I was out late this evening because I am the father of three boy children and when one is the father of three boy children, one makes an effort to go and see movies about superheroes at the earliest possible moment said movies are available for consumption. For us that meant Guardians of the Galaxy at 7:30 pm on a Thursday night. Why movies that are supposed to open on a Friday are now coming out at night on a Thursday doesn't make a lot of sense to me except to acknowledge that there is no order left in the world, neither words nor time as concepts hold any kind of recognizable meaning, you should just relax and enjoy the chaos as the universe sloughs us off along the path of cold, formless entropy.
The movie was pretty good, although I'm getting to the point where I'm afraid I may be too old to actually enjoy anything anymore. I stayed in last weekend and watched Snowpiercer, a Korean/American thinky action piece that currently enjoys a 95% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. To give you an idea of what kind of neighborhood we're talking about, the film that won the first ever Academy Award for Best Picture, Wings, is rated at 97% on the site. So obviously it's roughly as good as that.
You know what I kept thinking about? Why there were whole sections of it lifted right out of The Matrix films. John Hurt was great in it. Octavia Spencer was great in it. Tilda Swinton was absolutely revelatory in it. Chris Evans was also in it. But more and more now all I can really do is wait for movies to remind me of other movies I've already seen. As with music. As with books. I feel my encroaching joyless decrepitude and all I can do is sigh.
As I have since I was 13, I keep wondering why more things can't just be like porn. For different reasons now, though. Back then it was because I wanted some kind of cover to explain my constant and apparently unprovoked pubescent erections. Now porn I think is the only thing I can go back to over and over again and still get the response from it I was hoping for, no matter how derivative or repetitive. Of course now I feel kinda bad for the girls in it and wonder about exploitation. But you know, later.
Guardians of the Galaxy reminded me of a lot of things. It would be easier to process if I knew how that was supposed to make me feel. Nostalgic? Honored? Ripped off? Vindicated (assuming it was something I liked)? Like everything else now, it mostly gives me mild indigestion and makes me want to take a little bit of a nap.
Boy, I can't wait to see what I'm like when I'm 80.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
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3 comments:
Pops:
I have nothing to add, seeing as how my son is away at camp and is not dragging me to Guardians.
Just thought you needed a comment.
Well, wait. David Lynch is coming here to discuss Eraserhead. Unless you went to art school in Philadelphia, I hope it doesn't remind you of much.
I have stil never seen "Eraserhead," or much of the Lynch oeuvre, to be honest. I have enough in my life to be disturbed by. Not the films I mean, it's just that I know what his speaking AND his singing voice sounds like. I just imagine him employing either one and... yeuch. I shudder.
I do appreciate that my comment neediness came through, though. Sometimes I worry that I'm too subtle with it.
Yeuch. Shuddering. Awe. Revulsion. All emotionally healthy responses to "Eraserhead." Still.
There's a stop motion roaster chicken. Or alien. That apparently lives in a radiator.
Now you don't have to see it.
David Lynch singing?
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