Ocean Stud

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Yours truly, or me, myself and I, decided back in 2018, when it was yet December, to go see Aquaman. Or Ocean Stud, the Wet Sexy Adventures of Khal Drogo.

Aquaman seems rather a tame title for two plus hours of seething ocean sizzle! You do not go see such a movie for the intellectual puzzles of our times played out by superb actors at the top of their game, after all. You go because things are going to blow up, chiseled sorts in ultra-tight suits bending over a lot and things blow up a lot.

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Jason Momoa as Ocean Stud, AKA Aquaman/Arthur Curry. So many inappropriate jokes about moistness could be made here. I won’t, don’t worry!

Yes, it was good. I liked it. That’s out of the way.

Good? Was it Wonder Woman good? Casablanca good?? Uh, no. It was good, though.

I rather enjoyed how it incorporated that annoying need to EXPLAIN WHY OCEAN STUD IS OCEAN STUD instead of, oh, showing us things blowing up from the get go and fistfights and fights while mounted on sharks…with some flashbacking. The always lovely Willem Defoe in a bit part. The secret trainer of Ocean Studling and adviser to Princeling Orm, Environmental Poster Child. A straddler, a part that calls for actual subtly. A bit of it. Okay, Orm must have ignored with all his might his adviser was a double agent, hello.

Oh look, things blowing up! Whee!

We don’t have to watch that first hour with eye-rolling indifference to how Aquaman embraced his inner squid. [Like, um, Superman, ahem, in Man of Steel Penis…er, Man of Steel.] We do get shown, in tiny snips, how Arthur learned to fight, blah blah blah. [We get to hear what happened to mom!]

I don’t care. I just wanna see him fight stuff underwater and kick ass and look all determination and alpha seawolf. [Would a seawolf be a shark or a killer whale? Mmm.]

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I don’t know who did this but BWHA HA HA HA. I found this after I ticked the Khal Drogo box, thanks.

Nicole Kidman as mommy seawolf queen person. Enjoyable! She’s, what, eighty years old and still looks great in a silver-spangly catsuit. She also channels her inner Bruce Lee, which is fantastically fabulous. 

And!!  A great big bravo to making the redheaded whatever princess warrior girlfriend love interest a fighter as well. Hallelujah and shut the door! Thank you!

I almost wondered why they didn’t just eschew asking ole Artie to become King High Lord Khal Emporer of the Oceans and just have princess ginger lady [as played by Amber Heard] go off looking for the Magic Weapon That’s In Nearly Every Superhero Movie Ever Made. [Not that I am complaining and I am not.]

She, however, is rather a Gamora type here. The Humorless Lady Fighter. It seems women can be girlfriends, background extras, or Humorless Female Fighters who look great and buff but have the grim personalities of Medieval monks during flagellation binges. Pfft! She did thaw out a bit, but still.

Does that make Arthur a sort of Starlord-like character? A bit, yes. Wise-cracking, lovable rogue, a bit of a doesn’t take any of this seriously blah blah. Blah.

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Patrick Wilson as Orm. Here I am to save the day! Not! Fishmom Nicole has some buff sons!

Ah, the evil but understandable brother to our lovable Ocean Stud. Orm? Worm? Blond Serious Underwater Crackpot? Power-mad Loki Copycat? [Yeah, I went there.]

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Tom Hiddleston as Loki. Here I am to save the day! Not! Compare and contrast now. There will be a test.

Orm is the half-brother to Our Hero so he has to be the heavy here. We also get yet another villain, Black Manta, who very understandably wants to turn Ocean Stud into fish sticks. As Ocean Stud had a Spiderman moment with Black Manta and his Pirate Dad. Where Ocean Stud could have prevented a chain of events!

Oh. My. Tartar sauce. Really??

Did no one else just roll their eyes at that very early moment in the six hour film? It felt a big long, I’m saying. I’m saying it outright.

We could have cut the Black Manta stuff to about five minutes. We already have younger half-bro sending baddies after Ocean Stud and Humorless Wench, after all. Set pieces get destroyed and then some!

Also, why didn’t Aquaman call on his Justice League buddies for help if his half-bro meant to destroy everything on land? Isn’t that, um, kinda what Steppenpuppy tried to do?

Are Batman and Wonder Woman and Superman just having some beers, watching all this go down? Going— eh, he’s got this. You buying, Bruce?

But! I had actual sympathy for Orm’s rant/whispered rants about what humans do to the oceans. That footage of beaches covered with garbage…that makes you go, why wouldn’t Aquaman get behind that one? His element is the sea. The ocean. Water. Humans pollute that bigly. Maybe he could have helped little brother.

Yeah, let’s clean up the planet then fight for dominance, hey ho, let’s go.

So yeah, Aquaman unfolds exactly as you think it will. The story holds no surprises but I oddly did not care. I knew exactly what would happen and I was happy as a clam about it.

My favorite part was the giant octopus playing the drums. It was such a Little Mermaid meets Spongebob delight.

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My other fave part was Ocean Stud emerging in that golden armor, because hey, what’s not to like about that? I didn’t go, twice, to this one, for the acting. Or the exquisite storytelling! This was wham, bam, action, sharks, octopus drummer, bro fight, the end.

PART II or Huh Oh, Here’s Where We Veer–

Ah, let me write a bit about why I attended this one twice. I’m not a Jason Momoa fanatic, in case you were starting to tremble a bit, then prepare to write me off as some desperately lonely thousand year old spinster lady with dungeon master BDSM fantasies playing in a moist reel in her head…Mm. No.

No, I agreed to go because a friend of mine had just lost her mother around Christmas. [I wrote about that.] She wanted to see this and I said, sure, I’ll go see it again. End of story.

Well, not really.

So, as you might not know, I am an entirely anxious kitty cat around fellow humans anymore. I cannot stand them near me! I crave being alone far more than having to make awkward chit chat about the weather or giant walls. I’ve been told what an awful ugly sort of person I am over and over, over the years, as well.

Fine. I give up. You all win.

I have been isolating myself for years now. [As if the few readers of this pathetic little blog didn’t know that! Pfft!]

I am also not fighting at all the giant fog bank of chronic depression that lurks constantly somewhere about me. [Can’t afford meds or a doctor.] I have giant ups and downs, and often can’t control or want to control myself around others that just…yeah. Okay.

So, I’ve made it clear I have no interest in ‘doing something’ with anyone. She persists. I’ve written about this, then erased it or scrapped it. I need to deal with it, yes. Yes, I do. 

So I went to the movie, because, hey, her mom died. I knew it would be uncomfortable, I knew I’d be anxious and short. As the day approached to go, I could feel how tense I was getting. To go to a movie. With another person. The night before I woke very early. I felt like I was heading off for a battle. Being sent to the front. This person had other people going…I about flipped out. I about went, nope, not going, have fun. Seen it!

That’s where I am these days.

I was uncomfortable and trying not to freak out the entire time. I tried to be patient with myself and this person. I made it known, no, I didn’t wish to ‘hang out’ the rest of that afternoon spending money I do not have.  I don’t wish to make awkward small talk over food I could not afford to order. I didn’t say any of that, just  sent a nebulous ‘Maybe’ to any plans after the movie.

So, that teaches me that until I am heavily medicated or dead– not to go anywhere with people.  Unless I have my own vehicle so I can run away ASAP if I can feel myself wanting to start screaming or punching people to make them stay out of my personal space bubble. I’m sure it was not pleasant for her, either. I can’t hide how revolted I am on outings with others. Or how uncomfortable. Or how out of place. I’m a fish out of water. I just wish to sit in my own cloudy bowl of filth and that green stuff you get if you don’t clean the bowl regularly.

PART III–BACK TO OCEANIC BATTLES OF THE SEXY DEEP

Which brings me back to Ocean Stud, Lord of the Thighmasters.

You should go see it. It’s a lot of fun. Momoa hams it up. The redhead has some great fights. The dad to Aquaman is great, we can see why Arthur grew up to be the way he is. A lot of that was being around his dad. [A nice shout out to great fathers who raise a kid on their own. To single parents in general who do a great job.]

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Tuemura Morrison as Pops Curry. Momoa, of course, as Arthur Curry

Also, I think Patrick Wilson did a great job here as well. Not Tom Hiddleston level, not yet, but I think with some tinkering for Ocean Stud II, Attack Whales Unite, he could give Momoa an actual bit of competition in Highwayman and Duke’s Daughter fanfic attempts.

Or the Merman and the Hallmark Business Gal mashup.

Holy crab cakes, my next project just presented itself! Yay!

Where was I? Orm! Wilson!

That actual tortured villain that we love and want to cheer for. The bad boy who can wear a tight catsuit armor costume as well as his big brother…After all, you can’t have a super-villain looking like something out of a Jeeves and Wooster episode. Or can you??

Finally!!!

The superhero movies all seem to blend together into one big

Ocean Avengers Starlord Extravaganza Justice League, Part Twenty–Homecoming Wonder of the Spider Panther Elves.

You can mix and match other titles and sequels to your heart’s content on your own blog time, darlings.

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Laurie Strode’s Brother

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from Business Insider. Jamie Lee Curtis reprising her iconic role for Halloween.

I went to a movie yesterday. It’s the well-received latest entry into the Halloween franchise. Michael Myers, or Laurie Strode’s brother, escapes while being transported to some hellhole mental facility. Mayhem ensues. Laurie Strode on the warpath. Boom!

No spoilers from me, I promise.

A lovely day, yesterday. A touch cloudy but no rain, not really any wind. Sun. I went to the first showing. There was about two or so other folks there.

I arrived during previews. Saw the one for Glass, the sequel to Unbreakable or the third in the trilogy. Unbreakable, Split and now, Glass. Bruce Willis, James MacAvoy, Samuel Motherfucking Jackson. Um, yes. Yes, please. I don’t care what the story is. Or if there’s a story. Oh and Sarah Paulson. I’m hooked. I’m charmed. I’m big eyes and wanna see that.

Some preview for a movie that already came and went like a wet dog fart on a rainy day. Blarg.

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Halloween starts up. Two earnest British podcasters seek to interview Laurie Strode’s brother, who remarkably, doesn’t talk. So he’s rather an odd choice for a podcast. Ahem. They’re into examining old crimes or something, for fresh angles. Whatever.

When does the rampaging start??

There’s some good stuff happening right off the bat. The new Loomis is an earnest sort, who cautions caution with Myers. He’s not, however, in the Loomis mold. As in Myers should have been quietly killed eons ago.

We only see Myers from the back, or slightly from the side. We never see the face. Which is highly effective. We see this boogie man has aged. Now. Is he a real man or something else? As anyone who’s sat through all the Halloween movies knows…he’s been stabbed, shot, stabbed and shot, blah blah, and always gets up again. Like an Energizer bunny playing Jesus. A really awful version of Jesus. Ahem!

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Yet, he gets captured, somehow, alive,. placed back into some mental hospital to await escaping for yet another round of hide the big knife in the stupid teens.

Seriously, if you start taking apart the Halloween movies, you won’t enjoy them. That’s pretty much true of any movie lately. They seem to run on people not doing that, ever.

Don’t look too closely at the structure! Okay, I won’t!

But.

I enjoyed this outing.

My first glimpse of Jamie Lee Curtis in her most famous role…tears. She had lost everything, she lives holed up in the woods, behind lock and key and bars and video surveillance. She’s paranoid, twitchy, grim, overly prepared. She’s waiting. She’s in that closet from the very first movie that started all this madness– waiting with a coat hanger twisted into a weapon. Except this time she’s got America’s choice for any problem– a gun. Lots of guns. A cache of guns. We see her practicing. She’s rigged her house as well, for defense and offense. The state took her daughter away. Laurie has a granddaughter.

Oooh, it’s going to be the Strode women against their own brother, uncle and great-uncle. It’s family versus family.

When I realized this, tears. Tears.

You see, yesterday. In America. A bunch of bombs were sent to various high-ranking Democrats, news agencies blamed for all the fake news, and George Soros, who’s allegedly behind everything to do with protesting or immigrants or…yeah. Almost thirty seconds after this was reported, conspiracy theory/ies. The Democrats sent these bombs to themselves to drum up voters to vote for them.

Sympathy bombs.

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None of the bombs went off, after all. They were, however, live actual bombs.

Now, I read where the IRA, in the seventies, were also inept and clumsy at sending out bombs at first. Then they got super-good at it. They improved. So.

I’m watching a traumatized older woman taking on the thing that traumatized her. It digs into some primal areas.

I watched a woman testify before the entire country about abuses done to her, then watched as that same woman got turned into a demon. Who now can’t go home because of credible death threats.

I watch as Nuremberg-like rallies demand an end to America as we know it, and embrace a one-party system with the boot on the neck of anyone who doesn’t agree with them on everything.

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from Politico. 

I watch as the basic framework of my country get torn down, turned into kindling, then get a match set to that kindling. Whooosh.

I watch as minority groups get targeted. The latest is transgender people

I feel helpless and powerless. All the damn time. Anxious and angry and ready to embrace not only a vote them out mentality, but a I want to hurt them mentality.

See those that are humiliating and hurting others so gleefully right now be hurt and humiliated themselves. In public. So I can applaud and cheer.

I want so and so led off in handcuffs to the nearest federal prison. I want them led off naked. I want to see them whipped and chained and naked and trembling and afraid.

But hey, back to the movie!

It’s a deeply satisfying movie. It hits all the horror movie boxes quote well.

Menacing villain figure. You can’t get more iconic than Michael Myers. When he puts on that mask, you give a sigh of happiness. There it is! Ah!

We care about the people that are in harm’s way. There’s a great scene between the granddaughter’s friend and the kid she’s babysitting. It’s warm, honest, funny and sweet.

We get to know the sheriff, who was Laurie Strode’s babysitting charge on that infamous night. Now grown up and facing the same monster on the same holiday night.

We experience the skepticism and then utter terrifying belief of the two podcasters as they have their moment with Myers. It’s a doozy.

And then there’s Our Heroine, the equally iconic Laurie motherfucking Strode.

She’s mad, mean, focused and ready for business.

Hot damn!

She’s not shouting masculine-ish belligerent slogans into the air this fucking time. Oh no. She’s waiting to act.

The time for chest-pounding antics is over. She’s loaded for bear. A boogie man bear.

Yes, I enjoyed the hell out of this movie. There were hints and outright LOOK AT THIS RIGHT HERE moments that hearkened back to the original. I didn’t roll my eyes at the dialogue. Much. There were clunkers, sure, but not that many that I remember.

There was actually not that much gore. Some but far less than other lesser made movies that skipped the scares in favor of showing gallons of faked blood.

This movie centered on two players who thirsted to face each other. And it worked. Oh did it work for this watcher.

So, my country might be on the brink of an actual second civil war but at least the Halloween movie got most of it right. That’s something. I’m glad I went. I’m a Jamie Lee Curtis fan from way back. I haven’t been to a horror movie at an actual theatre since…can’t remember when. I want to see Star is Born, yet I went to Halloween.

Which evoked the oddest emotional responses of actual tears.

Maybe I’m mourning for my country while watching an older woman take on the actual boogie man. Taking on her own brother. With her own daughter and granddaughter at her side.

Maybe I got a bit wet-eyed over watching an actual family feud taking place before my eyes. Fought with weapons, screams, blood and fire.

I really do hope this is the last Halloween movie. That this is end of it. That everyone now gets to rest. In peace.

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from Movieweb. Granddaughter Allyson–Andi Matichak. Matriarch Laurie Strode–Jamie Lee Curtis. Daughter Karen–Judy Greer

BLUE BORE

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I have tried for a week to get into Blue Valentine. I don’t find it heartbreaking. I find it annoying. I’m not watching a delicate relationship dance being played out by two trembling souls on the verge of self-realization about wuv. Eh. I’m watching two sullen lumps mope about, wishing they weren’t married to each other.

I’m not charmed at all. There’s a kid. The family dogs gets found run over on the side of the road in the first ten minutes or so. After that I checked out.

Jen or Cindy or whatever, comes across as Kristen Stewart without the sparkling personality. Stewart from the Twilight movies, that low-energy, barely a facial ripple, smiling and frowning same twitch of lips.

Michelle Williams can act, I guess. I’m not really a fan. It seems she plays the same role over and over. Sad girlfriend/wife type. She seems to have one range. Which is– Sad. She does sad and it pays her bills. Go American dream, go! The American dream is alive and well when a person can make a living expressing a sad face a lot. Hallelujah!

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Sad face. Michelle Williams as, um, that woman in Blue Valentine.

I’m not that big of a fan of Gosling, either, for that matter. He’s the indy Mope Man. My opinion! But he does have actual range. I did like Lars and the Real Girl. Do not judge me.

I did love his SNL sketch on alien abduction, where Kate McKinnon got everyone there to break character with her version of what happened on the spaceship. It was kinda nice to watch Gosling snicker behind his hand as if they were in some high school play and somebody had farted.

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McKinnon, Cecily Strong and Gosling. SNL’s Close Encounter.

But here, in Blue Bore, er, Blue Valentine, it seems the love of his life just settled for him, and finds him repulsive now. His character, George, Bob, Fernando? has all the charisma of a smashed banana peel. Ashley or Madison, whatever her name is, does a lot of sad faces around him.

He’s ACTING away at her, she’s giving back sad face. That’s about all I’ve gotten from this movie so far. BREAK UP ALREADY, YOU CRAZY KIDS. I should be weeping and begging this on-screen couple to make it work, right? Ugh.

I then popped in You’ve Got Mail, because I found it at the thrift store. Where I also found Blue Mopentine. Er, Valentine.

Cranky whiny Meg Ryan, charming affable capitalist gentleman Tom Hanks closing down her bookstore, and she falls in love with him. But!! But we do see why she would. He’s quick on the draw, he’s eye candy, he’s very New York-ish. He’s also non-threatening, not creepy while still being obviously straight guy who’s probably okay in bed. Not freaky/hot/scary/spank me again, daddy level but more, well, not that sort of guy. 

Great. Now I have Tom Hanks dressed up in dungeon wear, with a cat-o-nine tails, ready to go. Stop it, brain!! No, do not show me the little airless room where Hanks cracks that whip and whispers to get in position, whore.  Do not ruin Tom Hanks for me!!  Bad brain!! I’ll make you keep watching Blue Mopentine! Okay, then. 

–Now, do I keep that above in or erase it so no one has to suffer that image as well? Ha ha, suffer all one or two who read this! Suffer! Or not. —

Back to You’ve Got Male. Deliberate use of male for mail. In case you were wondering.

I don’t understand why he’d fall for her…as she does nothing but insult him to his face, but they do share a sort of chatroom/email intimacy. [[She’s skinny and blond, so of course he adores her. Yeah, there it is.]] Where he gets to read the ‘real’ her. He also knows most of the movie that she’s his internet pen pal, she has to find…ah. It’s so romantical! He has all the power here!! Just so romantical!!

That’s not a real word. I know, computer spell check. I know. Thanks. 

If you haven’t seen this 90’s very chick flick, well! It’s based on the Shop Around the Corner, with Jimmy Stewart. I found that movie a lot cruel. I find You’ve Got Mail a bit cruel as well. I did mention I don’t have Netflix or Hulu, right? Because I’m poor? That’s why I’m not binge-watching Bob’s Left Elbow or whatever the newest series is that just got downloaded for binge purposes.

Oh well. At least I have nearly all of Glee on DVD! Life is barely tolerable! 

Also– dial up! DIAL UP was yet a thing in that movie. Cute! I do remember dial up, waiting for the big fancy computer to hook up to that crazy internet. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Then having to try it again. Maybe it would hook up. You had to hope others were not also trying to hook up, as that slowed connection speed way way way down.

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Then of course you looked up porn.

No, just kidding! Not really.

So, I’ve been wanting to see Blue Valentine. I’ve heard how GREAT it was. For me, not so much.

I hope I can finish it. I don’t want to. My life sucks, as the kids used to say. I don’t need to wallow in two people’s shallowness, rolling my eyes a lot, sighing those gigantic disgusted sighs you do, while wondering if I should just burn the DVD as an offering to the writing gods.

Oooh. Oooh!!

What does any of this have to do with writing, my writing? Or  MY novels, plays, poems or essays against man’s inhumanity to man? Not a thing, darlings. Not a damn thing.

AUGUST. HOT. FART NOISES.

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Light-hearted summer moments with Jake, Molly and Clyde, the big Newfie, who is now, ah, over the Rainbow Bridge

What month is this in this ghastly interminable hellbeastly span of years masquerading as a span of days? Oh. August.

It seems time has thudded to a damn standstill. And yet speeds along. I know. How original am moi? Not at all.

I’ll answer myself as no one comments or spews invectives at me in the social media time out I seem to be in. Or maybe I haven’t pledged myself enough to Satan or given enough lip service to AmmoJesus.

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from Pandora’s Boxx. No, not this version of Jesus. Is it me or did the artist put a bit of Tom Cruise in that face? 

We only have two options for worship here in ‘murica. Sort of only sorta kidding about that. You’re either with Jesus and the angels or you’re a godless Satan worshiping hate America commie traitor who hates babies. Yep.

Oh, so for those at home breathlessly reading along, I wrote a poem. That’s all.

It included the words ‘motherlumping’ and ‘scorpion’ and ‘Mamerigaga’.

I wrote it with great and furious anger.

I had fun writing a poem in great and furious anger. It drained my fury and anger.

I sent off my barely coherent scream against avocado toast to that monthly poetry challenge I AM STILL DOING. Because it’s good practice, and it helps foment me into a BETTER WRITER.

Or so I tell myself. Don’t we all tell ourselves happy lies so we don’t spatter our pretty brains on the ugly walls wherever we live? Or perhaps we live under a bridge and have to walk to the library to use the internet.

So some other form of suicide will have to do for welfare moochers and societal losers. Starvation and disease and freezing to death are free, moochers!

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from geograph.uk. Small bridge over river Dulais. 

Wow, that took a dark little turn.

Ah, so. I squibbled out a VASTLY POPULAR post about fires. I believe that’s the one before this one. Let me check, brb.

Yep. The fires still burn. It’s awful. It’s getting smoky. It’s HOT. But it is summer.

Thank you, Queen Obvious!

You’re welcome, sarcastic voice in my head!

Some snow would be nice. A nice couple days of constant rain would be nice here in Eastern Oregon.

I do mean the entire area. From Ontario all the way to Bend. Awash with rainy rain!

No wind, no lightning, just rain. The wet stuff we’ve heard tell of in tall tales. As you can, literally, walk between the rain drops here when it does piss down a bit. I’ve gone outside, when it rains here, and not gotten a drop on me. Sorta, kinda…kidding. Sorta.

I’m working on Starved Out, which, for right now, is set in the mythical world of government-hating extremists. As in they have a mythical view of themselves as freedom fighters and the rest of us see them as scary fuckheads.

But anyway!

I am telling it from the POV of the women, as men have enough stories under their column, frankly.

And when I tried to just write it…I stalled right out of the gate, trying to put the two men who started a fire and started an actual insurrection against the gubbermint front and center.

I’d also read a blip about this woman homesteader who Starved Out right at the start of the Great Depression. And of course the Massacre at Hells Canyon, I wanted that to make an appearance in my Great American Novel that No One Will Read Until I Am Well Dead and Rotting Under A Local Bridge.

So far, it’s a tripod. Rosie, the wife of Butch, the son, and Vickie, the wife of Merle, the dad. And Gladys, who had to pull up stakes and head back to the big city when drought and ruin faced her in sagebrush country.

I was, at first trying to be super-accurate and capture everything about the Hammonds and all that.

And then went, yeah, it will be fun to get sued. Fun! I’m not writing a non-fiction account, after all. I can fudge things, smear things, compose composite characters to protect the guilty and insane.

So, in the hot afternoons, I attempt a few paragraphs. It’s slow going. I need to dive in and let her buck, as they say around here.

Because we have rodeos and horses, and people actually go and get up on wild horses or other wild livestock, and…uh huh.

Why not write in the cool of the morning, dear? I hear some of you mutter that in nice, polite tones.

That tone you get when someone rattles on about some project of theirs that you could give two shits in a shot glass about.

Where your eyes glaze over as the person prattles about how they tracked down that one knitting stitch only used in Medieval stockings in Ireland by cloistered nuns who occasionally took fits because they thought the devil visited them at night.

That stitch!

Ah, well. I’ve been writing on ‘other stuff’.

Junk crap that I need to clear from my smoke-filled head so I can do the ‘real’ writing later in the day while not looking for gainful employment. Oh.

I did vow to at least go look at Craigslist and DesperateFuckers.org.

Sigh!

One last bit before I go find some pictures to place at random among these sickly paragraphs of LIKE ME I WRITE LIKE ME.

Shit howdy. I had a thought but…gone, baby, gone. Oh!!

Okay!

Movies.

Now, I wanna go see Mama Mia 2, I heard it’s great fun. I wanna see that damn Spy thing with the two women, because that looks like a lotta fun. I also want to see Spike Lee’s Blackk Klansman because that looks like angry fun.

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I find I want to watch movies that are light, fluffy and might contain dance numbers with colorful outfits.

I find I have no head or heart for sitting through a Serious Drama. I find many others share this right now in ‘murica. We want our entertainment fluffy as wobbly kittens and our real life to resemble some dystopian novel that doesn’t get that happy ending. Whee.

I want Christmas movies all year round right now, the Hallmark ones. Where there’s barely any real problems, people are shiny clean and look made of glitter and sugar cookies, and the villains and obstacles are easily overcome in the last five minutes.

Give that crap some Oscars! Emmys? Yeah, Emmys, as it’s television. Sorry.

That level of sugary goo erases the gritty reality show playing on every screen and device world-wide. Where people seems made of rattlesnake poison and toxic sludge and the villains win every single fucking time.

And the heroes mumble and then there’s tweets from ten years ago with jokes and…ugh.

What the hell was this post? Mostly just fart noises, I think.

Ah, you were wondering where the ‘fart’ came in. Glad to help out, darlings.

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Tee hee. My mother, who was a nurse, worked in a Catholic hospital back in the day. She was told to carry a spoon…not even kidding. Not even a little. 

She-Devils, Tarzan Marathon and Political Shriekings, wheee!

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from Alamy. Now, that’s a damn title for the ages.

I watched a movie called Tarzan and the She-Devil. Yes, I did. Why?

Well, it was on TMC, which has been showing Tarzan movies for days now for some reason. I got to see the Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan, the Ape Man, and part of Tarzan and His Mate. I’ve seen both already, if we’re all being strictly honest here.

So there it was. With that title. Come on! You’d scroll past that title?

Is it weird 1950’s era porn? It is a horror movie? Is Tarzan facing off against the actual devil, who’s a woman?? What can it be?

I read the synopsis–Lyra wants Tarzan to bring her lots of elephants to kill so she can harvest their ivory, but Tarzan refuses.

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Monique Van Voreen as Lyra, the She-Devil. From Down Memory Lane.

So, in trying to get Tarzan to comply, Lyra has her henchmen [one played by Raymond Burr, who oddly reminded me of the guy who plays Negan on the Walking Dead.] kidnap Jane to persuade Our Hero to do as Lyra wants.

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Raymond Burr as Vargo. from Rare Films.
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Jeffrey Dean Morgan as Negan, from the Walking Dead. For compare and contrast fun.

The henchmen, of course, mess this up! Jane is presumed dead, the tree house gets burned down, Tarzan gets captured. What?? 

SPOILER——–> Don’t worry. Tarzan wins the day.

There’s also, gulp, some tribe of white folks living in the…African jungle, who look like products of actual Aryan breeding, right down to the curly blond hair and Nordic cheekbones galore. And that’s just the manly men of that tribe. Yeah. Uh.

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from Pinterest. See what I mean? Yep. Also– the lack of hirsuteness. ?

My mind went pffft.

And stayed off the rest of the movie, it had to, out of sheer primal survival needs.

This tribe of Vikings gets tapped to do the heavy lifting as the ‘natives’ are, um, lazy and don’t wanna work hard and…PFFFFT.  The men get captured, helped to escape, by Tarzan and then re-captured because…SHE-DEVIL wants her some money-making ivory, baby!

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Joyce MacKenzie as Jane and Lex Barker as Tarzan. From Rare Film

So, Jane fights the same snake and crocodile from all the other movies, gets sick, has to be healed by a guy dressed in straw and beads, and Tarzan allows himself to be gently tortured by Raymond Burr. Whose character, by the way, is the actual villain of the movie.

The she-devil seems oddly caring and concerned about people, especially Tarzan. Who’s this 6’4″ GORGEOUS man with blond hair and Weissmuller’s swimmer build.

I then note this actor, Lex Barker, has played Tarzan about five times. And died in his early fifties. Ah! Sad!

Because, yes, I looked this movie up on IMDB.  I’d never heard of it.

Because it stormed all afternoon so I couldn’t stare at my mini garden, looking for new leaves. Or take a quick peek into the bird’s nest in the privet hedge. Or go look for the dog’s lost ball, which he loves and wants back. It’s been lost for days now.

Yes, actual thunderstorms and some actual rain.

Of course, all the animal stuff, it just jars you. You know good and well animals were hurt during the Tarzan shoots, you just freaking know that. But.

When the editing is off or does those jumps, you notice how the elephant will lie down first and then get attacked and ‘killed’. I also noted that the monkeys, in one of the Tarzan movies I peeked at for a bit…and I watched several because I’m a sad sad little shut-in…were actually people in monkey suits. Cheetah was real, at times. I guess?

At one point, Tarzan jumped on a hippo to escape crocodiles. There was the shot of an actual hippo and then the very fake hippo with Tarzan sprawled across that weird fake back like some sort of human frog.

Oh and my fave. When Tarzan fights not one, but two lions. That was not in the She-Devil one, and was Johnny, not Lex.

We clearly see the fake lion that Tarzan wrestles, mixed in with a real lion that just growls and runs about looking spooked…as if someone had a whip and chair and a torch off-screen to get it to go where the director wants. I don’t know if that’s what they did, but that’s what it looks like.

So, our manly jungle man kills the lioness, then faces off against a lion. Back to back fights with giant felines.

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Weissmuller and lion. from the Film Experience

Tarzan also is seen taking on a gnu, killing it with a small knife after twisting its head about as the animal yells accordingly, and then cutting off a hunk of raw meat from the carcass as yet another lion runs up to drag off this dead beast as Tarzan heads up the nearest tree, one hand full of actual raw meat.

Jarred is rather too polite a word to express my inner WTF screaming.

Was that a real goddamn gnu? It sure looked a little too real. Brain PFFFT. Ah, that’s better.

Okay.

If you’ve seen any of the creaky Tarzan flicks, you know a bit of what I’m blithering on about.

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Johnny Weissmuller. 

Oh my gosh, the rampant racism…can I get an amen? It’s…wow. You just…wow.

And I don’t remember which film this was, but I do remember Weissmuller in it– where I think it was supposed to be pygmies who had a pit with a giant ape-thing in it. Who killed whatever victims the pygmies? children dressed up in weird ways? threw down to it.

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The, uh, Pygmies, from 1932’s Tarzan, the Ape Man. Wikipedia

Now, the monkey monster thing was a man, obviously so, dressed up in some sort of monkey outfit. And oddly more pitiful than scary. I wasn’t scared of that thing. It was deformed and lumpy and sad. I wanted to help it.

Yeah, it was tossing victims around like they were stuffed bunnies, but…still. One of the intended victims was, ahem, Jane. Who got to do the faint and be carried bit. Oh my! That same limp draped in the villain’s or monster’s arms popular go-to.

Oh the pygmies. Or Little People in blackface. Or children. Or…yeah. That was. You just. Your brain stops.

You’re going, am I seeing this? Is that, uh, what is that? What’s happening here? And then you go– golly, so glad we’re in post-racist times! [Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.]

You then switch over to the Hallmark movie where a young couple fight gently to remain in love and save their bed and breakfast and the guy gives up Manhattan for a goat. A goat. He misses the goats. 

So, yeah, I switched back to Tarzan. I’m a sad little shut-in, did I mention that??

Why am I writing about Tarzan movies that today would be rightfully skewered for their KKK-esque treatment of Africa and all that?

I’ve been avoiding a big long political rant for some time because…I’d lose my marbles and not get them back for some time if I did.

SPOILER—————> Political shriek almost here. Look away now if you’re squeamish. 

I also have Handmaid’s Tale, season one, waiting to be watched. For a week now. 

I peek at the American political landscape and it’s almost as if this Hulu series is more of a documentary than grim misery porn entertainment.

I don’t need to watch a television series where a country morphs into some sort of hellish biological prison for women, who are forced to breed for the state. Is that not where American is headed RIGHT FUCKING NOW? Look at Iowa. Look at the Bible Belt.

You have trouble breathing as this shit starts to stack up and stack up and stack up. Is this where dictatorships starts? Of course it is.

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I don’t know who designed this. 

But where is the tide to stop the rising tide of totalitarianism? Where are the check and balances? Where are the loud-voiced pugnacious fighters on the side of common sense, common decency and basic rights for all people, not just the few selected Christian-esque males who make all the laws and hoard all the money?

Right now, it’s comedians versus politicians and actual presidents. It’s people doing satire versus people unable to understand why they are fodder for the satire cannons.

That absence of self-awareness just shines right through there on the Alt-Right. Wheee!!! It’s people greedily hurting as many as possible then claiming they’re the real victims here.

When conservatives and such are called out on their nastiness, their hypocrisy, their crimes and misdemeanors, their schemes and frauds and underhand dealings…they cry and scream and claim they’re the ones being attacked and marginalized.

And it works, it works, it works so very well.

There was an actual New York Times op-ed piece  [by Bari Weiss] on JUST THAT VERY FUCKING BULLSHIT TACTIC. Being presented as if…as if very very true.

As if those conservatives screaming and stomping in so many public places, and on the media lately and gosh, always, have been silenced and not allowed to speak at all…while speaking about how silenced they are.

With no awareness that they are speaking, about being silenced, WHILE GETTING AN INTERNATIONAL PLATFORM TO AIR THEIR ALLEGED GRIEVANCES.

God damn it. GOD DAMN IT.

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An actual sign from Maryland. This is real. 

Ah, mini political rant. Well. There ya go.

Oh and to end this weird mash-up of Tarzan and political shrieking, I got some submissions sent off. A film noir-inspired play for a contest in Los Angeles and three plays for some woman-heavy festival in Detroit. I think I’ve been rejected by both places.

But yesterday, this woman from Columbia [the country!] wants to create a work around one of my short plays, as well as use that same play for some university something or other. The Care and Feeding of Baby Birds. 

Sometimes the universe gives you a small sign that yes, you can sorta write stuff people actually do respond to once in a blue moon.

And then you wonder how Tarzan always looked so shaved and groomed in those old Tarzan movies. No chest hair. Did he manscape, too? Those loincloths don’t hide a lot.

You have to wonder about grooming because the movie itself seems full of fake stuffed animals stalking the latest  version of Jane and people dressed up like some Grand Dragon’s most acid-laced dream about Africans in actual Africa.

And those ‘long ago’ views on black people seem the same as they are right now in 2018…holy fake stuffed lion, ya’ll. 

But gee, Tarzan’s kinda nice to look at if you ignore everything else…

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Douglas P. Whitney, photo credit. 

NEMO: THE ADULT YEARS

 

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Someone in the internet interverse referred to the movie, the Shape of Water, as Fucking Nemo. That has stuck with me.

I’ve read a review over on Movie Boozers where they shredded this film, nearly as much as they went after the Fifty Shades stuff. Okay, not as much, but close. If you’ve never heard of Movie Boozers, go check them out. I find myself actually LAUGHING OUT LOUD at their take on the current and past crop of films. [It might even have been on Movie Boozers where I read that reduction of Shape of Water into Sex with Pixar Character.]

1. Shape Of Water: That said, Shape of Water robs me of the ability to coherently speak due to its staggering levels of self-indulgent, and highly disturbing, narrative dissonance. YOU CAN’T MAKE ME BELIEVE IN AN INTERSPECIES LOVE STORY IF THEIR BIG ROMANCE PRIMARILY INVOLVES LINING UP EGGS ALONG AQUAMAN’S TANK FOR BRING-YOUR-PET-TO-WORK SNACK TIME BEFORE YOU, UGHHHHHHH, BANG HIM GIVE IT UP AND SWIPE LEFT ON TINDER LIKE THE REST OF US, BISH. Oh, yeah, I wondered when the all caps button would get stuck again. No. Just no.

So, I rented the film. Yes, from Red Box. I’m one of those people who miss Blockbuster. Now you have a real and awful glimpse into my soul.

The Shape of Water had just won the Academy Award for, uh, everything? Best Picture, at least, I remember that. And it’s by the guy who did Pan’s Labyrinth. Which, if I need an excuse to sob and feel bad for days, I pop into my DVD player and wallow in the soul-destroying beauty of that film. I don’t need an excuse to sob and feel bad for days, my brain does that to me all on its own…so.

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from Vulture. Sally Hawkins as Eliza, Octavia Spencer as Zelda

Okay! I expected a gorgeous, dark film, full of uncomfortable truths and great visuals. Perhaps the people who had not liked this film were more into Lifetime movies about abused women taking back their lives and crazed stalkers being brought to justice. Or movies where shit blows up and it’s ninety percent men with lots of sweaty muscles on display and giant weapons, not to mention shotguns and flamethrowers. Tee hee. 

First off, the film really is gorgeous. The tones reflect a rather watery world, with cool wavery blues, shadows, blurred lights, night setting…yeah. The tiny apartments they lived in, yes, yes, yes. People with no actual money living in tiny dark dingy places! Yes, ma’am! Our heroine masturbating every night before she goes to work, hey, who hasn’t done that when having to work graveyard? Hands? Tee hee.

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from Hype MY. Gold and shadows. That’s Doug Jones as Amphibian Man.

Though, I honestly did like that this woman, who lives alone, masturbates on a regular basis and the film maker regards it as normal and natural. It’s just part of who she is. Score! She’s not waiting for some man or beast to ‘wake her up’. She’s woke, baby. It’s just rather startling and pleasant to see a depiction of female sexuality that’s about HER PLEASURE and that she just enjoys it.

It also gave the movie a foreign film air. As America cinema tends to paint women as shrills, shrews, bitches, cold sex-hating ex-wives or very young whores/madonnas. Masturbation among American cinema females is seen as desperate, old-maid behavior. See Girls Trip for an example of this. Jokes about detachable shower nozzles here please.

Okay, before we veer off into how the movies treat women’s sexuality…

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from the News Geeks. 

Secondly! I expected more and got far less from this movie. The story…eh. It’s the wallflower and the outsider; they just added a fishman to the mix. Is that bestiality? If you’re having an affair with something with gills? Are we edging over into, gulp, tentacle porn? Well, sort of. We do get brief fish/heroine sex. We also got a finger show on how the fishman’s penis works.

Now, Adult Nemo, wow. Well done on that. It didn’t look like some skinny dude wrapped in plastic and making weird sounds, like oh, the Creature from the Black Lagoon. There seemed to be an utter believability to this fishman of Shape of Water. That it could mate with a human…eh. Does that make it part human? Because that would get into some actual legal and ethical issues over keeping it locked up, torturing it and yes, you guessed, killing it and then dissecting it later on.

Because what do movie scientists and military folks do the very second they get their moist hands on something exotic, out of this world or unknown and rare? Right! They wanna cut it up and look at its guts! Oh my goddess!! Can we for once NOT GO DOWN THIS PARTICULAR PLOT HELLWAY? Scientists find some one of a kind creature and WANT TO KILL IT RIGHT OFF? Are you INSANE? I just…it’s just not logical or…god damn it!

What if they had discovered the fishman was some sort of undiscovered evolutionary shoot of humans?? What??!! I’m already more interested in that angle than the tired, played out, little shy mouse falls in love with some outcast who falls in love with her, wah, the end.

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from tumblr

Thirdly–The storyteller, the film maker here…took away her voice. My my. In a time when it’s so horrifically obvious that women’s voices are already pretty much silenced, to feature a MUTE FUCKING WOMAN as your main character…Jesus wept.

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from Dance Network. Suddenly we’ve wandered into someone’s high school prom that took place on Halloween? 

And then that dream sequence where she sings and dances…dances with the fishman…I…I honestly didn’t know what to make of this. Because it seems more fairy tale/fantasy than the entire film combined and then some. It jarred me. It was beautifully done but seemed at odds with the entire rest of the film. Ah, there it is.

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from the Verge. Michael Shannon as Strickland. Mr. Grey can see you now. Come on! It’s right there. 

Okay! Here’s four. Here we go. Hold on to something. 

Let’s move on to the super-concentrated Batman-esque villain that rape-romps his way through Shape of Water, shall we?

Michael Shannon is one of my favorite actors. He’s scary-sexy; yeah. I can’t explain it better than that. He should have been Christian Grey. I bet Shannon spitting out those truly abysmal lines would have been something to hear and watch. That intensity, that quiet intent, that notion that he could go pussycat or psycho tiger and you’d welcome both.

My crushes are weird and varied, sorry. If you got through my take on The Big Lebowski…yep.

Now! As the villain of this film, eh. I’m going to blame the story here.

This villain, a government procurer of oddities–honestly, that’s what I thought his job was. He just goes around slapping the shit out of weird animals/human hybrids and grinding his teeth because his wife talks too much-– brings in a tank full of SOMETHING to this government facility in Baltimore, Maryland.

Whee.

It was found in South America. It does not like our villain and shows this by biting off two fingers, which our heroine finds. Now, the fingers being sewn back on to his hand and then rotting away…that alone was great. It was visual, it summed up the villain, it…yeah. Our villain is a rotting smelly finger! Got it!

The problem with the villain? One-note. Bang bang bang. He’s one of the sharks from a sharknado. You just sit back and wait for someone to chainsaw this guy in half while spouting a sporty one-liner. 

Not to mention, he’s such an OBVIOUS villain, everyone knows to avoid him and fight him. He’s repulsive, he’s a bully and then some; he’s a concentrated dickhead. 

Ugh.

I wanted so much more from Shannon’s role. Oh my gosh, a love triangle developing instead of him trying to be a rapey asshole to our heroine.

What if he had been torn by the empathy and such Rita shows to the fishman [is there an official name for the creature?], which makes his job all the harder as he, too, starts to understand and sympathize with Fishy? Sort of like the Russian spy guy…who had an actual character, motivation and arc. He, the Russian spy guy, sympathizes with the monster, and helps with the escape…by planting something that so very obvious the Russians would have used…in a facility full of American military personnel. I just. Ugh.

What if we get to see something other than kill kill wanna rape that silent freak girl I’m mean mean mean from the villain? Give Shannon a real acting challenge. Give him a place to go. He can’t start at ten and stay at ten and end the movie at ten. Boring!

And worse, just bad screenwriting. It’s a rookie mistake. This is a rookie mistake in a straight to dvd movie called Bad Villain, Part 8, Revenge of Squishy. [A Finding Nemo shout-out.]

Give us a story where we root for everyone and it breaks our hearts. Because those we root for can’t all win in the end…which is rather closer to actual stories of love in real life.

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from Mashable. Cuddling!
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from the Independent, UK. The Creature from the Black Lagoon and friend. For compare and contrast purposes only. 

But.

This is touted as a fairy tale.

Fairy tales tend to teach lessons. On behavior and what to do and how society deals with those who step off the path. [Badly. Badly is the answer. Do as you’re told, ladies.] So what do we learn from The Shape of Water?

Mm.

Love conquers all, even death. Yeah, except it doesn’t.

Bad guys always get theirs. Yeah, except when they don’t and they seldom do in real life, if their lawyers are competent.

Friendship is rewarding and wonderful. Yes, actually, it is. Point awarded. I really enjoyed the relationship between Eliza and Giles, played by Richard Jenkins. Far more than the romance between Rita and Adult Nemo…oh dear. I keep thinking her name is Rita. It’s not? 

Scientists are evil and always want to kill everything. Except for the Russian double agent guys, because they know about being different? I’m not sure at all here what I’m supposed to take away about scientists.

Red shoes are a sign of rebellion.

Oh yes, you thought I wouldn’t bring up the RED SHOES our heroine, Rita, [or Eliza. Why do I think her name is RITA? Why?] bought and then wore. Women and shoes, oh yes. Uh huh. Though, women really do love shoes. Here’s why.

Your feet don’t look fat in shoes. Your shoe size doesn’t go up or down, after all. 

No one looks at your feet and tells you about the latest diet craze or that you have such a pretty face, it’s a shame you’re such a hideous porker from the depths of hell. Of course, if you have hooves for feet…welp. So no, women can’t win this one, either. Sorry! 

Same thing with jewelry or scarves or hats.

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from Fashiontalks. The red shoes!

But. Red shoes. She couldn’t buy them before she…DISCOVERED NEMO LOVIN’. And got her groove going and discovered her inner sand dollar! Oh god damn it to hell and back and then back again.

An actual romance novel/chick flick staple! Fuck me running.

That woman who finds courage to buy some article of clothing because…I just can’t, my brain liquefied for a bit. It’s Pretty Woman and she gets to wear pretty clothes! Incoherent scream snarls inserted here. 

It might seem I hated this movie. I didn’t. Most of it was well done and entirely watchable. Other parts, not so much. I wanted to love it, I just couldn’t get there. It was no Sharnado II. Feeble joke but you get the point? Sharknado II came together as a whole…Shape of Water just did not. This is why I do not review movies for a living or, um, ever.

Yes, I did compare a movie about sharks raining down on NYC with a movie about interspecies romance that won actual big time awards. Yes, I did.

I had the same problem with La La Land. I could admire the artistry, and that scene in the planetarium, City of Stars. Wow. That I actually watched with real wonder and a slight ache in the remaining straggles of my soul. But the La La story, oh so overdone and been there many times feel to it. Trying to make it in LA as an actress…slap me with a mackerel. And the ending. I wanted to just beat the film makers with a sack full of moldy pudding. It would be gross but not leave bruises.

I hesitated about posting this at all.

It’s rambling, long, disjointed, full of adult language and adult themes and reveals I have a bit of a crush on Michael Shannon. But.

It’s my blog, right?

A few only will glance at this and then go on to look at cute cat videos and some super-popular mommy blog and add their comments under politically charged stories written in the Washington Post.

And last night, Michelle Wolfe roasted all of D.C. and the media. She didn’t mince words. So, if she can do that, I can post a random movie review.

Oh, the mini garden is doing okay. In case you were hankering for news in that area from yours truly.

 

 

The Dude Abides

 

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from ebay. 

I was younger then. A sprat in the great garden of life. This movie, so many said, is the funniest thing since Duck Soup. It’s got a dash of Beckett and a smearing of the Muppets! Nobody said that, but that’s the praise that floated about for the cult classic known as the Big Lebowski. It was both highbrow indie art secret inner circle fare AND a lowbrowish fart joke, boobies out, lots of cussing lowest common denominator sorta popcorn flick. I sat through it, young sprat that I was, and went…eh.

Jeff Bridges, one of my favorite actor type people, shuffled through this trainwreck of a movie where nothing happened and he got a rug and then it ended. Or did he get his rug back? Ugh!

Also, this guy Bridges played whined like a stepped on puppy the entire six hours of this movie! How many hours was the Big Lebowski?? Ugh times two. I liked the music. Yep. That was what I basically took away from this Coen effort. The music was okay. I had no desire to watch the Dude shuffle through Los Angeles scenarios like a bewildered whiny, well, Fozzy Bear. [Which is probably not quite the right Muppet.]

Anyhoo!

Fade in, years later–

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from Way Marketing. This is from Mountain Home but still…!

I’m at the Idaho Youth Ranch. It’s a local thrift store, right next to the Canned Food store. Which, if you don’t know, is a bargain basement sorta discount grocery outlet joint. Cheap, past the date stuff, cleaning products, VO5 shampoo.

So! There I am, at the Idaho Youth Ranch, plucking through the VHS tapes. Which are, like fifty cents or so. The DVD’s are, like, two bucks or so. Just so you get an idea of price range and options. The paperbacks go for about fifty cents or so, hardbacks a dollar or so…mostly because they have stacks and stacks of books, not because they’re trying to save YOU, THE CONSUMER, any cash. As the books used to be quite pricey which is why they didn’t move very many of them…so, the commies win that one. Dang commies. Anyhoo!

There it is. The Big Lebowski. In a battered VHS jacket. A rather comfortable gold-ish hue.

Eh, I figure. Why not. I can have it on in the background as I…write. It’s cheap. Jeff Bridges is in it. [I might have a bit of a crush on Mr. Bridges. Don’t tell anyone.]

I have my VHS/DVD combo hooked up to my truly ancient Sanyo at home. I have since had to unhook that and replace it with a DVD player, bought at the Idaho Youth Ranch. Fifteen bucks. I was rolling in dough back then.

And thus begins the second phase of my Big Lebowski Spring Awakening minor epiphany.

Fade out!!

The Dude. Everyman sort of character, wandering through a rather Apocalyptic ***if you use this term three times in a single document, Jesus shows up and tells you ‘No butt stuff, go Patriots!’ before returning to heaven–I heard this on Fox News, hand to Satan*** vision of Los Angeles, encountering devils and angels in his simple quest to replace his rug.

He doesn’t change a whit. Not a single lesson doth he learn. He doesn’t go on any sort of inner spiritual journey, which is the damn hallmark and actual lodestone of Western Lit and Western filmmaking. The Dude ‘abides’, which is the famous quotable quote from this film. From being attacked by a ferret in the bath to his friend dropping dead to a snit fit over the Eagles, he abides. He abides. That’s, as I’ve pointed out earlier, rather radical storytelling.

As who has not been taught that ‘something’ has to happen, when telling a tale of some kind? Remember those writing classes, kiddies? I barely do! But I’m no longer a sprat. I’m a gone to seed faded sprout! Sad face. Big sad face here.

Are we not lectured on the arc of a story? We start here at X, something happens, there’s a climax, the end. We assume the hero [rarely the heroine] learns something or is changed in some way, for the better. The hero changes. Something happens. Stuff adds up at the end. There’s a reason for why that stuff happened.

The Big Lebowski says nuts to that.

Which is probably why I went, eh, and didn’t embrace its laid back radicalism. After all, some guy having absurd encounters while taking time now and then to bowl– just not my cup of sarsaparilla. I have plebian tastes in movies, I like em simple. Things blow up, stuff happens, things blow up, big speech, things blow up, the end.

Back to the BL!!

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Storytelling. Ah. BL says nuts to traditional ways and means to tell a story. What is the story here, in BL? Is it about a rug? About the Dude? About consumerism? About porn? About Vietnam? Conservative versus liberal? White Russians are the bomb? Is there a story here? Isn’t Sam Elliot dreamy? That voice! Like rough velvet and those twinkly blue eyes!

I might have a bit of a crush on Sam Elliot, too. Oh gosh, I’m revealing so much of myself with this post. Damn it.

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Jeff Bridges as the Dude and Sam Elliot as that other dude in the Big Lebowski

I just know that if I turned in something like the Big Lebowski to a writing teacher, I’d have been told to rewrite it so that ‘something happened’ and there was a pay off of some kind. Or not. They, those that taught various writing classes and such, might have just shrugged, given me a passing grade so as not to deal with me further and forgotten my efforts entirely.

Now, I’ve seen Fargo. And the Coen remake of the John Wayne magnum opus, True Grit. Which, to me, didn’t quite fire on all cylinders. There was something lacking in it. It had gorgeous scenery, the acting was okay…eh. I can rewatch it and not get sick. So, yeah.

I’ve enjoyed the comedy stylings– O Brother Where Art Thou. We thought you were a toad! I thought they did a bang up job with No Country For Old Men. [That hair cut!! That hair cut gave me nightmares. Now that’s a film.]

I didn’t ‘get’ the Big Lebowki until I’d lived a bit. Until, like the Dude, I’d been tossed about by a truly indifferent life and thrown away to root, hog or die. I get it now. It’s…yeah. There’s no reason for any of this and then the credits roll. Yep. The BL is a metaphor for life itself. Gag me with a spoon, rightio? I should leave my house once in a while?? You get born, you live, you do a lot of drugs, you go bowling, you do stuff that doesn’t pan out, then you die. Amen.

I can go on in this vein for some time. That it’s all for nothing. You strive like a motherfucker, do most of it right, die anyway and…we don’t ever find out if what you did was all worth a hill of beans during a shitstorm. The Dude drinks his White Russians, grieves over his rug which brought the room together and bowls with his buddies, and he’s happy. He complains, but he’s generally a content sort without too much worry or stress. He’s that guy who drifts on life’s waters and bumps gently up against this or that with no real visible damage. And don’t we all know one of those sorts? That floating through life like a balloon sorta person? They just nudge and bounce against the walls and ceiling and then find a way out into the sky through an open window. And float away with a ‘well, fuck me, look at that’ smile of beautified indifference for it all.

So maybe, we watching are the story. Maybe we’re the journey. Which is a bit uncomfortable and high-falutin’. Maybe the BL is performance art! Talk about being precious and elitist! Probably communist, as well.

“They” were screeching about commies elsewhere, as the fear of commies under every bed is back with a bullet, baby!– this morn. So I find myself grinning and including commie references into this rambling take of the Coen Brothers ode to bowling, rugs and abiding dudes.

original_the-big-lebowski-art-print mondo mosaic
from Mondo Mosaic– art print of Big Lebowski.