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May 01, 2007

1147: Planet Waste of Time

Yes, I know something wonky is going on with mah blog but I'll figure it out later. Right now, it's time for that movie recap I promised earlier...

Warning: Possible Grindhouse spoilers ahead. Also, a lot of unchecked rage.

We made a concerted effort to catch up on our movie-watching this weekend. Hectic work schedules, exhaustion, family obligations, and my desire to watch 300 whenever and wherever possible delayed our seeing Grindhouse and Hot Fuzz by several weeks.

As the poor reviews and terrible ticket sales should have clued us in... Grindhouse was stinky -- not stinky like rotting-but-still-mobile corpses, just plain stinky. Neither film needed to be as long as they were, but perhaps the decision to keep them so long helped give us that shameful feeling of having wasted a beautiful afternoon in a dark movie theater watching things that we'd feel compelled to lie to our parents about having seen. Well, except for the fact that not only would I tell my parents about it, they'd totally come with us. I love you, Mom & Dad!

So, in some sense, Grindhouse kinda-sorta fulfilled the goal of giving viewers the experience of seedy, shameful grindhouse cinema -- if only by creating that sense of shame through actually wasting viewers' time and thereby leaving them with the feeling of "What have I done with my weekend? Why did I do that?" I don't know. If you're like me, it was because you wanted to see a girl with a machine gun for a leg. But, if you're like me, you also felt a pang of jealousy when you first saw that Grindhouse poster and realized that someone else had been cast in the very role you were meant to play. (ARGH!) Truthfully, I was a little heartbroken that she didn't a) make that machine gun leg herself and b) that it didn't happen much earlier in the film. I don't think I'm ruining this for anyone but she only has the gun for about as long as she does in the trailer. *Boo!*

At least Rodriguez was committed to making a film that not only had something kinda-sorta like a plot but also stayed loyal to the concept behind the whole project, which was -- duh -- to make a grindhouse double feature. Tarantino's half was barely worth even mentioning, except that it made me fall in love with Rose McGowan for the second time in one day and inspired in me the desire to drive a muscle car like a complete maniac with a Kiwi lady strapped to the hood.

Honestly, I hate Tarantino right now. I am so sick of his ham-like mug forcing its way on screen for NO REASON and the fact that no one in Hollywood seems capable of telling this fool when to hold back. Unlike Rodriguez, who up until now I really could take or leave as a director, Tarantino seems incapable of growing or evolving. The dialogue that might have seemed fresh 10-12 years ago is now just overindulged and, frankly, boring. Death Proof amounted to two car crash/chase scenes, but the bulk of the movie is spent wasted on dialogue that isn't even remotely funny or interesting. Stick a fork in Tarantino because he's DONE. "Rodriguez could have done 300," Pete pointed out later, but no one in Hollywood would ever ask Tarantino to do anything but something in the narrow category of film in which he's proved himself in already. Ahem, Kubrick, anyone?

Phew!

I'm sorry. I'm just hurt. I was honestly excited about these movies, much like our friend, schlock-aficionado Monsieur Amoeba who was also disappointed by the end result. I have loved, insanely, Tarantino movies in the past but Death Proof was overindulged in an embarrassing way. All of the self-referential nods to previous films of his... totally undeserved. The only glory in Death Proof was when Kurt Russell and McGowan shared the screen, and the final car chase, although it never quite gave me enough to fully satisfy.

I wanted to see Zoë stand up on the hood with the gun. And what was the point of having Rosario Dawson move to the passenger seat when she really did nothing but scream? Why didn't she grab the driver's gun and point it at Russell? And although I hate to reference Mean Girls, Quentin, stop trying to make "Ship's Mast" happen. One thing I'm pleased about is how, in my travels around teh internets, I see everyone mentioning Tarantino's obvious foot fetish being featured in this film just as it's featured in virtually everything else he's done. I feel like I called that ages ago but I'm glad to see it validated by others, even if mentioning it here is sure to bring all kinds of unsavory characters to my blog. I guess it's nice to have a break from people coming here to find out about Bam Margera's wedding (seriously, you people act like I was there or something) or GBut's workout routine (uh, I suspect he spent more time in the gym than reading my blog).

Other than Russell getting socked in the face repeatedly (but why did he cry like a baby?!), here is my other favorite part of Grindhouse -- Rose McGowan's dance during the opening credits of Planet Terror. (No clicking if go-go dancers with two functional legs offend you.)

I think one of my favorite things about horror movies -- in particular, zombie movies -- is that they always reinforce my belief that Pete and I are soul mates. There is no one on Earth I have more faith in to survive a zombie attack, and that is truly an essential cornerstone of any lasting relationship. If you suspect that your significant other might trip at an inopportune time, causing them to delay your escape and jeopardize your survival by allowing a ravenous brain-eater to grab his or her ankle... well, you've got some thinking to do. If your significant other can't be trusted to secure the correct zombie-destroying weapons or to follow commands without question (because second-guessing and hesitation get people killed by zombies almost as often as failure to sufficiently arm oneself), then I think you need to ask yourself -- when all the world is zombified and we're armed to the teeth in the last secure and heavily fortified place on Earth, do I see myself growing old with this person? If you're not 100% sure that the answer to that question is 'Yes' you need to walk away right now. Don't look back -- never, ever look back! Just run. Run for your life! Run to the workshed and get that chainsaw! In fact, maybe you ought to lock your significant other up in the basement before he or she puts you in the awkward position of having to blow out their once-loved brains with that sawed-off shotgun you keep in the kitchen. If you can't count on your loved one in a zombie attack, is it really love?

Think about it. But just don't stand near that boarded up window while you do.

(I'll get on Hot Fuzz a bit later -- apologies for the delay!)

Posted by ashley at May 1, 2007 10:35 AM

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