

My two favorite things, football and viagra, will never be the same.
RIP š


My two favorite things, football and viagra, will never be the same.
RIP š

I like to talk about movies that people usually know but have somewhat forgotten about.
That being said, Midsommar is relatively recent and probably still discussed.
Oh well š¤·āāļø
Iām not really a horror fan, so I havenāt seen Hereditary, Ari Asterās other film. But Midsommar caught my attention because someone mentioned that it was a horror film that lacked any of the tropes found in such movies.
People arenāt as big of a fan of Midsommar as they are of Hereditary. Was Hereditary really that good?
Many have said that the subtext of this movie is dissolution of the relationship between the two leads. If that was the case, then I hardly noticed (or cared). For me, what was terrifying about the movie was how it kinda reminded me of Salo: Or the 120 Days of Sodom, albeit far more emotionally engaging. In fact, if Midsommer is a āhorrorā film, then Salo is as well.
But Aster uses the āhorrorā elements wisely. Much of the film is actually pleasant to look at: pleasant locations, pleasant faces. Naturally, this pleasantness is used to lower your guard.
Except for one dream sequence, all of the horror takes place during the day. The most noted example is the suicide scene with the two elderly people. If you watch a lot of movies, youāve definitely seen gorier shit, but this one hits different. Itās a beautiful scene juxtaposed against two old people getting their faces smashed in. Additionally, for the two groups present for this ritual, one finds the scene beautiful while the other is utterly horrified.
And it happens relatively late in the film, long after you get adapted to the tone. Usually horror films do something like that early, just to tell the audience what itās capable of.
Many have discussed why this movie is terrifying, and none of it works as an explanation for me. The most common is āitās an American perspective on a foreign culture and how we find them terrifying ā blah blah blah. That never once occurred to me. What I found terrifying is the passiveness of the characters and the bullshit myths that the cult had to justify itself.
And the film does call bullshit on it (some guy argued that the film has a neutral take on the cult, which is partly why some find it scary. But thatās definitely not true).
Case in point is in the euthanasia scene, after the old man jumps off the cliff, breaks his leg, and lays there in pain. After the scene, the male lead tries to justify it by saying something like the ācommunity might find our methods of elderly care barbaricā, but that old man met a truly barbaric end (his face later gets smashed in). Iād take a nursing home any day of the week.
The other example is at the end when the temple gets set on fire. Two members of the cult volunteer for the burning and are given a drug so that they wonāt feel the pain of burning. However, one guy watches his friend, the last image heāll ever see, scream in horror as he burns alive! All the drugs and nonsense clearly did him no good.
So to me, this film was kinda a commentary on the cult mindset and how people can be persuaded to do unusual things in the name of nonsense (and a lot of drugs). OR how people use these rituals to mask truly horrific things. That explains Florence Pughās smile at the end: she was an emotionally unbalanced person thatās suddenly found her place.
To me, the most terrifying thing was the brief moment when the male lead opens his eyes and sees a smiling face telling him that he is drugged, canāt move, canāt talk, and thatās that. Bye!
But what this film also does effectively is give you a solid sense of geography. You get used to the nice setting and thatās when bad things start happening. It plays out like a dream that suddenly turns into a helpless nightmare. Just as in a dream, the actors donāt know whatās going on but they play along nonetheless.
Ideology works the same way.

I normally watch 42,000 movies a week. Few of them stick with me.
Carnal Knowledge, directed by Mike Nichols and starring Jack Nicholson and Art Garfunkelās pubic hair, has.
Itās a movie I couldāve written back in my college days. Particularly the first act, about two college guys that know next to nothing about women who try to score with Candice Bergen. Of course, Mike Nichols aces the direction by presenting the two characters in all their pathetic glory. Bergen is also handled nicely as she plays a confused girl torn between these two dorks. Imagine watching a dramatized version of Beavis and Butthead in college, thatās the first act of the film.
Naturally, this romantic interaction has long term consequences, especially for Nicholsonās character. The second half explores his inability to connect with and emotionally abuse Ann-Margret.
Carnal Knowledge really makes you wonder why women love men at all.
Before Jack Nicholson became the Jack Nicholson we know and love today, he specialized in these character studies. Other notable examples are his collaborations with Bob Rafelson (Five Easy Pieces and The King of Marvin Gardens) and The Passenger. He was (is) truly an unusual leading man.
Is Carnal Knowledge a great film? Not particularly. In itās simplicity, it would probably work better on the stage than on the screen. But it is the highlight of Nicholsonās career from 1969 to 1974, a brief window from when he was still an actor, before he became better known as Jack Nicholson the film star.

Frank: it appears that the victim was penetrated anally prior to his death.
Horatio Caine: Well Frank, I guess our victim…

…got fucked in the ass.
Yyyyyyyyeeeeeeeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!
āHow much did it cost to ship that box?ā my wife asked.
āI dunno, $10.99?ā
āThen they fucked you.ā
āIn the ass or in the mouth?ā

Nothing to talk about today.
So I was thinking about a conversation I had with my narcissist coworker. For the sake of this post, Iāll call him Dennis. Itās probably in my top 10 favorite conversations Iāve ever had.
The topic: some woman, Jane, who was allegedly a hoe-bag that once worked with Dennis (and always claimed he never messed around with).
The place: the toilet factory where we work. We use a lot of PPE, especially rubber gloves.
Of course, most of the conversation is paraphrased. But the parts said verbatim are in bold.
****
Dennis: I never fucked Jane.
Me: Did she suck your pp?
Dennis: No, but she sucked Texās pp, and Bob Dutchās pp.
Me: But I thought you two worked on the same shift.
Dennis: yeah and one night I came in and she was sleeping naked on a cot we had back there. I turned the lights on and quickly turned them off. She said (mimicking a female voice) āoh sweetie donāt be embarrassed.ā Then she asked me if I wanted to lay down with her and but I told her hell no.
Me: So you didnāt even fool around?
Dennis: she kept asking me if I wanted a blowjob, but because she sucked every guy off, I kept telling her no. Then she started badgering me, telling me that I wouldnāt know how to please her anyway. So finally I told her āalright, let me put some gloves onā and I went back to her cot.
Me: (laughing uncontrollably)
***
So Dennis started the convo initially denying he had sex with Jane, then a few moments later admitted to finger blasting her.
Moral of the story: Dennisā story is probably completely fabricated, Jane probably wasnāt a hoe. Because I was such a good audience for Dennis, he probably thought he could take the story in any direction he wanted, despite the blatant contradictions, and he thought I would believe all of it.
Thatās what a conversation with a narcissist looks like.
Thatās it. Thatās the story. Bye ā
Canāt believe itās almost been 10 years š

šDavid Carusoš (1976-2012)

The career of William Friedkin is a reminder of how hard it is to make a good film.
He hit two films out of the fuckin park with The French Connection and The Exorcist then kinda floundered from there (he did have a few notable films afterwards, namely Sorcerer and To Live and Die in LA, the latter of which I havenāt seen).
Sure Friedkin won his accolades here and there, but he is truly the maestro of one specific thing: directing car chases.
Everyone remembers Gene Hackman just plowing through cars and walls while Friedkin neglected to obtain permits to film such a thing in the French Connection (and apparently thereās a good chase sequence in To Live and Die in LA), but Friedkinās crowning achievement, in my view, is in Jade.
Before David Caruso was spitting out one liners while rocking a pair of sunglasses in CSI: Miami, he tried his hand at being a film star. Jade was the absolute highlight of this period.
In the film, after Angie Everhart gets totally destroyed by a Ford Thunderbird, Caruso pursuits the vehicle in his POS Ford during a delightful chase where vehicles fly through the air down the streets of San Francisco (and Caruso does his best Gene Hackman impersonation).
The best part is when the chase goes through some parade and pedestrians attack the vehicles using martial arts. I guess that would make sense if you learn about other cultures while binging on cocaine.
Take a look:

Iām glad that the films of Quentin Tarantino and Christopher Nolan are still considered events. Auteurism is dying in Hollywood but there are still remnants.
Iām not a fan of their films, but itās still nice.
I know itās heresy for film buffs to dislike Tarantino, but like Alabama in college football, his movies get evaluated by a different standard for better or worse. Even when itās obvious that he didnāt put his best foot forward, like every movie heās made in the last 15 years, Tarantinoās films get praised as if the film industry is about to go under. If you remove his name from most of his movies, youād probably be wondering what the fuck you just watched.
Mind you, Pulp Fiction will stand the test of time. Jackie Brown should be better appreciated. Kill Bill Vol. I and II are what they are. But go back and watch Reservoir Dogs. It didnāt age well. Could this be the fate for all his retrospective reviews once when Tarantino retires from the biz (after he allegedly makes his ā10th filmā)?
Probably not, but I can hope.
I admit, Tarantino just isnāt my flavor. A perfect film, for me, transcends the medium. Itās gotta stick with me…reveal something about myself, about the universe, that I never realized. Tarantino the man, as reflected in his films, lacks that insight. Heās a film geek. Not that thereās anything wrong with that, but thatās all that heās capable of being.
I expect more out of films, not constantly getting nudged throughout a viewing, being reminded of some shitty Italian film from 40 years ago. Now I love schlock as much as the next guy, but art and schlock do not…cannot…mix.
Tarantino however wants to have it both ways. And that is a pipe dream.
He made a cool film once 30 years ago, most directors will never achieve that. But that doesnāt mean everything heās made since has been a home run.
Really the same thing is true for Nolan. I personally think his success rate is greater than Tarantinoās. But Nolan probably thinks of himself as the Stanley Kubrick of mainstream blockbusters. That also screams trying to have it both ways.
But whatever dude, at least Insomnia, The Prestige, and The Dark Knight…the only superhero film Iāve ever liked…were damn good.

On the Mount Rushmore of cokeheads, Paul Schrader is between Dennis Hopper and Phil Specter (along with Stevie Nicks of course). Which is why I was excited to see Light Sleeper available to watch on Amazon Prime.
Itās definitely not a perfect film. Willem Dafoe plays an aging drug delivery boy employed by Susan Sarandon who runs into an ex flame which leads him to shoot up a hotel room (weāve all been there). Itās a movie that should have been fleshed out more. The climax (the shooting up of a hotel room) didnāt quite pay off, and the sudden romantic interest between Sarandon and Dafoe in the end was odd, but thereās a lot of other things going for the film.
The sanitation strike, which played in the background and was often juxtaposed against the high class NYC lifestyle, was a nice touch. But the desperation of Dafoeās character is absolutely heartbreaking.
I get what thatās about.
Dafoe is aimless. He wanted to be an actor, model, musician, and writer. His best years were spent strung out on drugs. Now heās 40 and lacks focus.
Subtlety, Sarandon is in a similar position. She plays the boss but she knows the gravy train is about to leave the station. She thinks sheās some NYC hotshot, but by looking at her shitty apartment, sheās probably on the outside looking in.
Now that I type that out, suddenly Dafoe and Sarandonās abrupt romantic interest becomes apparent: theyāre both losers and now they have to settle for each other.
The soundtrack is incredible, for both good and bad reasons. The music itself is great. Where it goes off the rails is the damn singing. The visuals are powerful enough that you donāt need to be told how Dafoeās character is feeling. Anybody could have written those lyrics. For example (in the style mimicking Bruce Springsteen):
I am walking down the street at night
I run into my ex girlfriend
We get into a little fight
I feel so sad that I just might
Stalk her at her momās funeral
Then she gets sad as well
Then we reconnect and start to kiss
She complements my erection
Then she tells me that sheās sopping wet
So we fuck all night then tells me to leave
Then I find out sheās back on drugs
Then she jumps out a window to her death
So I buy a gun from Puerto Rican man
Then I ride in limo with Susan Sarandon
Then I shoot up a hotel room
(Lyrics by Michael Been)
Despite all of that, this is a nice forgotten gem from the mind of Paul Schrader.