It's the end of the year and I'm nowhere near the winter of my discontent, as I hoped I'd be. This feels more like the motherfucking spring of my discontent. About a year ago in this blog that nobody reads, I asked/begged/pleaded 2009 to be good to me. Well, a lot of good that did, because now I would like nothing more than to see 2009 get fucking got. I want to see Liam Neeson show up at 2009's pad, drink its tea, kill its homies, knock the motherfucker out, tie it to a chair, wake its ass up, impale its legs with electrified spikes (unrated version), pull the fuckin' switch and just walk away to leave that motherfucker frying forever. I guess what I'm trying to say is Suck A Fat Fuckin' Dick, 2009. Sure, you gave me The Hurt Locker but you also put me in one, so yeah, suck a fat fuckin' dick and choke on it, but not before finding out in your last moments before plunging into eternal darkness that the dick was covered in AIDS slime.
Speaking of sucking fat fuckin' AIDS-ridden dick, last Friday was Christmas Day, and I decided to spend it the way I usually do -- avoiding most of the family by going to see movies at the theater. I'm no fuckin' animal, though; I intended to see the family eventually, after the cousins and aunts and creepy insurance-selling uncles have gone and it's just Mom and maybe my sister and her kids there, that way I can grub on some homemade tamales. But yeah, I had myself a little marathon that day. I'm gonna talk about two out of the four movies I watched, I don't know if I'll get to the other two because I'm lazy and terrible and yeah.
Through the use of my reloaded gift card and Cheap Bastard magic, I was able to watch 2 movies for the price of one. If you don't know how I did that, then you have confirmed my worst suspicions that you, in fact, do not read my shit. The first movie was Sherlock Holmes, starring The (Hopefully) Former Druggie, The Star Who Never Was, Rachel McAdams and directed by the rich Brit who played at being from the street until he married Madonna and got his shit fucked with Kaballah-style so badly that he wound up with his head all the way up his ass and when he finally pulled it out, he wiped all the shit off his face and made Revolver with it.
Some people are bitching about how the source material was betrayed in favor of blockbustering it up, and these people are half right and half way-fucking-wrong. They're right about the filmmakers trying to make this more audience-friendly by adding doses of Boom and Pow and Zip and Zang, but they don't know what they're talking about when they go on about how the real Sherlock Holmes was some asshole with some stupid-ass double-brimmed shit on his head and that Watson was some ineffectual fatass who was always being schooled by Holmes and being told that everything was fuckin' "elementary". I've read some of the short stories, so unless you've read at least a couple of those or one of the books, take your complaining ass out of my fucking face, take it over to a fucking mosque, and have yourself outfitted with a special vest designed to help you gain entrance to a private club that is so exclusive, the guest list consists of only your name and +72 next to it, then take yourself to the nearest vacant lot and put that shit to use.
So here you have Holmes getting all butt-hurt about his hetero life mate Watson getting closer to taking off with his fiancee, but in the meantime there's a problem regarding some evil motherfucker who thinks he's all slick with his black magic and human sacrifices. It takes some getting used to when it comes to watching Holmes disabling a baddie with the use of well-planned asskickery and while I don't remember him owning motherfuckers in bare-knuckle fights in the stories, but there were always mentions of the dude knowing some shit in the fight game, so it's the filmmakers aren't cheating. They're taking the spirit of the thing and adding a heaping dose of Testosterone to it.
With the exception of the Snatch-style fight scenes, this doesn't really look like a Guy Ritchie flick, but it certainly still has the feel of one; you get loads and loads of entertaining dialogue punctuated with some snazzy visual shit. I guess you can say the same about Quentin the Foot Fuckin' Master's works, but the dialogue in Ritchie's movies is spoken in English accents, so that makes it different. Hans Zimmer composed the music, and when it comes to his scores, Zimmer-boy's got two speeds: Fuckin' A and Lagging It. Thankfully, Zimmer brought his Fuckin' A game to the table and comes up with some crazy off-key piano shit that is just as pulse-pounding as his Dark Knight joints.
The villain is scary/awesome, he was also in Revolver pretty much playing the Vinnie Jones role, he never feels fake or MWAHAHA at all, he always creeped me the fuck out. As for the rest of the cast, Jude Law proves that he's best when supporting the man rather than trying to fuckin' be the man and Rachel McAdams' wears a bunch of period costumes that don't do her any favors so it's a good thing they cast a chick with a cute face so we at least have that going for us. As for Downey Jr., holy shit this motherfucker is top-notch like always. Even when he's terrible in something like Hugo Pool (which I liked, don't get me wrong) he's still putting his all into it, this guy doesn't fuckin' slack it for any fuckin' part. I'm glad to see him come up from all the bullshit and showing everyone he's more than just a fuckin' media punchline.
I remember back in the late 90's he hosted SNL, and this was right after he did some jail time for having a good time, and his monologue consisted of mostly visual jokes about him being somebody's bitch in prison. The worst part of it was despite having a sense of humor about his freshly fucked-up situation, the shit still bombed and the audience didn't give much of a reaction. Now people are lining up around the block to see him do his fuckin' thing -- provided it doesn't involve doing it with Jamie Foxx, evidently -- but I really wish these motherfuckers were lining up a little earlier, like October '05 earlier. But what can you do?
The second movie I watched was Nine, not to be confused with that Elijah Wood cartoon or the scene where Hitler loses his shit in Inglourious Basterds. This Nine is basically the Weinstein Brothers calling in the director of Chicago and demanding that he shits out another fuckin' Best Picture Oscar for them, like old times. So, here they go, with another flashy musical based on a Broadway hit. They probably told their whipping boy/director that this better another fuckin' Chicago, right down to the standout bad girl number sung by a current pop diva, only this time it's Fergalicious playing a whore singing about how you should be Italian, which is funny considering the cast they went with.
This one is based on some shit that was based on that Italian movie about how it sucks to be a Great Fucking Filmmaker and to have bitches all over your fuckin' jock while you try to think up your next masterpiece. Boo-hoo. Don't mean to be an asshole about it, but much like I dug Sorcerer over The Wages of Fear, I'm gonna straight out admit I preferred All That Jazz over 8 1/2, sorry everyone. The musical had muthafuckin' Raul Julia in it, but then that guy went Game Over after proclaiming "Game Over!" in Street Fighter, so for the revival they got Antonio Motherfuckin' Banderas, baby. Well, they assed Zorro out of it for the movie and ended up getting Daniel Day-Lewis to play the part of Guido for the movie.
Holy shit. If you're going to replace heavily-accented, over-acting greatness like Banderas, you might as well only go for Daniel Day-Lewis, otherwise I'd be pissed. Daniel Plainview the Butcher does an excellent job here as he always does, managing to not sound like a douche with his Italian accent, he actually comes off like the real deal here. He's not a bad singer, either, he can belt out those pipes when needed. The burning question, though, is Why? I mean, I looked it up and this guy went all out Method like he always does, speaking in Italian and staying in character always. But why? This is a decent movie, entertaining and all, but it's not as good as Chicago, which wasn't even that fuckin' great of a movie to begin with. It's like when my friend told me about seeing Christian Bale lose 60 pounds and get into Holocaust shape for a movie called The Machinist; he thought it was hard work for a bullshit movie. I wouldn't call Nine a bullshit movie, but its ambitions are far greater than the achievements.
Whatever, it's a fast breezy way to spend a matinee. And if you're like me, you'll dig the eye candy. Penelope Cruz's intro number should be called A Rush of Blood to the Head, and I'm not referring to the Coldplay album. That French chick from the Edith Piaf movie and Public Enemies looks very cute and fetching here as well. Then you got Nicole Kidman reminding a motherfucker how she used to be such a babe in the 90's before she got crazy with the plastics and the blades. I'd still hit it, though, do not be mistaken. I'm just saying she had better days, when she didn't look like a porcelain China doll, which I'd still fuck. Kate Hudson is in here too, and it wasn't until now that I realized that I can't stand her. I wondered why it took me so long to notice this, and I finally realized it during her insipid Cinema Italiano number -- every other movie she's been in, I stayed away from. This is a chick who made a career starring in movies only women go to see, and the only men who see her movies are the unfortunate husbands and boyfriends that were dragged in by said women. I'm sure not even gay men chick her shit out, only whipped straights.
Every other song in this movie appears to consist of the following lyrics: GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIDO GUIIIIIII-DOOOOOOOO!!!!! But half of them are pretty catchy and the rest are for you to go take a piss or get a refill on your Diet Coke. I loved the look of the movie, that shit was right-on Oscar-worthy. Give that motherfuckin' cinematographer and production designer some goddamn nods, that's for sure. But then again, this is Italy we're talking about here, you can fuckin' Tenebrae that shit and shoot everything in blinding white light and it's still gonna look awesome because it's fuckin' ITALY. You know what is curiously missing in Italy, though, at least in this movie? Italians. Yeah, man, it's like the director and producers were like "I want you to get me every well-regarded top notch Italian actor for these Italian roles -- and then I want you to lock 'em out of the fuckin' auditions". Whatever, man, it's not a complaint, just an observation.
And that's it. I have nothing else to say other than looking over what I've just written, and putting into consideration what I've been writing over the past 12 months, I'm reminded about something a fat ugly Iranian chick asked me at a Christmas party two weeks ago. She asked me if my brain ever registers what I'm about to say before it comes out of my mouth. My first reaction was to say "Of course it does, you fat fuckin' terrorist cunt", but my brain stopped that thought from becoming vocalized, so instead I told her No, no it never does. Anyway, 2010 is gonna fuck me in the ass just as hard as 2009 and 2008 did. I know this, and so does 2010. Tall, lanky 2010 will strut in, look at me with that pervy look in its eyes and yell to me, "You got a date Wednesday, baby!", which is true. At least this time, the least I can do for myself is have my cheeks spread and be totally lubed up for it.
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