Just the Ticket #84: Posse In Demand
Once again back for the epically reformed Amish among you (and those who weren't around for my GodsOfMelee days), I bring an old review to introduce you to a pair of films that took so long to get rental copies of because they were completely out of stock for two weeks!
First, let me give you an update on my Serious Technical Difficulties: I got my new external drive back this week, but Staples' technicians were only able to recover half of the data. My high school and college essays were not among them, sorry to say. I was hoping to share them with you all one day so that my years of essentially effortless hard work would not be in vain. I still have the old drive, mind you, so there is always a chance of full recovery in the future. But who wants to spend 1500 dollars to retrieve their childhood, anyway (he asked with a choked snivel of loss in his voice)?
Let's move on to a post from January 17, 2005 (SWAT Ticket #29: License to Ilium) before I start to cry for real:
Now, here's a little story many like to tell about three Greek brothas you know so well.
Started way back in old BC without Ad Roc, MCA, or even Mike D.
There was a big horsie (not named Paul Revere), Achilles, an army, and a city in fear.
Fighting for the land, kickin ass on sand, sacking their homies (Helen's in demand).
One angry Grecian there be, Achilles with no cousin, fighting for no king.
The sun beating down on his great war hat, the air is getting hot, Prince Paris at his back.
He ran into a girl he loved and had to say goodbye; she was Paris' sister, homie capped him in the thigh.
As rapped by SWAT and the Beastie Boys to the beat of "Paul Revere," the above is pretty much what happens in Homer's Iliad when it gets slightly distorted by director Peter Jackson. Brad Pitt is Achilles, the ultimate warrior who gets forced into a war he doesn't believe in (kinda like Bush sending Michael Moore into Iraq to bore the local militants to death), gets pissed when his cousin is killed by Prince Hector of Troy (Eric Bana - The Hulk), and dies from an arrow in his heel. Orlando Bloom (LOTR) is Prince Paris of Troy, the sex-driven romantic moron who starts the Trojan War by kidnapping King Agamemnon's wife, Helen (whose make-up slathered and botox-injected face launched one ship--highlight, copy, paste*999, group, animate), gets his ass handed to him on a javelin, pisses on his brother's boots in fear, and then "saves" his sister by killing Achilles. The Trojan Horse (not made of latex, but still guaranteed to penetrate the walls of Troy and bring pleasure to pyromaniac Greeks for miles around--if you don't recognize a condom joke when you see one, leave the site 'cuz you're probably too young to be here anyway. That or you're dumber than Paris, and I don't mean Hilton) looked awesome, the photography (what little of it that was real, and some of the fake crap, too) was likewise cool.
The best part of the movie was Ajax, the big Herculean guy with the club/axe/whatever who ripped arrows out of his own body, lurched up to the offending archer or closest bad guy, and stabbed him with them. Great comic relief, that Ajax. But the death of Achilles was a joke: an arrow in the heel, five in the chest, and he keeps coming like...well, like Spider-Man on animal tranquilizer, then passes out like a drunk with a stupid look on his face. What should have been a moment of tragic drama was transformed into a moment of comic sedation. I think they mythed something in the translation.
B-
Quote of the Week, a.k.a. If the Lyric Fits:
"Step into the town and break the walls down.
The heartbeat is the only sound.
Step into the light and then you'll know;
you were stopped and trapped by the Walls of Jericho.
Break the walls down."
out.
Well, not really. I still have to get the new reviews in here. Another I'm History lesson for you: the above post was the first time I used the abbrevi@ion "SW@" in a post. I did not officially announce it until the January 20, 2005 issue, titled SW@ Ticket #30: Br@ and the C@. And FYI, the above If the Lyric Fits (then called Quote of the Week) came from an entrance theme for the WWE wrestler Chris Jericho. The song was created by WWE music producer James A. Johnston and has been covered by the likes of Kid Rock and Sevendust. And all the cool checkin', center stage on the mic, I be finally puttin' on wax: it's the new style:
No countdown to make you suckahs run, just a little Beasties rap to get you in the mood for Dallas Buyers Club, starring Matthew McConaughey, 30 Seconds to Mars frontman Jared Leto, Jennifer Garner, and American Horror Story's "Burn Man" himself, Denis O'Haire.
Another little story, and it's true to tell
About a shirtless bongo player you know so well
He started Dallas Buyers with an STD
HIV turned to AIDS cuz of AZT
So he thought up a plan many people found queer
Man who rides a buckin' horsie ain't got no fear
Callin' land-to-land, gettin' pills in hand
FDA on his tail, a cure is in demand
One lonely priestie he be
All by himself got nobody
Time countin' down on his cowboy hat
Ringing in his ears and he's ready to collapse
He ran into a girl one day who used to be a guy
His/her name was Rayon, Mac said "Howdy", she said "hi."
More "Paul Revere" action for you here regarding the plot of Dallas Buyers' Club, a true story in which McConaughey's ubermacho cowboy contracts HIV in the late 70's. Upon hearing the bad news, his former friends alienated him as a possible [insert bigoted redneck anti-homosexual slur here], and McConaughey's character rejects the possibility that he could have the disease, seeing as how he's a bigoted anti-homosexual redneck himself. But the potential begins to weigh on him, and he searches (in vain, as we modern folks know) for a cure to the disease, latching on to the experimental AZT until he learns from a Mexican doctor (Griffin Dunn) that using the drug (and coke, and alcohol, and just about anything else he can acquire on a bull-riding electrician's salary) has turned his HIV to AIDS. And when the new treatment his out-of-country physician gives him seems to prolong his life beyond the 90 day expectancy, McConaughey decides to smuggle large quantities of the FDA-unapproved vitamins, protein supplements, and other unorthodox medications into the United States, where he sells them ("we're selling memberships [to the Dallas Buyers' Club]...the medications are free") to local HIV patients, drawing the suspicious and greedy eye of Denis O'Haire's staunch chief of medicine, the omnipresent FDA, and the city "support group" (basically just a town hall meeting designed to buy time in the face of impending tragedy, give the seemingly immovable government a foothold in Dallas, and crush all hope).
For all his animosity toward the same-sex community, McConaughey's Ron Woodruff finds himself a man without place or hope who refuses to let either be crushed, as brilliant a casting choice as it is an acting job. The actor's good ol' dude grandiosity plays in perfectly with his character, for once making his credibility on any given subject seem less like a stretch or a joke we're supposed to be in on but don't know it.
Everyone else in the movie plays their part well, including Jared Leto as Rayon, a transgendered HIV patient whom Ron meets in the hospital and later starts the Buyers' Club with.
I don't often understand the hype that drives awards show choices, but in the case of The Dallas Buyers' Club, I bought it in spades, and hope to buy it in dollars at some point down the road (if there are any copies left, that is).
A+
The same can not be said of Ridley Scott and Cormac McCarthy's The Counselor. I'll make it short, a Critical Quickie, even.
Brad Pitt (see the other reason I did the Troy review first?), Michael Fassbender (X-Men: First Class), Javier Bardem (No Country for Old Men), Cameron Diaz (Bad Teacher), Penelope Cruz (Nine). Fassbender keeps things in mind, Bardem is either selling drugs, stealing drugs, or organizing snuff films, Brad Pitt cannot advise anyone on anything, Penelope Cruz wants Fassbender to "touch her down there" and may or may not have been murdered at some point, someone is running around killing people with unbreakable mechanical garottes, and Cameron Diaz owns cheetahs and has sex with a yellow car. Yes, I said Cameron Diaz has sex with a yellow car. Whether the cheetahs are of any consequence or why it matters that the car is yellow, I don't know.
In the words of Dexter's dearly departed Debra Morgan, this movie lets you know fuck-all, and the "all" may be pushing it. We know pinche-todo, mierda, nada, by the end of The Counselor, other than that the actors, writer, and director all wasted a retardedly disproportionate amount of time and energy concocting this nasty brew of toil and trouble without learning whether or not they should have even bothered to do so in the first place.
Maybe we American viewers are too stupid to grasp how brilliant this monotonous exhibition of nothingness really is, but we didn't spend 25 million dollars on something that doesn't make sense.
F
Speaking of not knowing what's going on, I'm going to revisit Silent Hill so I can determine if the sequel holds any Revelations, so stay tuned for another entry into the Dead Parade.
First, let me give you an update on my Serious Technical Difficulties: I got my new external drive back this week, but Staples' technicians were only able to recover half of the data. My high school and college essays were not among them, sorry to say. I was hoping to share them with you all one day so that my years of essentially effortless hard work would not be in vain. I still have the old drive, mind you, so there is always a chance of full recovery in the future. But who wants to spend 1500 dollars to retrieve their childhood, anyway (he asked with a choked snivel of loss in his voice)?
Let's move on to a post from January 17, 2005 (SWAT Ticket #29: License to Ilium) before I start to cry for real:
Now, here's a little story many like to tell about three Greek brothas you know so well.
Started way back in old BC without Ad Roc, MCA, or even Mike D.
There was a big horsie (not named Paul Revere), Achilles, an army, and a city in fear.
Fighting for the land, kickin ass on sand, sacking their homies (Helen's in demand).
One angry Grecian there be, Achilles with no cousin, fighting for no king.
The sun beating down on his great war hat, the air is getting hot, Prince Paris at his back.
He ran into a girl he loved and had to say goodbye; she was Paris' sister, homie capped him in the thigh.
As rapped by SWAT and the Beastie Boys to the beat of "Paul Revere," the above is pretty much what happens in Homer's Iliad when it gets slightly distorted by director Peter Jackson. Brad Pitt is Achilles, the ultimate warrior who gets forced into a war he doesn't believe in (kinda like Bush sending Michael Moore into Iraq to bore the local militants to death), gets pissed when his cousin is killed by Prince Hector of Troy (Eric Bana - The Hulk), and dies from an arrow in his heel. Orlando Bloom (LOTR) is Prince Paris of Troy, the sex-driven romantic moron who starts the Trojan War by kidnapping King Agamemnon's wife, Helen (whose make-up slathered and botox-injected face launched one ship--highlight, copy, paste*999, group, animate), gets his ass handed to him on a javelin, pisses on his brother's boots in fear, and then "saves" his sister by killing Achilles. The Trojan Horse (not made of latex, but still guaranteed to penetrate the walls of Troy and bring pleasure to pyromaniac Greeks for miles around--if you don't recognize a condom joke when you see one, leave the site 'cuz you're probably too young to be here anyway. That or you're dumber than Paris, and I don't mean Hilton) looked awesome, the photography (what little of it that was real, and some of the fake crap, too) was likewise cool.
The best part of the movie was Ajax, the big Herculean guy with the club/axe/whatever who ripped arrows out of his own body, lurched up to the offending archer or closest bad guy, and stabbed him with them. Great comic relief, that Ajax. But the death of Achilles was a joke: an arrow in the heel, five in the chest, and he keeps coming like...well, like Spider-Man on animal tranquilizer, then passes out like a drunk with a stupid look on his face. What should have been a moment of tragic drama was transformed into a moment of comic sedation. I think they mythed something in the translation.
B-
Quote of the Week, a.k.a. If the Lyric Fits:
"Step into the town and break the walls down.
The heartbeat is the only sound.
Step into the light and then you'll know;
you were stopped and trapped by the Walls of Jericho.
Break the walls down."
-You assclowns know where that came from, so...
SW@,out.
Well, not really. I still have to get the new reviews in here. Another I'm History lesson for you: the above post was the first time I used the abbrevi@ion "SW@" in a post. I did not officially announce it until the January 20, 2005 issue, titled SW@ Ticket #30: Br@ and the C@. And FYI, the above If the Lyric Fits (then called Quote of the Week) came from an entrance theme for the WWE wrestler Chris Jericho. The song was created by WWE music producer James A. Johnston and has been covered by the likes of Kid Rock and Sevendust. And all the cool checkin', center stage on the mic, I be finally puttin' on wax: it's the new style:
No countdown to make you suckahs run, just a little Beasties rap to get you in the mood for Dallas Buyers Club, starring Matthew McConaughey, 30 Seconds to Mars frontman Jared Leto, Jennifer Garner, and American Horror Story's "Burn Man" himself, Denis O'Haire.
Another little story, and it's true to tell
About a shirtless bongo player you know so well
He started Dallas Buyers with an STD
HIV turned to AIDS cuz of AZT
So he thought up a plan many people found queer
Man who rides a buckin' horsie ain't got no fear
Callin' land-to-land, gettin' pills in hand
FDA on his tail, a cure is in demand
One lonely priestie he be
All by himself got nobody
Time countin' down on his cowboy hat
Ringing in his ears and he's ready to collapse
He ran into a girl one day who used to be a guy
His/her name was Rayon, Mac said "Howdy", she said "hi."
More "Paul Revere" action for you here regarding the plot of Dallas Buyers' Club, a true story in which McConaughey's ubermacho cowboy contracts HIV in the late 70's. Upon hearing the bad news, his former friends alienated him as a possible [insert bigoted redneck anti-homosexual slur here], and McConaughey's character rejects the possibility that he could have the disease, seeing as how he's a bigoted anti-homosexual redneck himself. But the potential begins to weigh on him, and he searches (in vain, as we modern folks know) for a cure to the disease, latching on to the experimental AZT until he learns from a Mexican doctor (Griffin Dunn) that using the drug (and coke, and alcohol, and just about anything else he can acquire on a bull-riding electrician's salary) has turned his HIV to AIDS. And when the new treatment his out-of-country physician gives him seems to prolong his life beyond the 90 day expectancy, McConaughey decides to smuggle large quantities of the FDA-unapproved vitamins, protein supplements, and other unorthodox medications into the United States, where he sells them ("we're selling memberships [to the Dallas Buyers' Club]...the medications are free") to local HIV patients, drawing the suspicious and greedy eye of Denis O'Haire's staunch chief of medicine, the omnipresent FDA, and the city "support group" (basically just a town hall meeting designed to buy time in the face of impending tragedy, give the seemingly immovable government a foothold in Dallas, and crush all hope).
For all his animosity toward the same-sex community, McConaughey's Ron Woodruff finds himself a man without place or hope who refuses to let either be crushed, as brilliant a casting choice as it is an acting job. The actor's good ol' dude grandiosity plays in perfectly with his character, for once making his credibility on any given subject seem less like a stretch or a joke we're supposed to be in on but don't know it.
Everyone else in the movie plays their part well, including Jared Leto as Rayon, a transgendered HIV patient whom Ron meets in the hospital and later starts the Buyers' Club with.
I don't often understand the hype that drives awards show choices, but in the case of The Dallas Buyers' Club, I bought it in spades, and hope to buy it in dollars at some point down the road (if there are any copies left, that is).
A+
The same can not be said of Ridley Scott and Cormac McCarthy's The Counselor. I'll make it short, a Critical Quickie, even.
Brad Pitt (see the other reason I did the Troy review first?), Michael Fassbender (X-Men: First Class), Javier Bardem (No Country for Old Men), Cameron Diaz (Bad Teacher), Penelope Cruz (Nine). Fassbender keeps things in mind, Bardem is either selling drugs, stealing drugs, or organizing snuff films, Brad Pitt cannot advise anyone on anything, Penelope Cruz wants Fassbender to "touch her down there" and may or may not have been murdered at some point, someone is running around killing people with unbreakable mechanical garottes, and Cameron Diaz owns cheetahs and has sex with a yellow car. Yes, I said Cameron Diaz has sex with a yellow car. Whether the cheetahs are of any consequence or why it matters that the car is yellow, I don't know.
In the words of Dexter's dearly departed Debra Morgan, this movie lets you know fuck-all, and the "all" may be pushing it. We know pinche-todo, mierda, nada, by the end of The Counselor, other than that the actors, writer, and director all wasted a retardedly disproportionate amount of time and energy concocting this nasty brew of toil and trouble without learning whether or not they should have even bothered to do so in the first place.
Maybe we American viewers are too stupid to grasp how brilliant this monotonous exhibition of nothingness really is, but we didn't spend 25 million dollars on something that doesn't make sense.
F
Speaking of not knowing what's going on, I'm going to revisit Silent Hill so I can determine if the sequel holds any Revelations, so stay tuned for another entry into the Dead Parade.
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