One More Thing…

Read this one in Peter Falk’s voice. It will sound so much better, trust me.

There are a great many things that I don’t understand. Vegans, reality TV, that stupid security tape on CDs and DVDs that is utterly impossible to pull of in one piece, you get the idea. But if there’s one thing that’s really bugging me right now, it’s economics. That’s not quite true, actually. There’s something just a little bit deeper that’s eating away at me. Let’s see if we can figure it out.

I enjoy objectifying men. Some people feel that it is wrong to objectify women, but I disagree. I love pornography. I also, as I mentioned in the post prior to this one, saw Skyfall recently and spent many long minutes drooling over Daniel Craig’s ripped body and glorious face. I want to have sex with him. There’s nothing wrong with that. I also want to rule the world, but until I can program these robots so that they will be sentient, adaptable, and fiercely loyal to me (how many mad scientists have sabotaged their own plans by forgetting about that one?), I’ll have to be content with my fantasies. As you might have noticed by now, I have a vivid imagination.

Okay, maybe that was too much information. I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind. Let’s talk a little bit more about James Bond. The gender politics in that series have always been icky, but that is changing, albeit slowly. CraigBond is a bit more tender than ConneryBond or even BrosnanBond, and I don’t mind saying that while I wouldn’t mind saving the world with Sean Connery, I’m not sure I would enjoy being romanced by him. Some entitled old white men have bemoaned our culture’s gradual shift away from men who win women simply by dressing nicely and being available, and to that I say: good. How many movies can you name in which an average-looking sad sack woos a perfect 10? The former is almost always a man, the latter almost always a woman. Some cases are excusable–Knocked Up, in which the imbalance between the two was the entire point of the film, and Sideways, in which the woman was prettier, but no less well-developed–but after a while, the examples pile up. The most blatant example of this that I can name is Adam Sandler, whose characters have slept with dozens, if not hundreds of women who would not give a guy like him a second glance if they weren’t receiving a fat sack of cash for it. I suppose you could argue that Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison are funny in a very juvenile, Friday-night-rental kind of way, but the five minutes I spent watching I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry (I couldn’t stomach any more) actually made me angry. What gives Sandler the right to cast himself as a total ladies’ man? Let me rephrase that. He certainly has the right, but that doesn’t make it right.

Adam Sandler movies have gone from being merely lazy to openly contemptuous of their audience. Jack and Jill was basically a feature-length scam, nothing more than an excuse for Sandler and his buddies to collect ridiculously inflated paychecks just to hang out and act like guys. Grown Ups, from what I can tell, was basically the same thing, although someone is bound to point out that Chris Rock is still awesome, so I’ll go ahead and say it: Chris Rock is awesome. Moving on…

The climax of I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, according to what I’ve read (normally, it’s wrong to judge something without having seen it, but here, I honestly don’t give a shit), involves Kevin James and Adam Sandler’s little scheme to pass themselves off as gay lovers unraveling when the two can’t bring themselves to kiss each other in public. If you’re going to sign on for a ploy like that, shouldn’t you be prepared to at least give your “partner” a little peck on the cheek? But Sandler caves to the homophobia of his audience, still trying to include a message of tolerance by adding that it’s wrong to use the word “faggot”. Is it? I say “faggot” all the time. Faggot faggot faggot. And while I’m at it, homo queer cocksucker fudgepacker butt pirate pole-smoker gaylord gaywad gayass. Were you offended by that? If so, you’re on the wrong website.

I used to see every movie that was supposed to be good. I got bored with that after a while. These days, I see movies if they have some special relevance to me. A few weeks ago, I saw The Band Wagon, a fun old musical about the difficulties of working in the theater. This weekend, I think I’ll watch Food, Inc., for no reason other than that it’s been on my Netflix queue for some time and it will no longer be available for streaming as of Monday. But I will always have a special place in my heart for anything that is weird, out there, or just plain nuts. Speaking of which…

There’s only one way that I can properly describe this movie to somebody who’s never seen it: If you were a sci-fi-writing, disco-dancing leather daddy, this is what your acid trips would look like. That’s all I’ve got, seriously. It’s one of the greatest “so bad it’s good” movies ever made, a hallucinatory, hideously excessive futuristic musical with hammy overacting, surprisingly catchy tunes, sharp choreography, and a script so unhinged that when it ends with the most blatant deus ex machina this side of the Battlestar Galactica finale, it feels earned rather than cheap. If you are intrigued by cult movies at all, I cannot recommend The Apple highly enough. It’s available for streaming on Netflix, in case anyone cares.

Stay out of trouble, everyone. I’ll be back soon.


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