally get away from how my country seems hellbent on installing an actual dictatorship…Her Emails! Lock her up!! Build the wall! Fake news!
I felt an odd Captain America type hope that a Hero Will Rise. And save us. From ourselves. So we don’t have to do it. Yeah. The Home of the Brave and the Land of the Free fully expect to be saved from themselves by some superhero unicorn sort that everybody can get behind…ha ha ha ha. Sob. Okay!
Oh my goodness, there’s the thing with the cat in Captain Marvel. Ha ha ha. There’s also the rather sweet shout out to Stan Lee in this movie. Ah!
To sum up this Not Really a Movie Review so much as a Sprawling Mess, I really liked Captain Marvel. It fired on most of its cylinders. She wasn’t the grim awfulness of a Gamora. She was more a combo of Starlord and Wonder Woman. While your head explodes for various reasons from that…ha ha ha. Done exploding yet? Okay!
She kicked ass. Lots of ass. In satisfying ways. Things Blow Up. In satisfying ways. There’s a pretty good dogfight battle with Best Friend of Cap Marv. I liked it, anyway.
And the quickie scene after some of the credits played…yeah. You sit there, along with a few others, waiting for it. Waiting for it. Ah! What??!! Holy crap, so going to Avengers! Satan, see you in a few weeks!
I stumbled, innocently enough, across MFA film students taking down current or past films. I do mean in excruciating detail. Zealots. You know them, you’ve been around those megafans that rabidly argue the merits of the spaceships of the Stars Wars franchise with those of the Star Trek franchise versus the spaceships of Battlestar Galactica.
Right down to fuel used, size of screws in the paneling and square footage in the place where the pilot sits. Cabin?
I’ve watched several hours of these. I was perusing Jeeves and Wooster, as you do, then noticed, hey, a take-down of Fifty Shades of Gray. Not a take-down, a defense. Sort of a defense, the title implied coyly. Yeah. I fell. Hard.
Hook in brain, I let that wily talkative fisherman reel me into the world of minute, bitter, movie-hating killjoys.
Now! I actually enjoyed the roughly three hour take apart, don’t even bother putting it back together video…um, essay? of Fifty Shades. All three movies. It was informative and enjoyable.
You’re supposed to hate this movie.
You’re supposed to notice how abusive Christian is BEFORE someone tells you how abusive that rich creepy Edward Cullen wannabe is.
I also, um, watched one where the critic gave a rather nice defense of Stephanie Meyer. Of literature written for teen girls in general. Meyer wrote the Twilight books.
How we as a society hate teen girls and everything they do. So that very idealized and safe world of Twilight got MOCKED TO THE SEVENTH HEAVEN, of course. Meyer proved quite gracious and didn’t sue Erika James, who ripped off Twilight’s everything to ‘create’ Fifty Shades.
Which as everyone should know by now grew out of fanfic. Which James had scrubbed, supposedly, from the internet and fanfic sites. But as nothing ever dies on the internet, EVERYONE ALREADY KNOWS more or less that Christian Gray is Edward Cullen, except with whips and zip ties.
Now, I did see a severe dressing down of Fifty Shades, from yet another couple of filmies, who knew a lot more about the BDSM world than James does or ever bothered to find out. They’re hot take is the movies are garbage, it’s an abusive relationship, neither lead can act, neither lead seem to like each other on screen or off, and DON’T EVER BUY ZIP TIES for BDSM purposes.
As they tighten and you can’t get out of them easily if there’s trouble or if someone’s struggling. Zip ties can actually kill you at worst or break the skin, cause physical damage not wanted…so don’t use them. We see in the first movie where Christian is buying ‘supplies’ at the hardware store. One of the things he buys is…zip ties. Yep!
So I watched that threesome of critiques, then watched other suggestions, then went down an actual rabbit hole. I clicked on why Captain America:Civil War sucks; suddenly all the heroes have new characters and are ignoring past setups and generally acting in unknown ways so there can be the civil war of the title.
Why Disney needs to stop ‘fixing’ their animated movies in the new live-action remakes coming out or already here. Hint, ahem, Beauty and the Beast, ahem, ahem. Fixing plot holes with even worse plot holes!
Why they were afraid Wonder Woman would be something something FEMINAZIS ON FULL PARADE ARGH. The two giggling cute bunny critics got the cold shits from a still of women on the set holding up signs that said Girl Power. Girl power. Girls with power. Save the world from girl power is the subtext of their reaction??
They were afraid it was gonna be the Feminist Manifesto that Burned Their Eyeballs and Castrated Them For Feminists to Turn Into Slaves of the New Feminist Order? Was that the subtext? The actual text from the two cuddle bunnies??
I watched a lot of these…yeah.
But what gets me is that I now, sort of, hate movies. Hate them!!!
I look at the movies I love, and hate them. I look at movies I already hate and despair bigly. Then, my own bitter snarliness breaks through.
I DON’T CARE IF THE SHOTS DON’T MATCH IN THE OPENING WITH SOMETHING IN THE MIDDLE. I like what I like, you fucking movie zombieshits!
Every movie they–this is all the film critic film school original Star Wars fanatics youtubers I happened to click on–reviewed seemed made by amateur dead Labradors. They name dropped more than a starlet at a Hollywood party. [Obvious joke that set up an expectation yet fell flat in delivery.]
Obscure film critics, obscure camera operators, blah. Yes, I can appreciate a well made, perfectly written, perfectly shot film…[oh wait, there isn’t one of those yet.] but god damn it, I love the cheesy bad movies that just want to entertain ya. Not socially redeem you or teach you anything besides explosions taste better with a giant tub of corn and a diet Coke to suck down.
Every movie seems to be that.
Every. Last. One. It’s just a cynical cash grab these days, unlike the good ole days…oh boy.
Even high falutin’ Oscar Bait. Yeah, I went there…Yeah. A Star is Born. Explosion of emotions! Manipulations galore! Wheee. Ugh.
I actually did appreciate one of these film school sharks who made an effort to explore topics like the various King Kongs, Marxism [there are several versions of Marxism, but they all seem to hate jazz…] and Santa Claus. There’s research there, actual trying to connect the dots, interesting tidbits. I do love trivia and bad movies interspersed with better movies. Or movies that try really hard. Rabbit hole, rabbit hole.
Then I switch over to two ratty sorts giggling and cooing back and forth as they fart out why they hate Justice League. Like, it sucks, you know. You’re cute, no you’re cute, you’re cute, no you’re cute…
It wasn’t that bad, they actually had some real points but…ugh. I noticed all their reviews were along this line. [The same couple that advised against zip ties, by the by] She giggles, acts cutesy. [Oh. My. God. Stop, just stop.] He talked over her incessantly. I mean…yeah.
You know how that goes because that happens all the time. Mansplaining. There’s a woman talking? No, there’s not, because I, he-man and Wookie expert, iz talkin! She even does the patient wait to speak again bit. It was. Yeah.
He hates feminists and all that, she does, too. She agrees so fast with him I thought I missed it. Nope. Uh huh. I noticed that. I noticed that a lot, because it was a recurring theme in his reviews. She was just there to bolster him or play the zany backup. I noticed that, too. She cuddled various merchandise, acted the ditz while he was SERIOUS FILM CRITIC. I should probably stop noticing such super-obvious shit in a pair of canoodly film critics, eh?
Okay, before I go off into that rabbit hole…
I need to stop watching these. I don’t get anything done, and there’s SO MANY OF THESE. What did so and so say about Black Panther?? What’s their hot take on Jurassic World?? Why is Rei [Rey?] a de-evolution of the Star Wars heroine?? Has the Stars Wars franchise been Disneyfied??
The answer seems to be a resounding fuck yes fuckfuckfuck.
Maybe I should switch to indy art films. Expecting anything from your basic blockbuster…
Ah. There it is. I don’t expect anything from whatever blockbuster or event film I go see at the actual movie theater. I don’t expect anything but some pretty man candy and things that blow up.
I went to Wonder Woman to watch her KICK SOME ASS. That was pretty much the start and end of my feminist agenda there.
Occasionally I might even attend a quiet, prestige-like film, like BlackkKlansman. I might sneak off to Into the Woods.
I might go see Dumbo, this spring, all by myself, because I was sobbing just watching the trailers. [Baby elephants are sad! I grew up on this one. Baby elephants are sad!]
I know the work already that goes into film making. I have actually been on sets, seen what has to happen for a tiny short film. Feature length films, with lots of moving parts, balls gets dropped and then some at times. I’m oddly forgiving of this! I know if you get careless, it looks shitty. Duh.
I know that big films are ruthlessly made and marketed for the money these days. Art has gone bye bye! It’s obvious and yet…man candy and explosions. MAN CANDY AND EXPLOSIONS AND ASS-WHUPPIN’S YA’LL. I expect NOTHING from movies these days. Sad, isn’t it?
Maybe if we as a society demanded more of our readily accessible art, we’d have a better society. Maybe if we stopped giving our money to BIG EXPLOSION MAN CANDY IV, MAN CANDY’S CHRISTMAS BANG BANG then they [Hollywood!] might start making THE GOOD STUFF again.
Like: MAN CANDY’S GREAT BIG REALIZATION THAT HE NEVER TOLD HIS DAD HE LOVED HIM. I’d so watch that! That doesn’t sound like it has those nasty parasites called feminists anywhere near it!
Will I stop clicking on former film school sorts jawing about why the spaceships in the original Stars Wars are superior to the current spaceships of the Disney knockoffs?? Ha ha, no. I’m a creature of compulsion.
I’ll type out a bitter ranty rant then go right back to watching why J.K. Rowling is ruining her own creations film-wise. She’s the new George Lucas! It all swings round to Stars Wars. Every. Single. Time.