Archive by Author

Simon Goes to the Movies, Episode IV: Inseparable

6 Dec
Why aren't they smoking outside the library?

Classic Keyser Soze

Let’s talk for a minute about trailers.

I watch trailers. I know many people who do not watch trailers. The justification I most commonly here for this refusal is that a trailer unfairly influences how you watch a film. I admire the proponents of this abstinence as I, personally, have never been able to exist in a vacuum without having all of the air sucked out of my body and my eyes popping out of their sockets. Although, now that I think about it, it would be difficult to watch trailers if your eyes had been pulled forcibly out of their sockets, so it really makes sense that they wouldn’t watch them.

Continue reading →

About these ads

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

How to react to your first episode of Gossip Girl

16 Oct

Hands down the hottest 20-something to play a high schooler in years.

It all started with Monte Carlo[1].

Well, that’s inaccurate, it all started with an accelerated math course in elementary school but to follow the threads back that long would just be boring[2] so we’re going with the abbreviated version and it all started with Monte Carlo.

I used to watch a new movie every day which is relatively easy to do between Netflix and OnDemand and, you know, the internet. One of the last movies in this multi-year habit was Monte Carlo, starring Selena Gomez, Leighton Meester and a blonde woman who seemed very replaceable the entire time. The movie is an intense look into the differences between people as stipulated by classes and also there is a scene where they play polo and also Selena Gomez meets up with her true love while casually working at a Romanian charter school. Also Cory Monteith is in the movie and he doesn’t sing[3] so that’s a plus I guess.

Regardless, I watched the entire movie trying to figure out where I had seen Leighton Meester before. My first guess was Episodes, best known as the show that earned Matt LeBlanc a Golden Globe for playing Matt LeBlanc. However, a quick trip down Wikipedia lane proved that incorrect[4]. I also that it might be Elizabeth Moss but it turns out that Leighton Meester and Elizabeth Moss are two seperate people and only one of them has kissed pre-skinny Jonah Hill.

Then I forgot about it.

Just kidding, then I watched Monte Carlo again because it was on HBO before Real Sex[5] and I like having very confused junk. The second time around I discovered that the film was a clever commentary on a gendered society done through a gender-inverted version of the classic parable, the prince and the pauper and also the replaceable blonde woman is a waitress right in that douchey French guys face and also they could have made a very shocking sequel in which Riley, the carefree Australian goes all Wolf Creek[6] on Leighton Meester.

After this viewing I forgot about it entirely.

Several months later I was at a neighborhood joint I frequent often[7] when Gossip Girl came on. My only knowledge of Leighton Meester up until this point was as the wounded Meg Kelly. A woman driven by academic ambition who learns to accept levity into her life, by way of a very attractive Australian.

In Gossip Girl she plays Blair Waldorf, who is a huge bitch.

Blair is manipulative and just a meanie-pants in general. In specific, in the three episodes of Gossip Girl I saw she blackmailed two people and was really mean to another one and then kissed all the boys and I believe I’ve discovered the perfect analogy to what watching Gossip Girl was like.

Watching Gossip Girl was like the first time I went to visit my brother[8] in college and we got into a huge street fight with some other guys and then went downtown to a suite and sat around in the hallway passing around bottles of André and then me and this other guy got hungry so we went downstairs and ate Popeye’s. Gossip Girl is that chicken. I enjoyed the show a lot at the time, but later when I try to access it again it has turned into shit via entirely normal physical processes.

I have fond memories of watching Gossip Girl, but I’m not sure if that’s because I liked the show or because I was watching it with good company and I was in a great mood. That said, watching the show reminded me of something once said by noted cultural critic and current expatriate John Edwin Foster regarding the inevitable proletariat revolution.

J.E. and I were watching It’s Complicated[9], a movie where there are literally zero considerations for things like money and whatnot, and J.E. told me that when the proletariat revolts it will be because of It’s Complicated. They will rise up banners of fire and counter-oppression and as we look down from the diamond balcony we will have very little soul in our argument and they will justly rend us limb from limb.

Gossip Girl works in substititution for It’s Complicated[10].

The entire show could be summed up as #firstworldproblems. In the episode I watched, a character was removed from all his money, a problem he solved not through any great effort. He just fucked a cougar. Then he got called out on it and the explanation “I fucked a cougar because I needed the guapamole” was perfectly sufficent.

Similarly, someone’s mom was running a fashion show and the cool kids had to show up in order to make sure it was covered by the press. The cool kids did show up but the models didn’t so they had to be the models!

At this point, someone reading this should have bridled as the unfairly one-sided portrayal of Gossip Girl by someone who has admittedly seen a very small amount of the show. “What gives him the right,” you may be asking, “to decry such a show? It’s not like they’re trying to make a really deep show or anything.”

Touche.

Some people don’t know this about me[11], but I’ve seen every episode of Sex and the City and both movies. While the second movie is not really worth mentioning[12], I love the show. My mother suggested the reason why she likes Sex and the City and not shows like Desperate Housewives or Cougartown is because the show, on a very elementary level, is about friendship. That’s what seemed to be missing while I watched Gossip Girl. Blair and Serena have moments of comradery but their relationship is built on mutual antagonism.

The men in Sex and the City are mostly[13] one-dimensional coitus puppets. But the show uses them as plot devices to advance the women. If Berger hadn’t broken up with Carrie via post-it-note then we would have never realized how he, an intellectual foil to her, represented all her insecurities in a relationship and her constant desire to find easy happiness over lasting contentment.

When Chuck hits Blair it’s shocking, but it’s shocking in a way that American Psycho[14] is shocking. There’s no emotional fear, just a physical revulsion to the act. Patrick Bateman was created as a satire of east-coast elite, and so his violence is somewhat representative of the arrogance and incosiderateness of an entire class. When Chuck hits Blair it becomes apparent that you are watching either very deeply layered cultural criticism or a soap opera.

This begs a further question: what is wrong with a soap opera?

There is a prevailing theory that stating a genre informs the experience of the viewer on a fundamental level[15]. If you watch Gossip Girl through the lens that the production value would suggest, then ultimately you will be disappointed. The show is not as glitzy as the location scouting would suggest, it is base, and that is not an insult though it may sound like one. It is less than it claims to be, sure, but if we learned anything from the Nolan Batman trilogy[16] it was it’s not what you say, but what you do that makes you who you are. Despite Gossip Girl‘s vehement claims to the contrary, it is just a tabloid you peruse while waiting to check out at the grocery store. You might enjoy it, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but you should stay conscious of its deliberate sensationalism which fundamentally undermines any sensationalist aspirations it may have.

A final note:

Metafilmic influence is a crazy thing.

Remember Monte Carlo[17]? That was where I saw Leighton Meester for this first time. Usuaully, when an actor has a definitive role[18] it informs how the audience views them in subsequent roles (or previous roles viewed subsequently). This can also be true for the first role you see an actor in.

Imagine watching Gossip Girl through the lens formed by Monte Carlo. Blair Waldorf becomes an act to appear tough, a protection against something. But what?

Does Riley leave Meg after Monte Carlo ends? Is Blair just a girl who opened up her heart, only to have it Temple of Doom‘d, forcing her to act as heartless as possible to avoid being hurt again? Maybe all of her politicking is intentionally self-destructive, as she has seen how the only thing she needed for happiness was an oft-shirtless Australian.

Do you think that Blair ever finds herself sitting by a window in winter? She looks out onto the snow and sees not a blanket but a smothering force. She remembers the beach in Morocco where he told her that the key was not to worry and so she doesn’t. She laments. She ponders the consistency of words when their speaker has been proven to be so inconsistent. She might run a finger over her lips, but only if she is sure no one is watching.

Her phone vibrates. Serena wants to get drunk because she can taste Conneticut in her mouth and she wants to drown it out anyway possible.

When they are having sex with their boyfriends, they’ll think of each other.

It will not be a sexual thought. It will be the absolute misery that comes from realizing that in all of existence there is only one other person who understands your position, and that’s because she is also on her back, legs up in the air and over-priced liquor in her stomach too.

Later that night Blair will turn her head to the side as if to vomit, but nothing will come up. Her stomach has become too fortified against all the poison she ingests.[19]

[1]   I was trying to come up with the name Monte Carlo once and said Montenegro. Very different films, I recommend neither.

[2]   A lot of the time in grades 6-8 would be spent at Yu-Gi-Oh tournaments, a notoriously difficult game to report on.

[3]   I feel very bad for a lot of the actors in Glee because how can any other work be fulfilling after that?

[4]   In my more vain moments I like to imagine that there is a conspiratorial council dictating rapid-fire changes to Wikipedia just to foil the discovery of pleasant coincidinces in my life. Also I was banned from editing Wikipedia so I’m still a little sore about the whole thing.

[5]   There’s a really good drinking game where you drink and watch Real Sex and wonder what went wrong to lead you to this point.

[6]   This is a movie I recommend. If more people see it, then they’ll get what I mean when I drunkenly threaten to Wolf Creek their ass.

[7]   It’s called the Kitten Shack and three Zeta’s live there because only the best can wear the crown.

[9]   I liked It’s Complicated but then I really like Roxanne so maybe I’m just a Steve Martin fan

[10] So does Catcher in the Rye, sorry.

[11] All of you who don’t know me shouldn’t know this, but some people who do know me also don’t know this.

[12] Think Godfather III

[13] Except Aidan. Carrie and Aidan forever.

[14] I only own three DVD’s: American Psycho, Silence of the Lambs, and Remember the Titans.

[15] This is why Rian Johnson never told the cast of Brick that they were making a noire film. Genre conventions, etc.

[16] Those movies are worth watching a few times, which is independent of how good/enjoyable they are.

[17] You didn’t think I was never going to come back to it?

[18] So for John Lithgow, clearly it’s The World According to Garp

[19] The necessary accusation is that in order to write fan-fiction one must, on some level, be a fan.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Simon Goes to the Movies Episode III: The Last Man on Earth

8 Aug

Meh

A weird thing about The Last Man on Earth, at least for someone like me who read I am Legend and saw I am Legend (with Will Smith) before seeing it is that Vincent Price is probably the last person I would have picked to be the last human on earth. Let’s ignore for a minute the fact that he is Vincent Price, and judge him only by his appearance. He is not the most attractive man in the film, and he is not even the most capable looking person. He kind of lumbers about in the exact same way you would have expected him to lumber about preceding the end of the world.

That’s a very minor quibble though.

The film was filmed in Italy. The fact that the protagonist’s last name is Morgan lead me to believe he was supposed to be an American. However, the film is so obviously shot in Italy that even if you did not know that Italy existed you would have concluded that it was filmed in a theoretical place called Italy. There are also some hilarious shots where you can see cars driving on allegedly abandoned roads.

The film is truer to the plot of the novel I am Legend than the latest film adaptation, but I am remarkably uninterested in entering into a discussion about adaptation and reinterpretation so I’ll just say that sticklers for exact adaptations might prefer this film.

Vincent Price was a good actor. There are genuinely moving sequences in the film (especially when he watches old footage of his family before the world ended) and he carries the rather okay script well.

There is also a lot of camp, but it’s a movie with Vincent Price in it so what else would you expect?

I haven’t said if The Last Man on Earth is a good film or not, and that’s because I really don’t know. I’ve been recently informed that any defamatory comments made about a film, regardless of their hyperbolic nature or the intention to be entertaining, will be received as personal insults by the admirers of the film and will be returned likewise with personal insult. So perhaps the true paradox of film criticism is extant in my feelings about The Last Man on Earth.

Those of you who have better things to do with your time might not know this about Italian cinema, but one of the factors that allowed the rapid advancement of their cinematography was a conscious decision to dub over everything. Until fairly recently, Italian films eschewed natural sounds for post-synchronization. Somewhat hilariously, directors would change scripts, and so facial movements were being dubbed with entirely different sentences (see: every Rossellini film ever).

The Last Man on Earth is an Italian film in some ways; there are heavy allusions to Catholicism (like the finale) and there are unattractive men married to beautiful women. Also, there is very poorly recorded post-synchronized sound. Even Vincent Price, who provided the voice and the acting (as most of the other actors were Italian, and presumably had their voices recorded by Americans), looks off for most of the dialogue he delivers.

There’s also an interesting lack of urgency in Vincent Price’s Robert Morgan. He doesn’t run. His plan is to merely kill all the vampires, but we’re never quite sure why he wants to do so. A lot of the power of the novel, which resides in the last part of it, is lost in this adaptation. But what takes its place is just an overwhelming feeling of mundanity.

The vampires in this film are unlike the ones in I am Legend. They are weak, slow, and only frightening because of their numbers. Morgan easily casts them aside like they were made of styrofoam. Really, the only threat to him is their numbers but even that is a non-issue as long as he keeps some garlic and mirrors handy.

So to properly describe the premise: Robert Morgan thinks he is the last man on earth. By day he hunts vampires and at night he suffers their mild assault.

This is all led to a rather affecting conclusion where he declares to a church full of half-vampires that he is the last real man on earth, and then he is impaled by spears. See what I meant by Catholic influence?

But I digress. This feeling of mundanity (as we’re told he’s been doing this for the last couple of years) was intoxicating for me. There’s a particularly interesting moment when the vampires are attacking his home (which involves them hitting the side of his house with sticks) and he’s listening to a jazz record. It’s not a view of the apocalypse that we’re used to. Robert Morgan is bored.

Far more frightening than the nightly battles against the undead is the day time slaughter. Morgan breaks into their homes, where they are literally sleeping in bed, and stakes them. He then puts them in the back of the hearse he drives and deposits them in a charnel pit. He wears a gas mask while he does so, which in a sense seems to dehumanize him.

Dropping bitches like Berlusconi

So maybe the original point of the novel is maintained outside of the ending. The novel ends with Morgan realizing that he has become a monster of legend to the vampires, much like they were monsters to the pre-apocalyptic society. In the film, that moment of realization is lacking but is replaced by a slower realization on the part of the audience: Robert Morgan might the last man, but that’s meaningless if he’s the only one.

The trappings of society that he maintains (listening to music, wearing sweater vests, drinking out of cups) seem very odd even though they are by far the most normal things in the film. They may be countermeasures against insanity for him, but as a viewer I found them indicative of his madness. He seems resolute in his rejection of the new world, but even more resolute in his rejection of the futility of his existence.

After all, he is a man. There will be no more humanity as far as he knows for the majority of the film. Yet every day he struggles to stay alive, and more than that, he struggles to remove what little sentience there is left on the planet.

There are moments where the films displays a lack of sophistication. Price’s voiceover is a little reminiscent of the voiceover for the original release of Blade Runner. There are the aforementioned issues with dubbing and the sound design in general, and the other actors seem to favor melodrama over any other type of emotional reaction.

But there is also an interesting flouting of horror tropes that had already been set in place by  Universal Studios’ earlier monster films. There is no reveal of the monster inside the room. There is nothing coming up behind you. Morgan is never surprised by the vampires, only perturbed by them and their ineffective attacks.

And now we return to the paradox I was describing earlier. Is the fact that I enjoyed this film a sign that it is good? It is possible that this feeling of mundanity is just evidence of poor filmmaking. There are certainly other examples of poor filmmaking in the film, yet I’m hesitant to apply the word bad to it because I liked it.

In the criticism of my criticism on the Dark Knight Rises which was, admittedly, hastily written and intended more to be entertaining than a serious piece of film analysis (I realize the preceding statement is ambiguous as to whether it refers to my review or the review of the review so rest assured that it can be applied to both), one of the several legitimate charges was that I was unable to overcome the negative aspects of the film to recognize the numerous positive ones. This is fair.

Ultimately, good and bad are just shortcuts we use to save ourselves time. I still can’t say whether or not The Last Man on Earth is a good film, much in the same way I cannot say that Days of Heaven or Killer of Sheep are good films. Movies are always more complex than monosyllabic labels and it is a very specific type of pretension that allows us to pigeonhole them thusly.

Would I recommend The Last Man on Earth? That depends on who I am recommending it to. If you are a person who loves Vincent Price, definitely. If you despise unexciting films, then probably not. But if you ever have an hour and a half to kill I would definitely suggest trying it. It doesn’t grab interest immediately, or ever, really, but I was certainly satisfied by the film’s end.

P.S.: If you are a diehard fan of The Last Man on Earth or even just a person who was rubbed the wrong way by this review, I’d prefer if you left my name out of your rebuttal. I know I’m not hip enough to come up with a pseudonym so I’d rather you didn’t insult me directly, by name.

Baci per tutti,
Simon K.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Simon Goes to the Movies Episode 2: The Dark Knight Rises and then Falls and then Rises and then there’s a pit I think?

25 Jul

Christopher Nolan is finally done asking his audiences if the world really needs Batman.

So, again, for those of you who missed it last time, spoilers are gonna be all up in this bitch like it was a stereotypical portrayal of Latino youth.

There is always an obvious tension in adaptations, where you want to serve the fan base (henceforth this will be known as ‘fanservice’) and you also want to bring in people who have more things to do with their lives than digest entire mythologies. One of the many praises bestowed upon Christopher Nolan’s Bat-movies is that they did little to alienate hardcore fans and were immensely attractive to more casual attendees. As a fanboy, and therefore someone who expects fanservice, I was not at all put off by changes made to the world of Batman. But again, it’s fair to inform you that I know a lot about the Bat-comics before I continue to review DKR.

Do you know what fanservice is? Fanservice is informing the audience, minutes before the film ends, that Batman’s spunky kid off the street sidekick whose tragic story mirrors his own is named Robin. That is fanservice.

I don’t think the earlier Nolan movies are perfect, but the consensus is that they are pretty damned good. I might not be gaga for the Dark Knight personally, but I can certainly appreciate how beloved that movie is. So let me put this as gently as I can, so that I do not hurt anyone’s feelings: Before Dark Knight Rises, Christopher Nolan was on a short list of directors who had never made a bad movie. Now he is off the list.

Calling the plot of the Dark Knight Rises confused would be like calling a Woody Allen protagonist ‘whiny.’ Following the proud tradition of culminating works in a series (Harry Potter, Episode 3 of Star Wars), Dark Knight Rises introduces a wide array of characters we are supposed to fear and/or love and expects us to place them on the level of pre-existing members of the series.

Perhaps the perfect example of this is Miranda Tate, played by the always beautiful Marion Cotillard. We are led to understand that she’s pretty cool because she pays for the food at a charity dinner herself, and also she was not always rich and just look at those fucking eyes. Seriously. It takes Bruce about five minutes to fall head over heels for her.

And surprise, she’s Talia al-Ghul, the son of Batman’s father figure/enemy/spirit guide from the first film! And she stabs Batman or something? Who cares? All of Gotham is going to fucking blow up, so don’t you think there are maybe some more important things to worry about?

And wouldn’t you know, Liam Neeson’s ghost shows up in this movie too, just to have a complete conversation with Batman where he reveals new information that Batman didn’t know before magically fading into nothingness.

Reread that last sentence. Liam Neeson’s ghost appears to Batman and taunts him and then literally fades into thin air. Remember when this series was hailed as a gritty, realistic take on Batman? And then there was that movie where a rope and a weird vaguely ethnic guy fixes Batman’s broken back so he can climb up out of a pit in the middle of what I can only assume is Agrabah and go back to Gotham City so he can stop a nuclear bomb from detonating? And the only people he can think of to help him, even though he can apparently sneak into Gotham City at will, are the kid from 3rd Rock from the Sun, the princess from Princess Diaries, the narrator from March of the Penguins and Egor Korshunov? Also Marion Cotillard is there because have you seen her eyes?

Imagine if someone had told you that Star Wars Episode I was supposed to be a gritty, realistic reboot of the Star Wars franchise. So you go to the theater and then there’s the first wipe cut. Expectations are hugely important with movies, and accordingly, having them flouted entirely tends to make movies seem worse.

There’s nothing wrong with a campy Batman, as every other Batman movie besides the Nolan films has argued, but there is a problem with selling people camp when they were expecting raw, uncut grit. It’s the equivalent of selling someone the inside of a pixie stick instead of cocaine. Both are fine, but you need to know what you’re getting.

I also like how Nolan boldly chooses to use flashbacks instead of trusting his audience to remember things from the first two films in the trilogy. Although, to be fair, if you’re going to continue the terrible Harvey Dent plotline from the second film I guess you should show some of the totally awful CGI done on Aaron Eckhart’s face.

Of course, there are good things about the movie. I was an early opposer of Selina Kyle (see, fanboy, what did I tell you) being portrayed by Anne Hathaway but fuck me was I wrong. The first scene where we meet Ms. Hathaway, she masterfully conveys the essence of what I believe Catwoman to be. She is at once glamorous and deadly with a hint of personal tragedy, femme fatale incarnate. Of course, the script is more abusive to Ms. Hathaway than anyone else and her character slowly shrivels from a capable rival to Batman to a wise-cracking sidekick. But Ms. Hathaway does her best and for that, sincerely, thank you.

Also Bane! What a terrible character in the comics and what a cool version in the movie! He seemed very much the badass the whole time, up until the part where he starts losing. Heath Ledger was a tough act to follow, and while Bane isn’t as immediately quotable as the Joker, I found him to be a more consistent and impressive antagonist. Except for the part where he blows up a football field, declares martial law, and then is revealed to be a complete patsy because he was in love with adolescent Marion Cotillard. That part was weird.

The other issue with this movie, and one that didn’t really come up in the first two, is that Batman looks really fucking stupid in the day time. The first fight between Batman and Bane reminded me of a video game, namely Final Fantasy. They took turns hitting each other until Batman got 999′d.

I MEAN WILL YOU LOOK AT THOSE GODDAMN EYES!!!

As much as I hate to admit it, people jumping around and punching things in ridiculous costumes never looks good. And when it’s during the day time, they look even worse because we can see them entirely. There’s a reason DC Comics spent all their time showing Batman only at night, and that was in comics where everyone’s hair looks blue because they didn’t understand how ink worked.

I raised that point to a friend of mine and he dismissed it because Batman had to fight during the day because Bane was doing shit during the day. But Batman doesn’t have to do anything! He’s a fictional character, a remarkably inconsistent one at that, and so any argument that things have to happen hold very little weight.

A friend and fellow film-fan of mine, Alec Khan, once suggested that Christopher Nolan movies depend on the audience not asking questions while the film is in progress. If you do so, you end up with more questions than answers. And I certainly finished watching the Dark Knight Rises with a lot of questions, mostly along the lines of ‘Why was Joseph Gordon-Levitt in this movie?’ and ‘If you install a court of the people why would you let an insane terrorist run it?’

I can understand liking this film, I really can. I love a lot of movies that aren’t very good (DOA: Dead or Alive springs to mind). But if you like this movie, think about what I’ve written here and go watch it again. I’m certainly planning on seeing this movie again and I’ll try to keep as open a mind as possible for the second viewing. Who knows? Maybe this time I’ll be excited to see a bunch of cops who’ve been trapped underground for three months cheer loudly as the Bat-copter blows up two bat-tanks and then engage a highly trained paramilitary force armed with assault rifles and then Batman is going to unplug Bane’s mask thingy and Marion Cotillard is gonna stab him but he’s not going to punch her or anything because HAVE YOU SEEN THOSE EYES?

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Simon Goes to the Movies Episode 1: The Amazing Spider-Man

13 Jul

Ranking somewhat higher than Spider-Man 3 and a good deal lower than Spider-Man 2.

When looking through a list of directors, it’s hard to imagine that the producers of The Amazing Spider-Man (which I’m going to refer to as Spider-Man from here on out and if you get confused with the earlier Sam Raimi film then that makes two of us) considered anything about Marc Webb besides the fact that his last name is Webb. I’m not sure what part of 500 Days of Summer convinced them to put him at the helm of an action blockbuster. You could argue that his history in directing music videos is what won him the job, but then again how well did The Green Hornet turn out?

As a side note, expect spoilers because if you review a movie and cannot discuss the plot then about half of the review is missing. So, in the spirit of spoilers, let me tell you the end of this review: Spider-Man was bad.

It wasn’t bad in the way that fan-favorites like The Room or DOA: Dead or Alive are bad. I don’t want to get a bunch of friends together to watch this and play drinking games to it. Spider-Man is just exceedingly mediocre, not really worth seeing unless you foolishly made an oath when you were twelve that you would see every superhero movie that came out in theaters and now you have to go, no matter what.

The world that Peter Parker lives in is a shocking one. We’re led to understand that he’s not the nerdiest kid in school (as evidenced by his cool-guy skateboard moves, his ruffled hair and his contact lenses) and there’s even a scene where he follows around two nerds to learn more about how his weight will effect the speed of his web swinging. But when he goes to Oscorp to talk to his father’s mysterious one-armed former partner, he’s suddenly smarter than all the other wunderkind interns. He then proceeds to build web-shooters1 from scratch so I’m not really sure how smart Andrew Garfield’s Peter is supposed to be.

But don’t worry! Super genius Gwen Stacy is here to bail his ass out, which mostly means that she builds this anti-Lizard formula because that’s what high school students do; they concoct serums that can reverse genetic mutation. A lot of the interactions between Gwen and Peter seem like they’ve been ripped from a mumblecore film (“I liked kissing you”). Their first date is dinner with Gwen’s family but wait! Her dad is the police captain who has been hunting Spider-Man!2

Watch out, we’ve got a badass here.

But aside from the hip, anti-authority teens who save the day themselves there are the squaresville fogies they have to contend with. Martin Sheen’s Uncle Ben does his best with his youth-culture incarnate nephew, who’s too busy searching Bing3 to do things like walk his aunt home. He also gives perhaps the most roundabout “Great power = great responsibility” speech imaginable, probably because everybody was tripping over themselves not to mention things from that other Spider-Man movie that totally doesn’t exist.

But really, the hugest fucking mistake they made was trying to reboot Spider-Man from the beginning. The film tries really hard to be different (he skateboards now and he has contacts) but it mostly fails at this. Dr. Connors has the same crazy conversation with himself that Willem Dafoe had in the first Raimi film and Albert Molina had in the second Raimi film. Peter still shows up perennial douchebag Eugene “Flash” Thompson, although this time instead of beating him up Peter takes it to the rim á la Seventeen Again.

Sure, Peter isn’t a professional wrestler in this movie but wait! He falls into one of the many abandoned luchador rings in New York City and is inspired to become a masked vigilante. There’s the whole angry rejection of Uncle Ben that leads to Uncle Ben eventually dying and the same Spider-Man beating up on muggers bit. This time, instead of the city of New York throwing garbage at the Green Goblin, every single crane operator in New York lines up their cranes4 so Spider-Man can swing by.

Also, whoever thought it would be a good idea to have a character with no lips (the Lizard) deliver a monologue5 should be smacked. Hard. There’s a recent trend in superhero movies of the writers picking terrible characters from the source material (see: the entirety of X-Men: First Class) and Spider-Man proudly continues this trend with the Lizard, a character known for primal ferocity as opposed to mad-science.6

“But wait!” cries the film student, “you’ve only discussed the narrative aspects of the film! Film, as a medium, is a multi-faceted gem.”

“You’re right,” I reply.

But when the multiple facets of a gem are ugly then it only serves to reflect poorly on the whole thing that many more times.

There are several sequences in the film that look like a video game trailer, to the point that one of the people I was watching with remarked “You know what was a good movie? Doom.” There are a couple of continuity errors in the film7, which there are in most films, but I was so disinterested in the story that I could notice them.

There are obviously things I liked about the movie because there were bright flashing lights and I have a heart. As mentioned, Dennis Leary was as good as the script would permit him to be. Also, I like the fact that Spider-Man was grossly outmatched by the Lizard, and remained grossly outmatched by the Lizard. Also I thought that Andrew Garfield got the witty, smart-ass part of Spider-Man down in a way that previous actors and voice-actors haven’t.

But none of this really addresses the question that stuck with me from the opening credits to the end of the film: Why?

Besides the obvious question of why remake Spider-Man, the real question is why make a Spider-Man film at all? Spider-Man is a terrible character. I’m not saying this because I prefer DC Comics to Marvel Comics7 or because I hate people from Queens, but Spider-Man is a marketing scheme designed by out of touch editors to get young people interested in comics again.

The theory behind Spider-Man, in essence, is that he would be a teen hero as opposed to a teen sidekick. That’s why the word tiger appears as a slang term because Stan Lee9 had no clue how teenagers talked and that’s why if you read the original comics they are roughly 80% angst. But Spider-Man isn’t really relatable to most teenagers the same way Batman isn’t really relatable to most non-super powered people.

He’s a genius. He’s smarter than every adult around him and he doesn’t need anyone else, ever. In the history of comics, there has never been a problem he hasn’t been able to fix between his fists and his brains. He’s also incredibly handsome (so I guess that was adapted correctly) and a fundamentally better person than everyone else around him.

Do you know what Spider-Man is? He is the Randian ideal of a man. He is oppressed by a society the refuses to allow him to excel above others despite his natural talent. He is beset on all sides by the inferior men and women who ignore or ridicule him for his intelligence even as he strives to fix the problems they make.

I understand that Spider-Man is an “iconic” character but so are Giant-Man and the Wasp and they left them out of the Avengers movie.

Regardless, the movie is bad and don’t spend money on it, especially in New York where I learned that ticket prices are about 50% higher than is reasonable but don’t worry, it’s still going to be digitally projected.

1 In the movie the webs come from Oscorp, which leads me to wonder: why don’t the police just go to Oscorp and ask them for the name of the guy who bought all the webs that have been left around the city

2 In all fairness to Dennis Leary he was very good considering how laughably bad most of his dialogue was. As long as I’m talking about veteran actors, Martin Sheen did a fine job as did Sally Field. So, props to them I guess.

3 Two things about Bing in this movie: if Peter Parker can build a web-shooter from a watch, why would he use Bing (hint: I know the answer and it probably rhymes with product placement). Also, the Bing searches are far and away the most painful part of the film to watch and that includes the guppy-mouthed sobbing scene as interpreted by Ms. Emma Stone.

4 A guy who must be the King of Cranes sees Spider-Man, and deducing that he is the same spandex sporting hero who saved his kid, gets every single crane operator to move their cranes in sync. The kid isn’t even that cute.

5 The whole weakness theme behind the Lizard’s logic is a little to social Darwin-y to be original.

6  At one point during one of their fights (which takes place in a science classroom) the Lizard stops to mix chemicals into an explosive. Why are there explosive chemicals in a high school science class?

7 See: the teleporting backpack and also the automatic door lock they go to all the trouble of showing you and then forget to put in all the scenes.

8 DC is better, obviously.

9 This is far and away the best Stan Lee cameo because he didn’t talk.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Simon Rants About “The Love We Make”

8 Feb

I hit ‘random article’ on Wikipedia and then rant about whatever I see. This week: The Love We Make.

I don’t like the Beatles.

One of the most solidly mediocre films Showtime has ever shown.

I’m not saying I dislike the Beatles; I’m an asshole, not a petulant twat, but I don’t go apeshit over the newest re-release of The White Album. The thing about the Beatles is that they are so generally accepted as the greatest band ever that saying you like them is meaningless. Pretty much everyone likes at least one Beatles’ song — if they don’t they are probably lying or someone who hates lame puns for band names. When I say I don’t like the Beatles, all I’m saying is that I don’t have a preference for their music. I don’t go out of my way to listen to them and I wouldn’t say they are one of my favorite bands. I’m not arrogant enough to say that the Beatles are passe or that they aren’t one of the most influential bands of all time, but I’d really rather listen to the Rolling Stones.

I’m not in love with the Beatles collectively, and accordingly, I’m very much less in love with the Beatles individually. And I’ll be honest, I really couldn’t care less about what Paul McCartney is up to. It’s one of those things where I understand why people care, but I really don’t want to see him perform at the Superbowl or see him telling jokes about goat-fucking. I’ve heard that Wings has some sweet songs but really who gives a fuck? It’s swell that Paul McCartney’s still going, but it’s not really what I want to pay attention to.

So we get to this page on Wikipedia, which is about a film about Paul McCartney giving a benefit concert to the people of New York City in the wake of 9/11.

I have a brief aside about 9/11, and jokes in particular. I was at an open mic in New York City, and someone told a hilarious 9/11 joke. It was ridiculously funny and I wanted to congratulate him. I had heard before then that a funny 9/11 joke couldn’t be told, and here it was disproven. Similarly, I know people who will laugh at rape jokes and holocaust jokes but frown at cancer jokes, or African genocide jokes or anything else. I strongly believe that the only jokes that shouldn’t be told are bad ones. While I can’t say I’ve ever come up with a funny cancer joke, I’d be lying if I said I had never tried.

So anyway, Paul McCartney and shit. It’s good that he cares, but is this worth filming? I guess movies are cheaper to produce these days but did anyone go see this besides Beatles fans? On that note, is there anyone who is a Paul McCartney fan but not a Beatles fan? Seriously, I know people who like Phil Collins and not Genesis and I know people who are fans of the Foo Fighters but not Nirvana, but who is a fan of Paul McCartney and not the Beatles? I posed that question to an informant I can only identify as Power Ranger, and Power Ranger was confused that I could even conceive of such a question. But that’s really the point: nothing McCartney does could even come close to his work with the Beatles.

Even the title of the documentary is a reference to a Beatles’ song. Paul McCartney had a long career after the Beatles and still they used a lyric from a Beatles song to name the movie. I think McCartney wrote that song, but even still, he wrote a million fucking songs and they couldn’t have picked one that was credited to McCartney instead of Lenin-McCartney?

Knights these days...

And the other thing about McCartney is that he’s washed up. He’s old and he can’t sing that well and he’s no longer very handsome. As terrible as it sounds, it’s a good thing that REM called it quits and Led Zeppelin broke up after Bonham died; look at the fucking Who and tell me that good things don’t pass. Paul McCartney has passed, but only metaphorically, as opposed to the other two members of the Beatles (for I, like everyone else, must denigrate the man who allegedly kept the Best Beat in Britain). But as I wrote this, I began to think to myself of the book A Spot of Bother or the film About Schmidt and I realized basically what I’m asking Mr. McCartney to do is retire, which is a terrible, terrible thing to ask someone.

My grandfather was a remarkable man in a lot of ways, but one of the major ones is that he never retired. He worked for as long as his health would permit and that’s something that I would like to do as well. I begin to feel the oppressive atmosphere of inaction when I run out of Venture Bros. episodes to watch OnDemand. I can hardly imagine what it would be like to retire.

And considering my relatively unexciting life, how could I presume to ask this of a rockstar? Paul McCartney has literally spent more time being one of the most famous men ever than I have spent breathing, it’s ludicrously presumptuous for me to call him over-the-hill. How could he slow down? What does Jimmy Page do these days? Does he just stand alone in his massive mansion, writing beautiful riffs that no one will ever hear? Maybe he spends all of his time tuning guitars, just tuning and tuning for a show that will never come.

And it’s inaccurate to say that nostalgia is what motivates the ticket sales for Paul McCartney and Bruce Springsteen and Eric Clapton. They are still remarkably capable musicians, and while their voices may have faded and their playing might be looser, they are still who they are. They are still professionals and if any report from any of their shows is to believed, they still play that same brand of timeless, enduring music that drove fans wild decades ago.

How many other AARP memebers can still do that!?

I’m never going to see Paul McCartney in concert, I know that because I don’t care about his music that much and because I hate going to shows in stadiums. But that doesn’t mean other people won’t, it doesn’t mean that a ten year-old who hears Paperback Writer isn’t going to beg his parents to see the last remaining traces of that magical, mystery tour that everyone loved so much. My friend’s younger brother just got into Eric Clapton and really it’s wonderful that he isn’t as in love with Jimi Hendrix. People like what they like, and that shouldn’t be dictated by who is currently touring.

I fell in love with Eugene Ionesco’s plays when I was 17. I wanted nothing more than to sit down with him and discuss playwriting and absurdism, but I couldn’t because he’s dead. I’m never going to have a discussion with one of my idols because I was born too late and I wish that wasn’t the case but it is.

That said, who really gives a fuck about The Love We Make, it sounds like the shitty halfbreed child of a pretentious concert film and an exploitation of the residual emotion surrounding 9/11. So thank Sir Paul, you asshat, for making a quick buck off of people’s tears.

——————————————————————————————————————————

A brief postscript:
The thing I said about people retiring? That doesn’t apply to Tom Petty. Motherfucker should’ve called it quits in ’93. Seriously. You could never sing Tom, and you are not getting better with age.

Simon is also the genius behind the blog “Some Children Left Behind,” a resplendent collection of literature and poetry. He is also considering bringing his literary talents to Her Campus.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Simon Rants About The Keg

31 Jan

We could still go there for the food, right?

Shockingly, this article did not come from the hallowed halls of Wikipedia. So let me begin by dispelling some myths. First, all of you who list your current city as Chicago, you’re lying! You don’t live in Chicago, you live in scenic and sunny Evanston. Congratulations on living within driving distance of a major metropolitan center! Unfortunately, you are not a hip twenty-something who lives with their partner and dog within the city limits. You are a college student. And while this may seem harsh, act your fucking age.

I understand that you like drinking alcohol. I like drinking alcohol. I like it when I can drink alcohol around other people and act buffoonish without having to face the actual repercussions of my actions. I like how our culture has a built-in excuse for improper conduct — it comes in handy for someone of my age. Unfortunately, I, like so many of you, am not 21. I cannot legally be served alcohol and that’s shitty. It’s a real bummer.

I don’t really give a fuck how much you hate the drinking laws in America. There are probably bigger issues to take care of first, and if you want to complain about the government you should probably pick something else. Now, in all fairness and total disclosure, I don’t like going out to pay money for booze. I’m the kind of drinker that likes two things: booze, and lots of it. I’ve been to the Keg maybe five times, and while I can’t claim to have had the best time, I’m pretty sure I’ve had all of the stereotypical experiences.

The thing is, the Keg sucked. And it could be that kind of suck where you like it despite the suck, or because of the suck, but don’t pretend that it was anything other than what it was: a bar that made its money by not carding. Which, is you know, great for people who want to go to bars but just aren’t 21 yet.

I had a shitty end to my freshmen year because I spent most of it living the “Keg” lifestyle of drinking way too much and hooking up with random strangers. I tried really hard to ascribe significance to what I was doing; I figured that I was being a cool customer by drinking too much and then shoving my tongue into things. I woke up one morning with vomit on my wall and my roommate informed me that he was concerned I was going to die.

This sounds melodramatic, and it is — kind of. But the thing is, why do we drink?

How many people actively like the taste of alcohol? I like gin, and I like good beer, but I can’t say I really want to drink jungle juice unless I’m trying to get drunk. I would never drink shitty beer, which is roughly ninety percent of all beers, unless I was playing beer pong or trying to get drunk. Think about it, really, think about it, have you ever started drinking without trying to get drunk?

Some of you are probably thinking, “Fuck you, you’re not my dad and even if you were I wouldn’t respect your advice any more than I respect his.” Well, fuck you too. If you only go to parties to get drunk and you only go out when you are going to get drunk then maybe you need to reevaluate some shit. I’m not saying your approach is wrong, I enjoy getting drunk and so do most people, but you should really take a minute and think this shit out.

So what does this have to do with the Keg? I can believe that the Keg was a good place for random hookups, cool. And you could get drunk there! But it isn’t like you really meet people when you get shitfaced, and I don’t need two hands to count the number of friends who have started good relationships via random hookup. So don’t claim that the Keg was a great unifying factor for our campus. It was a fun place and some people had some good times.

If you are under 21 and really pissed off that the Keg is closing you should realize that it’s your fault. The problem with consciously failing to enforce the law is that at some point someone will suffer for that and then we are all in shit. Have you ever carried someone two miles over you shoulder while they were passed out from drinking too much? It isn’t fun.

Again, don’t get me wrong, most students can handle their drinking. But you have to realize that breaking the law isn’t necessarily the right way to change it. By actively breaking the law, by serving those under the legal age, the Keg was doing themselves in. And far more importantly, by flocking to the Keg and using fake ID’s and hopping the fence you only exacerbated the problem and accelerated the eventual.

So I guess what I’m really trying to say is shut the fuck up. Get over it. If you want to drink then you still can, and if you want your tongue to lead an expedition into foreign territory there really isn’t a shortage of that on a campus either. The Keg wasn’t some shrine or holy space; it was a shit bar in a suburb and that’s really all there was to it.

Also, if you are attacking Mayor Tisdahl you are an idiot. You may not think you are an idiot, but you are. I’m sorry, but anyone who scapegoats an elected official for enforcing the law deserves the title of idiot. And that’s that.

Simon is also the genius behind the blog “Some Children Left Behind,” a resplendent collection of literature and poetry. He can also play the banjo.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Simon Visits Melissa Hart

12 Jan

I hit ‘random article’ on Wikipedia and then rant about whatever I see. This week: Melissa Hart.

An actress who most certainly did not portray a witch struggling to survive the world of adolescents

It’s a pretty big tell when the first sentence on your Wikipedia page begins “Not to be confused with.” My name is Simon Kamerow, a name which I believe I alone possess and so I rarely have to suffer the indignities of someone saying “Oh are you that Simon Kamerow?” How painful it must be for Ms. Hart that whenever she sends in her resume the casting director reads it with a brief moment of hope followed by several longer moments of crumpling and moving it into a trash can after it is discovered that Ms. Hart is not, in fact, Sabrina the teenage witch.

To avoid any further confusion, Melissa Joan Hart will be referred to as Melissa Joan Hart and, as a quick google search has revealed this as an applicable nickname, Melissa Hart will be referred to as Silver Fox.

The ironic thing is that Silver Fox is being confused with someone who is generally regarded as talentless, and, as far as superficial judgements go, is really not that hot. I don’t think Sabrina the Teenage Witch ever attracted viewers because Melissa Joan Hart was sexy. She wasn’t. Yet still her name has been recorded in the minds of far more people than Silver Fox.

And the worst part?

Silver Fox is probably pretty fucking good. She’s appeared on Broadway since 1966 and has been nominated for a Tony, which I’ve heard from the four people who watch the Tonys is an impressive accomplishment. She has lived a long and assumedly fulfilling life except for the fact that no one knows who she is.

My understanding of acting as a profession is limited, but from what I can divine from that one episode of Inside the Actor’s Studio I watched, actors are not trying to end world hunger. Acting is not a profession that has any pretentious claims about making the world a better place or providing housing for the poor, it is what an audacious first-year Economics student would call a “result of prolonged surplus.”

Acting is the type of profession that needs more than one person to exist, and thus we come to the unfortunate truth that Silver Fox has to face every day of her life: actors need audiences.

And who is the audience of Silver Fox?

There was a movie released in 1996 called Original Gangstas. It stars Fred Williamson and Pam Grier along with other former Blaxploitation stars. That’s the gimmick of the film; people wrapped with nostalgia for Blaxploitation want to see their former heroes still kicking ass.

But the movie failed, like so many futile exercises in nostalgia do, largely because what was is often not as resplendent as we remembered it and, unfortunately, human beings are not like wine. We are spoiled with age, rotten and dying, and if this seems harsh to you, ask yourself why professional athletes retire before 40 or why porn stars have a shorter shelf-life than yogurt.

When I was reading about Silver Fox I briefly imagined a scenario where she was cast in some sort of revival show on Broadway and the youth of today that grew up with whispers of her greatness would flock to that street in New York to see her perform one final time. But then I realized that even if she was still capable of performing, even if she had been miraculously preserved, no one knows who she is.

Melissa Joan Hart, starring in her new role, "Sabrina, The Middle-Aged Mother Coping With the Impermanence of Fame"

There would be a small amount of confusion regarding why Melissa Joan Hart was in this production. And as Silver Fox took the stage and looked out on the audience it would probably hit her that she missed her chance. Her singing wasn’t that beautiful or her acting wasn’t that convincing or maybe she gave poor blowjobs, but she missed the boat of immortality. And at that moment, when she stepped out on stage and opened her mouth to sing and one person flashed her a look of puzzled confusion because she never portrayed Sabrina, the Teenage Witch — at that moment she would remember that when you step off a dock and miss the boat you fall into the water.

That’s where Silver Fox has been, desperately treading water for more than half a century and I can’t help but imagine that her limbs are tired, and suddenly the boat seems impossibly far away and the water of anonymity and obscurity that once shocked her body with its coldness now seems much warmer and far more comfortable. She realizes that her legs have stopped kicking and she lets herself sink down, the water washing over her like the applause she so desperately craved for so long.

I spend a lot of time on that dock, looking down at the boats sailing away and I’ve noticed how the calm the water is. Despite all who have drowned, there isn’t even so much as a bubble.

Simon is also the genius behind the blog “Some Children Left Behind,” a resplendent collection of literature and poetry. He can also play the banjo.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Simon visits Otake (Nakanoshima)

16 Dec

I hit ‘random article’ on Wikipedia and then rant about whatever I see. This week: Otake (Nakanoshima).

A volcano! I’m still excited.

Self-proclaimed voclano and driveway fanatic

And with that we begin this week with a very obtuse reference to Mark Duplass’ band Volcano, I’m Still Excited! My favorite song of theirs is New Brad, because I too have stood in driveways waiting for people to come home. And while this is strictly off topic, I’d just like to add that I think that Mark Duplass is a remarkably talented fellow, as is his brother Jay, and also his wife is good looking and fuck it let’s just be honest here: I’m a sucker for mumblecore and good indie pop and FX shows about fantasy football so it’d be quite peculiar if I wasn’t a big Duplass fan. Plus his last name is pretty sweet.

In fact, as someone who has (at various times in his life) aspired to be: a filmmaker, a musician, married to an attractive woman, and from New Orleans, I can’t help but be a little jealous of someone like Duplass who is all of those things and most probably more. Plus he looks so damn pleasant in everything he is in; his character in The League is a lady’s man but he’s not really a dick about it, to the point that feminists (well really feminist, as I only know one who watches The League regularly) don’t consider his character to be offensive. So really, he’s a great fucking guy, go watch Baghead or Cyrus, etc.

Otake is a volcano, which is the kind of thing that excites people like geologists, volcanologists, and seven year olds. My favorite thing about volcanoes is that Blaine’s gym was in a volcano and Ash had difficulty beating his Magmar because that’s a pretty big homefield advantage. Also, considering that Magmars are pretty much bred in volcanoes I’d say that Blaine gets the most points for playing to his Pokémon’s strengths. I also remember volcanoes because when I was very young we went to Hawaii and I saw exploding volcanoes, but I was about seven years old then so you can understand my excitement.

Otake: An excellent place to raise a Charmeleon

Otake is a stratovolcano, which is the same kind of volcano as Vesuvius and Krakatoa, probably the two most famous volcanoes in historical fiction. When people (like volcanologists or seven year olds) defend the coolness of volcanoes they use Vesuvius or Krakatoa as examples because one of them destroyed an entire city and the other exploded an island. Described in terms of Final Fantasy VII villains, Vesuvius is like Genesis and Krakatoa is like Sephiroth. Or for a more broadly understandable analogy; Vesuvius is about as destructive as walking in on your parents doing it and Krakatoa is about as destructive as coming across the video of the aforementioned parents doing it whilst browsing a porn site.

Comparatively, Otake is your mom making a sex joke while you two are on the highway and you know you’ll be sitting there for the next thirty minutes, basking in its awkwardness as one basks in a fart. It is deeply uncomfortable but it isn’t going require therapy unless you are a big fucking Puss McGuss.

According to Wikpedia the rock of the mountain is composed of non-alkali mafic rock from the last 18,000 years. I feel like there should be an “approximately” in there somewhere as there is no way in hell that volcanologists and seven year olds are absolutely certain about that timeframe. It’s entirely possible that they are overestimating, as seven year olds are prone to do, and that really it’s the last 17,563 years, but even then some precision would be much appreciated.

Not to go all Creationist on the situation, but it’s stuff like this that reminds that science is not — and do pardon the expression — an exact science. To quote that eminently quotable monologue from that eminently quotable film by that eminently quotable character portrayed by that eminently quotable actor, “Fifteen hundred years ago everybody knew the Earth was the center of the universe.” That wasn’t superstition, it was science. And everybody knew it was true until they didn’t.

I have a tendency to say absurdly oversimplified statements followed by the phrase “hard science” (and usually I also flip over a chair) and the fact of the matter is that it is hard science; it is upon my fellow interlocutors to disprove my science, as the burden has fallen onto me to call a spade on this whole 18,000 years mantra.

Now lest I sound too much like that incredibly obnoxious knee-jerk liberal (who is prone to say things like “Well obviously freedom of speech is an illusion), let me state clearly that I really don’t give a fuck about how old the rocks are. There’s just not a lot to write about Otake because Wikipedia doesn’t know much about it.

Otake apparently translates to “honorable mountain,” which is a nice name. It isn’t extremely nice, but it isn’t terrible. I guess adequate is a better modifier. Honorable Mountain is located in Kagoshima Prefecture, and I love how places in Japan are referred to as prefectures, like how I love how they refer to other people’s grandmothers as Grandmother or how they refer to tentacle rape as an acceptable form of pornography.

I have two very conflicting images of Japan. The first is of a beautiful, mountainous land filled with the castles of Shoguns; a place of honor to the point of obstinacy and tradition that runs deeper than the earth. This is the Japan where swords are legally considered works of art and there are dozens of schools of tea ceremony. In this Japan, Otake is fueled by a kami of fire and the fact that it hasn’t erupted in over half a century is testament to how the offerings have pacified him.

The pinnacle of Japanese culture

Conversely, my other view of Japan is of a land where everything is a cartoon character. A land where people pose in every picture with a peace sign and men can buy panties in vending machines and people sleep in tubes and tentacle rape is an acceptable form of pornography. This is the Japan that saw how terribly fucked up and insecure our western world was, how we built monuments to ourselves and demanded others admire them and they misinterpreted our bravado for grandeur and replicated it without irony, our grotesque became their super-deformed and the casual beauty of Hokusai was crushed under the belligerence of Betty Boop. In this Japan, the flaccidity, the emptiness of Otake is a reflection of the empty promises of Commodore Perry in Kangawa.

I would be lying if I said that I didn’t spend hours pretending to be a samurai, or if I wasn’t a huge fan of Haruki Murakami or Hideo Azuma’s Disappearance Diary. And, like many a volcanologist or seven year old, I still find wonder in fire shooting forth from the earth and up into the heavens. But something about Otake screams to me of my tentacled view of Japan, it is a perversion, or rather it is something that I cannot love that echoes faintly of something I do.

Simon is also the genius behind the blog “Some Children Left Behind,” a resplendent collection of literature and poetry. He can also recite the poetry of Whitman verbatim (request only).

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Simon pays a visit to Giulio Gerardi

6 Dec

I hit ‘random article’ on Wikipedia and then rant about whatever I see. This week: Giulio Gerardi.

One of the top Google-image results for "Giulio Gerardi"

Buongiorno amici, oggi stiamo parlando di Giulio Gerardi, un bravo Italiano che ha sciato per suo nazione in l’olimpiadi. Or, to translate into English: Wikipedia doesn’t have a lot of information in English about Giulio Gerardi. Being the enterprising polyglot that I am, I immediately searched his name in the Italian version of the site.

Do you know what I found?

Nothing. There isn’t even a stub for his sorry ass.

He wasn’t a slouch either, he finished third in the 1937 world championships as part of the Italian team. And, as someone who is mystified by the arcane art of ski and pole, even standing upright on those complex contraptions conjures my congratulation.

I feel like Gerardi is indicative of a larger plight affecting Americans: we fucking love Europe even though it is terrible and everyone with half a mind hates it.

People go absolutely tits over balls when it comes to the old country, as if a millennia of dysentery and a century of uprisings have made it a somehow wonderful place. “Oh, jeepers,” these assholes croon, “do I really get to go to the place that invented Communism and Nazism?* Shit on a biscuit I’m wetting my panties just thinking about it!”

To which I reply fuck you.

“Europe is the Juno of continents!” to which I reply Juno fucking sucks a Tyrannosaurus Rex’s penis and Europe is playing pass the butter with it. What’s so great about Europe? Europe is where sanitary drinking water is more expensive than alcohol. Europe is where all they play in clubs is shitty house music and that aural excrement known as dubstep. Europe is where one of its oldest cities is literally sinking into the ocean because that is the only way the filth could be washed off.

Now I know what you’re thinking: “Did Europe kill your daddy or touch your no-no place?”

Really?, I reply, because I can fucking read minds and I know you are pathetically projecting. The Eurozone is a depressing attempt at creating an international economy and The EU is like the League of Nations if you switched out all the politicians with the Keystone Cops.

That said, Italy is far and away the greatest part of Europe, so good job Gerardi.

One of the most popular Italian leaders since the Roman Empire

Italy has brought us the incredible Berlusconi, a man who so perfectly embodies the creeds of Maximand fun that I wouldn’t be surprised if he took most of his meetings getting roadhead from Nobel Laureates. He’s recording an album of love songs, which I assume is code for “The only thing bigger than my vocal register is my penis and my register spans seven octaves.”

Yet Berlusconi pales when it comes to the almighty awesomeness that was Il Duce. But I’m not here to compliment Italy in its choice of (pseudo)dictators, rather, I’m here to discuss Giulio Gerardi.

Or I would, if there was actually any information about him.

Again, no one has recorded anything about him in the magical space that is Wikipedia, so I can only assume that everyone else in the world, like me, doesn’t give a fuck. There’s nothing about him online because literally, there is nothing about him.

So I guess it’s time to insult Europe more! Europe is so bad that even our shitty teen movies about it are terrible. I saw Eurotrip for the first time today. It was resoundingly awful, to the point that after I finished the movie and turned the television its memory echoed in the room, tormenting me like a ghost in an American remake of a Japanese horror film. I watched it with my roommates and we were shocked by how quickly it seemed to end because literally no characters developed. The closest thing to a plot twist was incest and honestly, that feeling of self-revulsion those two characters felt probably had nothing on the overall shame in my heart from sitting through the whole thing.

Graphical representation of our European readership

For any Europeans who might be reading this, indignation building in your throat as bile builds in mine whilst thinking of your homeland, hands trembling with the quiet, foppish rage of your continent, I understand. I am not professing that North America is wonderful either, we all know that the only continent that is nice in any real form is Antarctica and that’s because the only things that live there are penguins and scientists.

Simon is also the genius behind the blog “Some Children Left Behind,” a resplendent collection of literature and poetry. He also currently sports the greatest pair of muttonchops Evander Jones has ever had the honor of laying eyes upon.

——————————————————————————————————————————
*To whoever attempts to invoke Godwin’s Law: fuck you, you are a cunt. When describing the history of a continent I feel like it’s pretty fucking important to mention it as the birthplace of a genocidal ideology. If you are curious as to why I mentioned Communism then, it’s because Communism is for twats and you are a twat if you like it.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 174 other followers