Religion, Obama, Preist, The Eagle,Germans, and Reeducation.

For me, O Oblate Reader, movies are like a religion. I truly believe in the whole experience. Some time ago, in my old blog, I made rather cool simile comparing going to the movies like going to Catholic mass in some old-world cathedral. It still holds true for me.

A couple of days ago I watched a couple movies

The Eagle:

Some of you may know that I am a Roman history buff. Love me some Rome. This movie passed the "Pete's a pedantic ass" test with flying colors! I know there were some inaccuracies; but because I know next to nothing about Celtic history, I had to let 'em slide. (NO one knows much about Celtic history. Anyone that says different is lying, selling you something, or one of those daffy new age hippy bastards) For instance, the Scottish actors were speaking Lowland Scots (naturally) not the completely extinct and almost completely unknown Pictish.  (seriously, we have a couple of hotly debated Ogham inscriptions and some place names like "Inverness", that's it)

The movie in and of itself was enjoyable if a little shallow. The Director, Kevin MacDonald, has almost completely worked in documentaries, so you would think that the guy could find SOMETHING to get real deep about. But no, it's a pretty staid attempt at a two-guys-from-completely-different-worlds-work-together-toward-a-nigh-impossible-goal-and-find-common-ground-and-mutual-respect thing. But like I've said earlier, sometimes it's not "new" that is important, it's what you bring to the table in terms of honesty and artistry. MacDonald brings both, with one small, tiny objection from me: I love Terrence Malik, the crazy fuck. EVERYONE loves Malik. We know YOU love Malik, so there is no reason to cling to him like an insecure high-school girl in a Denny's. Giving Malik a nod, a quick smootch even, is completely OK. But to try and copy his style is not. You are a very pretty, smart girl, Kevin, and need to focus on how YOU are special, not how Terence makes you feel special.

Wait. Shit. I got my similes, allusions, and reality all twisted. MacDonald is not a high-school girl, as far as I know. OK. we cool?

I also saw Priest. Meh. As a movie, I see why it bombed in the theaters. This is a movie for stealing, not paying money.

HOWEVER you can't if you have any Sony products as your main media player. Sony decided that "free market" capitalism is awesome when there is no competition and it doesn't have to listen to the market in any way, shape, or form. They set up the Priest DVDs and BluRays with a horrible new form of anti-piracy malarkey that doesn't work if you have any computer skills at all. (So I am told by someone that I met once and found to be untrustworthy.)( HEIL, DMCA! Aktiengeschellschaften über Alles! [und so weiter]) This new form of copy protection checks against a database to see if you have the right to watch the movie. If not, it turns the sound off. Here's something to think about, there is no guarantee that this movie will work if you rent it. Think about it - even if you have the DVD from Netflix (those chiseling bastards) if there are too many entries on the DB, or your player isn't connected to the internet, you can't watch it....


I won't go into it too much further, as that would be illegal.


The only way to avoid knowing any more about it is to watch this movie on anything that is not Sony. This advice is legal, here's why:

This lame attempt at security is so easy to circumvent that even seeing it in action immediately alerts any reasonably intelligent person exactly how to circumvent it. Therefore, in an heroic act of cogitation, I came to the flawless conclusion that to save my brethren and sistren the karmic debt of breaking the law, I will simply not allow them to be exposed to the potential situation in any way! Not only am I a legal genius, I am a fucking bodhisattva.

Yeah, Priest. Paul Bettany, And the clenchy guy from the Return of the King and "Bones" in the new JJ Abrams Star Trek movie. What's his name. (Bunny says that he can muster HER Rohirim anytime...the floozy) It has one redeeming feature: If you want to have something on that is loud while snogging on the couch so the roommates can't hear you...there you go. AND ANOTHER reason to make double sure not to watch it on Sony products.

Which brings me to my main point. The Bunny.

Recently, I have been enrolled in her Reeducation Camp for Wayward Spendthrifts, enjoying languorous sessions of electroshock therapy and Assertive Exfoliation Therapy (your bits gets scrubbed with barbed wire. But my skin IS smooth now) all while listening to Her Bunnyness' lectures on the "Five-Fold Path to Home Ownership" and "Up the Bourgeoisie, Down with Renters" blasting from the tannoys. I came up with a BRILLIANT plan. The subtleties of which seem to be lost on her.

My plan is in two parts, it allows for personal recreation and ads valuable income to our coffers.

You ready?

Fuck Bitches, Make Money.

BRILLIANT. Needless to say, Bunny was not impressed.

Boredom encroaches. More next time.

"Cowboys and Aliens", Hate, Vests, and Judgement.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

And now a word from our sponsors:

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Thanks, Tracy...I'm sure that our readers feel better knowing you are out there...doing...stuff.

<SPOILERS FOLLOW>

That's right bubbies, it's time for my review of "Cowboys & Indians", the fifth-grade film class project by little Johnny Favereau, so gather around the glowing god-box and drink in the word.

I really, really wanted to like this movie. I mean, c'mon: The second-best James Bond (Sean = #1, forever) and Han Fucking Solo in a WESTERN? With space aliens? How could this possibly go wrong?

Let's see. How about plot holes bigger than the canyons lovingly shot by the DoP/Cinematographer (whatever) Matthew Libatique? (No seriously, I really, really like this guy's eye. He knows color, spacing, depth of field and other technical-sounding words).

Plot hole numero ein:

So there are these space asshats that come down, stealing people to "learn their weaknesses" all while mining gold. Gold happens to be one of the most abundant resources in the galaxy. Let me repeat that statement and cite a reference:

one of the MOST ABUNDANT RESOURCES IN THE GALAXY. For instance, in our own solar system, there is a honking great asteroid named Eros (the goddess of screwing until your brains leak into a pail or something) that has 20 BILLION METRIC TONNES of gold alone. It's about the size of Bellevue. I honestly don't think there are 20 billion tonnes of Bellevue in Bellevue. Here's  a reference in abstrat 'cause I'm too cheap to pay for the actual article: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/sci/tech/401227.stm

SOOOOOO - OK, the space fratboys can do interstellar travel, they like the gold...fine, right...but why go to the hassle of landing in a gravity well and dealing with aborigines (Daniel Craig, apparently...shut it, Tracy) when all they have to do is grind up a rock? The energy differential alone...It's physics and economics people. Try and keep up.

Plot chasm nummer ni:

So the sort-of ill-defined love interest (The uber yummy Olivia Wilde...seriously, yummy. She'd be even better if she ate a sandwich every now and again....C'mon Olivia...Just one philly, for me?) is some kind of hot Charles Bronson analogue, creepily enough, and is well, revenging up her people that can somehow regenerate or something because they seem to be some kind of energy people... but she has to blow them up with a suicide vest? really?

So she got here somehow (not discussed) and needs the help of yokels. Hell, we're only a hundred years separated from the cowboys and I can't think of a single thing I would need them for, up to and including cattle rape. (well, maybe that cute holstien over there....yeah, you....hey gurrl).

Plot canyon suuji tri:

Clancy Brown dies. That in and of itself is reason enough to sue the studio. YOU DON'T KILL CLANCY, HE KILLS YOU. Wait...never mind that's Sam Jackson. Moving on

So there were plotting inconsistencies. There were also symbolic....issues. Not issues as a symbol (Wait, maybe I got it wrong, maybe the issues were rather meta...maybe...I'll think about it) but issues with the symbols:

The Chiricahua (seriously folks. We've done these people wrong.) were helping us 'cause WE'RE THE INDIANS TOO...<simper><smarm> Fuck you.

A hummingbird is a spirit guide? OK, why? what precise interpretation of the Hummingbird Story are we talking about here? Hummingbird as the Totem of the Return to Purity? OK, wrong culture. Close though (Hopi) Wait...Fuck you. How about the Sun Manifest? nope....that's the Aztec. Another big fuck you.

and so on and so forth....

The acting.

The most important part of the movie was that Olivia Wilde doesn't show the goods. I want my damn money back for that tease. You get an above-the-butt back shot. The same one in the preview. COME ON.....

Harrison Ford. Sir, we need to talk. You used to be a good actor. You were never going to be great. These are facts. There are very few of even the greats that can make it past Social Security age and even pretend to be a bad-ass. You cannot. You come off as "moderately grumpy jerkalope".  Please retire. Please. For the children

Daniel Craig. Adequate. See, Mr Ford? This is how bad-ass is done. You shut the hell up, squint a bit....and then kick some ass (note the complete lack of hip-breaking? well, maybe someone else's hip...never mind) Bunny got all kinds of squishy over how he looks in a vest. So I hate him.

Oh yeah and Keith Carradine is in it for some reason. He..... heheh.... he... snicker... kinda chokes (Yeah, I know that was his dad. I just had to) on the role of sheriff. It's probably not his fault. I mean if I got the crap exposition and watery lines he was handed, I'd phone it in as well.

Sam Rockwell - Y U NO GET MORE WORK? and more screen time? I had no idea why his character was there. none at all. And I didn't care. Because he's awesome. Yes, I am a tad "the gay" for him. Leave it alone.

In summary -

John Favreau marks time until The Avengers, Olivia Wilde shows nary a boob, Harrison Ford is turning into a boob, Daniel Craig needs to get back on the James Bond wagon, Sam Rockwell....you keep on doing what you're doing.

YAWN! I've wasted more time writing this than I have thinking about "Cowboys and Aliens" which kind of sums it all up.

The Nature of Humor, Civilization, Egyptian Mythology, and the Blues.

Umm.....ok...so that happened. Would anyone care, learn from, or understand the reference? no? crap.

It appears that writing humor while relatively content is difficult. Almost all of the great thinkers agree with the paraphrased, usually misquoted, almost always taken out of context premise in Plato's Philebus, we see that humor comes from the

...mixture of pleasure and pain that lies in the malice of amusement.

Therefore, armed with that knowledge, we see that self-deprecation or "relational" humor, when one is content, is  forced into stilted falseness or impossible.

Or is it?

</ self important extemporization>


So let's discuss being "civilized" by a significant other; specifically a female other

As many of you may know, I used to write silly crap about the early part of my relationship with my honey, Kat. I used to go and drink heroic amounts of alcohol and hilarious hijinks would ensue. Now, I have almost zero alcohol tolerance, I don't go out much, and I know what "financial planning" actually means. (I used to think it meant "I have money; I will spend it on booze, cars, and women of negotiable affection. I have a plan". Turns out it means "I am broke-ish. I will sock all my money away and pay bills for some reason I haven't quite figured out yet. Because she said so"). She has "A Plan". It totally deserves capital letters and is most certainly on a need-to-know basis. I don't need to know (That seems to be rule #1 of "The Plan")

I think that "The Plan" falls upon my honey like revelations on Joseph Smith. Also,  I think his magic hat is involved, because I can't find my favorite baseball caps. For instance, "The Plan" now involves me selling my precious Star Wars Lego collection to pay for something, someday. (I don't ask.) Due to our current living situation, my Legos are in boxes all jumbled up, so at least I get to put them together one last time, while I mutter something out of a Faulkner novel:

Shhh, Star Destroyer, shhh...tell me about the bunnies....the... <sob>... bunnies. <snap another piece into place>

Another part of "The Plan" involves, and this is the tricky part, NOT buying more Legos. You see the conditions under which I subsist? tragic.

Also, I have had drilled into my skull that I will not be allowed to buy the things I need to enjoy eternity. (An important piece of background information about me is that I am a devout member of the Reformed Church of Egypt; and when I die, I will take my funeral goods with me) So she is actively dooming me to an eternity of pillow shams, Pier 1 Imports soap holders and cat scratching posts.

O Reader, as you can see, your hero in this missive suffers in the gentle fetters of love.

que sera sera.

So watch this space for a delta-blues inspired wailing an gnashing of teeth, next time on Fiascos, Travesties, and Faux Pas.