"Nice Head....I think I'll take it."Today during my excruciatingly long prep for a radioactive portrait of my colon, my better half and I headed out to the nearby movie theater to catch some cinema verite. I got excited after listening to NPR's Fresh Air talking about Juno. I mean, what 33 year old testosterone infused male doesn't want to see a movie about a quick-quipping pregnant teenager? My wife, on the other hand, has no patience or love for smarmy chick flicks and vetoed it before we set foot in the theater. We scanned the board for the latest offerings besides Juno: Hannah Montana, Meet the Spartans, Untraceable... it was like being stuck at a Kerasotes that only offered late night cable B-Movies. Then I noticed that 20 minutes earlier, a small art house film called "Rambo" had begun. My wife squealed in delight and we asked the attendant if the commercials...I mean previews...had finished. He checked his computer and told us we had 2 minutes until start time. We threw down our $12 of plastic and ran inside to the opening scroll.
75 minutes later we walked out with shit eating grins. My girl had clutched my hand so hard during the carnage I thought I needed an electron microscope to find the fragments of bone she left behind. "I loved that movie!" she exclaimed. What's not to love? a 15 page script that takes rotten.com and makes it look like Dr. Seuss. The bloodshed is more than excessive in its glory, it is an art form. I couldn't help but think about all the SFX guys that had the pleasure of going to Thailand in monsoon season to blow up hundreds of bodies for the sake of a minor political statement (Don't bring Bibles to Burma, bring guns!). I was so happy to finally see a movie that showed what bullets actually do to the bags of shit and blood we call bodies. And apparently, my wife thought so too. She reveled in every killshot, exploding head, dismembered limb and throat pull that Rambo brought to the table. (I tell everyone I married the coolest girl in the world...now you know why.) Hopefully this movie, which has set the bar so high for violence in an action film, will convice some of the uniformed and libelous political blow hards that blame every recent shooting on video games to change their tune. Maybe they'll exclaim something like "Wow! It does look fun to tear people apart limb from limb! What the fuck was I thinking?"
One can only hope.
75 minutes later we walked out with shit eating grins. My girl had clutched my hand so hard during the carnage I thought I needed an electron microscope to find the fragments of bone she left behind. "I loved that movie!" she exclaimed. What's not to love? a 15 page script that takes rotten.com and makes it look like Dr. Seuss. The bloodshed is more than excessive in its glory, it is an art form. I couldn't help but think about all the SFX guys that had the pleasure of going to Thailand in monsoon season to blow up hundreds of bodies for the sake of a minor political statement (Don't bring Bibles to Burma, bring guns!). I was so happy to finally see a movie that showed what bullets actually do to the bags of shit and blood we call bodies. And apparently, my wife thought so too. She reveled in every killshot, exploding head, dismembered limb and throat pull that Rambo brought to the table. (I tell everyone I married the coolest girl in the world...now you know why.) Hopefully this movie, which has set the bar so high for violence in an action film, will convice some of the uniformed and libelous political blow hards that blame every recent shooting on video games to change their tune. Maybe they'll exclaim something like "Wow! It does look fun to tear people apart limb from limb! What the fuck was I thinking?"
One can only hope.
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