Movie Review: Bellflower

              In the somewhat likely event that you’ve never heard of the movie Bellflower, here’s a brief rundown of the story (as provided by the Bellflower website):

Bellflower follows two friends as they venture out into the world to begin their adult lives. All their free time is spent building flame-throwers and weapons of mass destruction in hopes that a global apocalypse will occur and clear the runway for their imaginary gang “Mother Medusa”[...]

Alright, let’s just stop right here. Two friends... adult lives... flame-throwers and weapons of mass destruction... global apocalypse... imaginary gang. OK, continue:

[…] While waiting for the world to end, their call to excitement comes unexpectedly when one of them meets a charismatic young woman and falls hard in love.

Here’s an image from the movie that I think captures the first half of the above quote:



Here’s an image that captures the second, the hard-love:

Now, in case you can’t tell from my above redoubling of the line “two friends... adult lives... flame-throwers... global apocalypse... imaginary gang”, I think that the story of Bellflower has some serious issues, that is, it has some serious issues if it’s presenting “two friends... adult lives... flame-throwers” in an affirmative, congratulatory, thumbs-up kind’a way, but I don’t think it is.

While watching Bellflower, I was convinced that it and its film-makers shared my sentiments, that it, like me, believed something to the effect of: One does not begin their adult lives and wait for the world to end at the same time, that the two are fundamentally opposed ways of being; adult-living being almost exclusively concerned with ensuring not only the occurrence but also the quality of the future (both for oneself and for others); waiting for the world to end basically betting on the opposite and so doing precisely bupkis to ensure the occurrence/quality of said future.

Part of my reason for believing that the film-makers of Bellflower share my sentiments is that precisely 0% of the film is dedicated to adult-living (e.g., what it consists of, how it works, what’s hard about it, what its rewards are, etc.), while almost 100% of the film is dedicated to waiting for the world to end (e.g., drinking, fighting, f*cking, building flame-throwers, not going to ones job).

Bellflower, more so than any other film I’ve ever seen, shows those of us males who’re either approaching, on the cusp, or already (perhaps against-our-will) living adult-lives what  the alternative is: meaninglessness, frustration, stagnation, drinking, fighting, f*cking, and, ultimately, doing a lot of fantasizing about a tragic end to release us from said meaninglessness, frustration, stagnation, etc., a tragic end that *gulp* never actually comes. A film to which it's been compared by many reviewers is Fight Club, and I think that comparison, while understandable (both focus on the frustrations of young males Today), just isn’t quite apt. Fight Club makes waiting-for/bringing-about the end of the world look fun and/or well justified (and did such a good job that fight-clubs popped up all over the place after the film’s release); Bellflower makes it look hopelessly depressing and never really develops the justification for said malcontent beyond a love of Mad Max (whether or not young men start building flame-throwers and forming imaginary gangs in the wake of Bellflower's release is t.b.d.).

There is, admittedly, a part of this reviewer that isn’t quite sure whether Bellflower wants to be more like a Fight Club, romanticizing the whole refusal of adult-living and everything it entails, or more like what I think it is: a film that shows those of us who’re beginning adult-lives what the alternative really looks/feels like.

As for whether or not I’d rewatch Bellflower in theaters, my answer is “Yes.” The film is beautiful, provoking, and haunting (one scene in particular is, I think, worth the price of admission alone). I’d also consider Net Flix-ing, Red Box-ing, or On-Demand-ing it, probably not on my own, but if there were somebody with whom I thought it would be rewarding to watch/talk about it... A few people come to mind.

--Lord Humungus

Movie Review DOUBLE DIP: RISE of the PLANET of the APES and The Guard

Rise of Planet of the Apes

            I wouldn’t pay any more of my hard-earned cash-money to watch Rise of the Planet of the Apes; I also wouldn’t Netflix, Red Box or On-Demand it. I also probably wouldn’t watch much/any of it were I to stumble across it on the old Boob-Tube.

Don’t get me wrong, there are parts of The Rise that were actually pretty d*mn good, e.g., pretty much every one of the computer generated apes (especially the big orangutan, “Maurice”), Drako Malf--

--er, actor Tom Felton as a nasty little sh*t of a zoo-keeper’s son (whose ability to play nasty little sh*ts has already lead to poor Drak, er, Tom’s being typecast), and John Lithgow as James Franco’s Alzheimer’s addled father.

Oh yeah, but then there’s James Franco, who’s seriously miscast in the lead as a scientist (I think, to wax a little poetic, it’s the sadness/hurt in Franco’s eyes--

--sadness/hurt that made him both a wonderful “freak” in Freaks and Geeks and a terrible Oscars’ host this past year); so miscast, in this reviewer’s opinion, as to be almost exclusively to blame for yours truly’s lack of desire to rewatch The Rise in any capacity. The other blame-worthy aspects include (1) the fact that the main ape in the whole flick, "Caesar," his first spoken word appeared to be a perfectly formed “No!”, (2) the unbelievability of the romantic relationship between Franco and that girl from Slumdog Millionaire, and (3) the sheer stupidity of the City of San Francisco’s response to the violent-ape uprising we’ve all been waiting two hours to see (which said response seems to amount to a "Keep them in the city!!!" battle yell on the part of the S.F.P.D.).
             All that said, I think The Rise of the Planet was by and large a pretty well made/told flick, with good pacing, character development, and tension (especially Caesar's time spent in the Zoo under Drako's control), I just wouldn’t really want to watch it again, and mostly because of Franco’s being miscast.

 
The Guard

             Either I was just too sleepy or The Guard--written/directed by John Michael McDonagh and starring Mad Eye Moody--



--er, actor Brendan Gleesan (Harry Potter actors are EVERYWHERE!!!)--just wasn’t all that compelling of a film; or maybe it was just that I know a Rhodes Scholar or two, one being a good friend and old roomy of mine, the other being, of course, Slick Willy--



--and so just did not believe that Don Cheadle’s F.B.I. agent “Wendell Everett” was also a Rhodes Scholar; or maybe it was just that The Guard’s story itself kind’a sucked, even though many of the characters were actually pretty wonderful, e.g., Gleesan's, Mark Strong's, and Irish theater-actor David Wimot’s wild-eyed “Liam”; but I really just don’t want to rewatch The Guard in theaters, nor would I Netflix, On Demand, or Red Box it; I would, however, not mind rewatching it were it to accidentally show up on the old Boob Tube, nor would I mind rewatching it were one of my friends who enjoys movies like In Bruges and British slapstick-caper films--ala Guy “I used to be married to a woman with not just conical but CONE breasts” Ritchie’s--express an interest in seeing it (you know who you are!).

Cheers

Last Time I wear my Purple Jeans

           There I was walking home from work a few weeks back, right along McVey Avenue, just shy of the Lake-Corp. building, in good-old Lake Oswego, Oregon--

--a town with more cops per capita than any other in the U.S. (not sure where I heard this or whether or not it’s true, but I’m gonn’a go with it for the purpose of giving you an approximate idea of what I previously understood to be L.O.’s relative safe/non-threateningness). 

There I was, lost in the joy of reading Jacques Derrida’s Limited Inc, the piece of continental philosophy that proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that continental rulz while analytic drulz (I just made a philosophy joke, f.y.i. Could you feel it?).

There I was, basking in the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun, which was lightly-toasting the top of my not-yet bald noggin:

There I was, minding about as much of my own business as is possible for any given human-being to mind, when I heard a “Hey!” followed by some whistling, both of which seemed to be directed at yours truly, from the bushes, to my immediate right.

            When I first looked over at my “Hey!”-er, I thought it was my friend/coworker Scott (sorry Scott...), that my friend/coworker Scott had hidden himself in the bushes to my immediate right and that he was trying to scare me like I used to try and scare my younger brother back in the day (“Boo!”). But then, after another split-second or so, it dawned on me that the person who’d said “Hey!’ and whistled at me from the bushes to my immediate right was not my friend/coworker Scott, not unless my friend/coworker Scott had taken our long-running and, admittedly, way, way, way sophomoric/homo-erotic “Show me your d*ck!” joke--used something like “meow”--just a couple of steps too far. That’s right, in the next split-second I realized (1) that my “Hey!”-er wasn’t actually my friend/coworker Scott and (2) that my “Hey!”-er had what looked an awful lot like his d*ck in his hands and that he was... MASTURBATING!
            Immediately after the two split-seconds it took me to figure out that the “Hey!” and whistling and hand-d*ck-tugging were connected to someone who wasn’t my friend/coworker Scott, but instead to a friggin’ MASTURBATOR (whom I didn’t recognize, which I’m pretty happy about, in hindsight: What if I had recognized my MASTURBATOR? What then?!?), I snapped my head back around to my Derrida text and continued walking, totally ignoring my MASTURBATOR’s continued “Hey!”-ing and whistling and d*ck-tugging and SWEET JEBUS!



            This brings us to the titular question: When you’ve become aware of a MASTURBATOR in your midst, so to speak, and that said MASTURBATOR is more than likely MASTURBATING to/for you and is, therefore, your (as in personal) MASTURBATOR, What (the f*ck) is to be done?
   

Option A: Do as I did, and ignore your MASTURBATOR to the best of your abilities; consider calling the cops.

            Option B: Take your time and get a good, long (hard?!?) look at your MASTURBATOR, so that you might know what your MASTURBATOR actually looks like (for future police-reference, perhaps), before continuing on; maybe bust--no pun intended--out your smart-phone and take a quick picture; consider calling the cops.
            Option C: Heed the beck/call of your MASTURBATOR, i.e., go help your MASTURBATOR finish what they’ve apparently started.
            Option D: Attack your MASTURBATOR, whether with fists or mace or book-bags.

Option E: Option A + running; consider yelling; consider calling the cops.

Option F: Option B + running; consider yelling; consider calling the cops.

In order to figure out which option is best for you if/when you encounter your MASTURBATOR it is important to first answer the following questions: First, do you know your MASTURBATOR? If “Yes,” sorry, I don’t think I can actually help you (see my above “What then?!?”). If “No,” proceed to the following questions.

First Question: Are you in a committed-relationship? If your answer is “Yes,” you should probably take Options A, B, E, or F. The reason Option C is excluded should be obvious. The reason option D is excluded is because your MASTURBATOR is not someone you know and, as such, their potential for a violent reaction if confronted is also not known (ergo, worth avoiding in my book because you're dealing with a FRIGGIN' MASTURBATOR!!!). If your answer is “No”...

Second Question: Is your MASTURBATOR of any of the sexes/genders/ages that you engage in sexual-relations with? If your answer is “Yes,” then feel free to pick any Option depending on whether or not meeting up with MASTURBATORS is the sort of thing that floats your boat. If your answer is “No,” consider Options A, B, D, E, or F, depending on...

            Third Question: Does your phone have a camera on it? If “Yes,” consider Options B or F, especially if you’re worried about the likelihood that anyone who’s willing to MASTURBATE to/for you (i.e., a stranger) is probably willing to do it to/for somebody else. If “No,” consider Options A or E, which I think you can decide on the basis of your answer to...
            Fourth Question: Is your MASTURBATOR someone you find physically threatening? If “Yes,” I’d say go with Options E or F (depending on your answer to the Third Question), and recommend considering yelling/calling the cops depending on the time of day and/or how far away you are from your home. If “No,” I’d say stick with A or B (again, depending on your answer to the Third Question).

            When it came to dealing with my, personal MASTURBATOR, I went with Option A: I didn’t know my MASTURBATOR (PHEW!); he wasn’t of the sex/gender/age that I engage in sexual-relations with; my phone can’t take pictures; and I wasn’t physically threatened by him. Once I got home, I called the cops and reported what happened, which caused me to wish that I’d taken Option B instead of A and gotten a better look at/picture of my MASTURBATOR’S face, both for the police and for myself (I've seen a number of people in the weeks that've followed that have caused me to wonder "Are they my MASTURBATOR?", which is a very disconcerting question to be asking oneself, I assure you)--but then there was something both undeniably traumatic, but also not exactly terrifying, about the whole experience, which is why I think I "chose" Option A.
 
            Oh yeah, did I mention that when “There I was walking home...”, I was wearing my (royal) purple (high-water) jeans?



Well, I was. Last time I wear those...

Movie Review: The Change-Up

           I probably wouldn’t pay any more hard-earned cash-money to rewatch The Change-Up, staring Jason Bateman and Ryan Reynolds. I also probably wouldn’t On-Demand or Netflix or Red Box it. However, I would be willing to rewatch it if it happened upon the old boob-tube and/or if someone I were friends with really, really wanted to see it. The Change-Up was... pretty funny. It’s no Bridesmaids. It’s no Hangover. It’s no Forgetting Sarah Marshall. It’s pretty funny with a pretty good message: single-guys in your thirties, get your sh*t together; married-guys with jobs and kids, don’t forget to go roller-blading and read fiction (or whatever it is you’ve stopped doing for yourself over the years in the name of your commitments to other people).

My big problem with The Change-Up is that its message brought up but only very lightly touched upon the issue of what they call the “cancer list,” i.e., the three women any guy in a committed relationship would want to date/sleep-with were his partner to die of cancer (bad, I know). The reason I say “only touched on...” and why this a big problem for yours truly is because (1) it really is a problem (i.e., men will always have a “cancer list”), and (2) I don’t think there’s any way for Jason Bateman’s committed-guy to actually scratch the itch in question without betraying his wife and kids and, well, life, whereas it’s totally easy and possible for him to do that self-stuff like go roller-blading and read Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom.

All this is to say: I wish The Change-Up had grown its own third-nut (Jason Bateman's character has a third-nut, supposedly) and done a little bit more than it did to address the issue of the “cancer list.” I also wish that it were a little funnier.

p.s. Yet another movie starring Olivia "I'm in way, way too many movies right now" Wilde, this time more charming/sexy than she was in Cowboys & Aliens but with a pretty bad wig (as pointed out by my girlfriend, with whom I somehow avoided talking about the "cancer list" after seeing The Change-Up together).

Movie Review: Cowboys & Aliens

          I would not pay any more of my hard-earned cash-money to rewatch Jon Favreau’s latest, Cowboys & Aliens, in theaters. I also wouldn’t Netflix, Redbox or pay for it On Demand. I might be willing to watch like 10-15 minutes of it were I to stumble across it accidentally on the old TV, but you’d have to squeeze my shoes pretty hard to get me to watch any more than that. And you know what, it’s not even that Cowboys & Aliens is all that bad: Daniel Craig does a decent job as his 007 bad-a** self; Harrison Ford, well, he probably should’ve retired from acting after The Devil’s Own (1997); the aliens are kind’a creepy (the little arms!?!); and the Western mis-en-scene is pretty convincing (the one glaring, water-beaded exception being Olivia “I’m in WAY too many movies right now, HOLY SH*T” Wilde’s makeup).

The problem with Cowboys & Aliens is that it wasn’t half as fun as it should’ve been (I’d have been far more willing than I’d like to admit to overlook Wilde’s character’s returning from death, emerging from a fire, being some buck-naked alien spirit-thing, had the movie actually been a fun one). How it was possible for Favreau and Co. to make a movie about cowboys meeting/fighting aliens pretty much entirely un-fun is beyond the proverbial pale.

I chalk-up most of C & As’ un-funness to the casting of Daniel Craig in the lead. Craig’s super-serious, 007 bad-a** self would’ve been pitch-perfect in yours truly’s favorite western, The Proposition (2005), but in Cowboys & Aliens, man, it just sucked the fun right out of d*mn near everything from the get-go.