I know I'm not the only one who felt like my intelligence had been spanked during and after watching the movie
Syriana. I was walking down the wet street after the movie and I felt vacant, like I had just been slapped and had $11 stolen from me. Because it all began at a point early in the film, when I saw the first scene with Christopher Plummer and my inquiring mind simply wandered back to his days as Dr. Doolitle and his great performances in the Music Man and My Fair Lady and good lord I really hope he really WAS in those last two musicals but I'm pretty sure he was, and I had just finished this meandering with the idea, "Yeah, and look at you now you old Dr. Doolittle" when I realized I had just missed some serious information about his character in the movie, and I immediately was forced to play catch-up for a good hour! Add to that the 400 different geographic locations everyone goes to, and you see that
Syriana commands all of your brain all of the time to piece all of everything together, and gives you the sense that if you weren't paying attention 100% of the time, if you had stopped to pluck popcorn off your lap or think about just how they got that shot or ask "Where have I seen that guy before... Ah! That's Basquiat!" then you obviously checked out and have been lost to the whole point of the movie and, man you just didn't get it, did you?! Give me a break George Clooney and stop yelling at me with your skillzz! You forgot that people like me enjoy a mental meander in a movie theater, to listen to the moron behind me who was too stoned to hear the 'no cell phone' announcement, or to just think a little about 76 Trombones or aging actors, or whatever pops up.
Yeesss I did like seeing several mini movies all at once and perhaps it's not important to link everything together into a Eureka!-moment package, so I'll consider the silence of the people leaving the theater more a sign of shellshock than a lack of smarts. But still, George, take your damn Golden Globe back to your
Lago d' Como villa and hump it dry, Morbid Batman!
And if you bring your crap into the treehouse we have a hoop below to slam infidel suckahs like this poor trash!
In reality, I am just a passive perimeter shooter who sometimes is forced into post-play because someone's just phoned-in the defense without actually manning up; you know, sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes, well, the bear...he eats you.
2 comments:
Okay, okay, so I may have clicked the 'anonymous' button but everyone who knows my brother probably knows at least a little about one of his older brothers (there are several of us, and a sister), namely this one who happens to be me, Tim.
I actually wanted to comment on the initial lead-section, not this boring self-indulgent tripe about walking down wet streets after watching some overpriced movie -- heck, I'LL slap you for a whole lot less than $11, like maybe even a cut-rate $9.75 -- but that lead-in section is GOOOOOOOD! It's real, it's gen-u-wine, it's that little brother o' mine in all his gloriously self-riposting thunder. So, I guess I'll check this self-indulgent tripe site once in a while after all ;^{)}=>+ if only to read more about mossy stones and buttermilk skies. Yes, I confess: I too often refer to that particular cloud-formation as a buttermilk sky.
Anyway, now maybe MDA (who really did face-plant into his birthday cake as a baby) will STOP BUGGING ME TO POST SOMETHING IN THE COMMENTS SECTION OF HIS STUPID BLOG SITE!!! Sheesh! Yeah, and I love you too. [chuckle...]
+ Tim
Nice, my so-not-anonymous brother. BTW, Mom's making biscotti right now, soup is on the stove, Dad's grooving out to his Cd player...just another day in the life of the old home place.
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