Nikki Haley: Hatemonger

DATELINE:  Crypto-Nazi Emerges at UN

 NIcki Haley, armed & dangerous

Armed & Dangerous

UN ambassador Nikki Haley has now become Public Enemy #1 in the gay community of the United States. You might as well put her on an FBI wanted poster in every post office around the world.

With her vote in support of executing gay people, she put the United States in a basket of Deplorables with 12 of the most backward Arab states. Now our United States has joined the notorious group of repressive nations that are one step away from Nazi Germany’s execution of Jews.

When you advocate the genocide of a group of people, you are a Nazi, Ambassador Haley. You can’t put a pretty bow on it and claim that’s not what you did. It is exactly what your vote meant.

Not since Anita Bryant took on the Gay Community to her everlasting infamy of self-destruction, by throwing gay people out with the orange juice, has there been a woman who has become the face of gay scorn. Nicki Haley is the obvious Doppleganger of Anita Bryant.

Nikki Haley may be the first real casualty of the Trump political wars. She has effectively ended any future career in politics by joining the Trumpet Administration and becoming its new Crypto-Nazi, white supremacist pretty face.

Though she since insists her vote was not anti-gay, it’s hard to support voting against a resolution to call for NOT executing gay people for their lifestyles. She may think she has been misunderstood and misjudged. This is called self-delusion.

Welcome to the world of the LGBTQ community, where people are misjudged and misunderstood every day. Yes, Nikki Haley, that’s you, the face of the new Nazi-ism in America.

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Numbskull Island for King Kong

DATELINE:  Cast Offs

kong cast

We always grow wary when friends warn us off a movie. We were told it was terrible and to avoid it, but we are always ready for an adventure with Kong: Skull Island.

For the first forty minutes or so, we felt our friends betrayed us. The film was witty, funny, and satirized the 1970s with an icy edge, even showing us a Nixon bobblehead (yes, it is historically accurate). There are some delightful actors playing it for fun initially.

Rife with 70s music, scenes of Vietnam soldiers are sent on a special mission to a mysterious location by Pentagon shill John Goodman.

He hires guide Conrad (Tim Hiddleston) to lead them into the Heart of Darkness. Indeed, repartee between characters is outright delicious. You even have one-note Samuel L. Jackson as the vindictive colonel who has nothing much in his wallet or his head.

When Kong shows up to defend his indigenous natives and John C. Reilly, someone hired a second set of writers to send the film into comic book realm with copious plagiarizing.

You might generously call the fight between Kong and other monsters a tribute to the original film, but we call it blatant lack of originality. If you want to give the film the benefit of doubt, you will be sorry.

Someone decided that Vera Lynn’s marvelous song, “We’ll Meet Again,” used in Dr. Strangelove by Kubrick would be a great way to set up a sequel with a return to see Kong again.

No way.

The President Rings Twice, and the Patriots Answer

DATELINE:  Ring-a-Ding Trump

off off-season   Mr. Kraft to you bradys-friend

Having eschewed humorous sports reports on Boston travesties lately, we are forced into a return to the topic one more time.

For this, you can thank Robert Kraft, owner of the New England Patriots and close friend of President Donald Trump.

In April, one of the first big sports events of the Trump era was the visit of the Super Bowl champs of 2017 to the White House. This fiasco was decorated with many missing members of the team who protested the new President. One can only wonder how many of the black players might find their lives hardly mattering after the incidents of KKK and neo-Nazis in Charlottesville or Charlotte’s Web.

They might feel some blame for the violence, making their livings through one of the most concussed and violent games around.

However, we beat a dead horse when today’s news is not fake enough for the alt-right. Yes, Robert Kraft has bestowed one of his $36,000 diamond-studded Super Bowl rings on Mr. Trump.

Usually the President receives a jersey with Tom Brady’s partial number, 1, on it, if it is recovered from international thieves.

However, this year, the man who often breaks bread with Trump and flies on Air Force One often, decided to break precedent and give the President one of those prized rings.

Reportedly, Kraft wanted Trump to have something to put into his presidential library when his term is up, sooner than later, with not much to show for it so far.

Kraft also gave a ring to Tom Brady’s mother for her valiant battle against cancer, which felled Kraft’s wife several years ago. It was Trump’s condolences back then that sealed his friendship with the billionaire NFL owner.

 

 The White House is not talking about when the ring was made or bestowed. And, the Patriots have only made a sly announcement this week in the midst of the pre-season after a tumultuous off off-season.

You can read all about it in Ossurworld’s notorious book, The Patriots Most Off Off-Season Ever, perhaps the last in the Patriots series of hilarious, if not nasty, accounts of their dynastic years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a Glass Cage: Re-Viewing Darkly

DATELINE: Reluctant Blog Entry

glass cage

Sometimes we choose NOT to review a movie, and you won’t see it on our blog.

For two days we mulled over whether to write about In a Glass Cage, a Spanish movie from 1986. It is horrific in a true sense, and unpleasant, and brilliantly done cinema.

However, its subject does not strike us as one that entertains anyone, unless you happen to be a quite sick puppy.

The plot centers on an escaped Nazi doctor from a concentration camp hiding out in Spain in the years after the war. This Josef Mengele-based character had a specialty of sexually abusing and viciously murdering pre-teenage boys.

In an iron lung (the glass cage of the title) for reasons not really important, his new nurse is a beautiful young man who has come for revenge. Named Angelo, he is Death personified. David Sust is the actor and gives an extraordinary performance, downright frightening in fact.

Has this young man who survived the death camp been driven into psychosis by his experience? So, he now turns the tables on the incapacitated Nazi by re-enacting child murders before the remorseful doctor. What on earth is this?

We shut this off several times, but streaming video that audiences would never find are now available—and this one compels in its call.

We wondered about the parents of child actors who allowed the child to perform sexual torture scenes in the film. What kind of trauma was placed on their psyche? What kind of trauma is placed on the audience?

Several of the murder scenes are suspenseful, done as well as anything in a more fantastic tale, but why did we watch this train wreck topic of controversy?

It’s out there on Amazon Prime for those who want to see it, but we aren’t sure we’d care to chat about the film with friends or ever want to see it again.

The Internet has given us a window into the world, but so does the evening news where despicable people perform hideous acts every day—in Spain, in Finland, in the United States. And that’s just this week.

Should we expect our movies to reflect this? Should we give publicity to films that are disturbing and disgusting in the basest moral terms?

We will delete this review upon request.

 

Dr. Strangelove and Nuclear Bombs Away

DATELINE:  Kim Versus Trump

riding the a-bomb

Slim Pickens Rides the A-Bomb into Oblivion

With all the hubbub about North Korea turning its nuclear weapons upon US and using several dozen miniature bombs to hit the major cities, we thought it was time to reconsider Stanley Kubrick’s classic 1964 movie, Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.

Mr. Trump is hardly a dead-ringer for Peter Sellers who played the bald Adlai Stevenson-style president of the country, discussing nuclear destruction with his generals in the War Room.

There we find General George C. Scott fighting with the Russian ambassador, issuing the famous order: “Gentlemen, there will be no fighting in the War Room.”

With nuclear annihilation on the doorstep, back in those days, people knew how to deal with the thought of instant evaporation and annihilation in a mushroom cloud. Today friends from California are saying goodbye to loved ones on the East Coast.

We know that Donald Trump will never tell his generals not to fight in the War Room, and we can hear the placid, slightly sad tones of Vera Lynn as she sang the World War II favorite for fatalists:

We’ll meet again,
Don’t know where, don’t know when,
But I know we’ll meet again
Some sunny day.
Keep smiling through,
Just like you always do,
‘Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.

So will you please say hello
To the folks that I know,
Tell them I won’t be long.
They’ll be happy to know
That as you saw me go,
I was singing this song

We’ll meet again,
Don’t know where,
Don’t know when,
But I know we’ll meet again,
Some sunny day.

Writer(s): Parker Ross, Hughie Charles, Hugh Charles
Lyrics powered by http://www.musixmatch.com

Unwell in a Kafka World: A Cure for Wellness

DATELINE:  Not exactly Obamacare

Dane DeHaan

You have to admit that actor Dane DeHaan usually chooses the most peculiar films and roles available to young stars.

In this movie, A Cure for Wellness, he manages to look rather unwell, doughy, and pooped out. That surely goes against the grain of buff, health-addicted, superheroes among his generation of leading men.

Director Gore Verbinski’s Kafkaesque tale is creepy enough for horror, surreality, and German expressionism, rolled into one hyper-barbaric chamber for eels.

A young executive of a billion-dollar corporation is sent to retrieve its CEO from this strange Swiss clinic where clients go to take “the waters,” a cure for what ails you. It’s either that or go to jail for white-collar crime.

Like clockwork, DeHaan’s Lockhart arrives at a Swiss mountaintop roach motel where people check in, but never apparently check out.  Instead, they are put through a health regimen worthy of Tom Brady’s personal trainer.

Jason Isaacs as Volmer runs the place like the reincarnation of a mad Teutonic baron two centuries ago. He will kill you with kindness.

The cure is worse than the illness—but DeHaan seems more than willing to stick around. We’d be suspicious the moment they kept insisting you drink the water. And, alas, your cell phone won’t work in this altitude.

The hydrotherapy seems a bit on the extreme side, but sado-masochism never had it so healthy.

The atmosphere is suitably Germanic, if not germ-free. We are told that Adolph Hitler was at the spa location, Castle Hohenzollern, for a cure during World War I. How fitting, indeed. It makes Last Year at Marienbad a pleasant stroll.

The film is not for dummies, and one of the attendants is reading a Thomas Mann novel about a health spa where people are convinced they need treatment, whether true or not.

If there is a drawback to this movie, it can be found in the length of the film. We have grown unaccustomed to movies pushing two & a half hours, which is a sure sign they are considered “important” by the makers. There is apparently no cure for this.

Peter O’Toole on TV in 1986

DATELINE:  Rare Appearance

Banshee

In one of his rare acting performances on the small screen, legendary Peter O’Toole took a role on a Ray Bradbury Theatre production of a short story called “Banshee.”

This anthology series ran for several years and featured notable stars in a thirty-minute Twilight Zone-style show.

Most of the summaries of the episode with O’Toole are oddly incorrect on various websites.

The man who was Lord Jim, Lawrence of Arabia, and Henry II (twice), plays an eccentric film director living in Ireland on his remote estate. He plays John Hampton, which clearly is a play on the real eccentric legendary director who lived in Ireland on his estate.

That was, of course, John Huston. The dialogue even has that lilt of Huston’s—and O’Toole wears jodhpurs and boots with swagger, to suggest Huston.

He is visited by a nebbish writer played by Charles Martin Smith who comes for a spooky interview with a script that O’Toole shreds to pieces.

Greeting the writer in the dead of night, the flamboyant director is more than a little unsettled by the cry of a banshee, an Irish female ghost, out in the dark, forboding woods around his estate. While he urges the writer to go out to find this creature who cries for death, Smith locates an ethereal beauty near a graveyard who wants O’Toole to come out.

The story was written by Ray Bradbury and seems a trifle, though highly moody and atmospheric. The show falls short of Twilight Zone quality, but who can complain when Peter O’Toole enlivens every scene.

 

 

 

 

Long Live King Kong

 DATELINE:  Still Kicking 85 Years Later

kong

 

If you want to be enchanted and taken back to childhood, the little documentary on the history of King Kong is pure escape and delight.

Kong! What an actor. They literally don’t make them like him anymore.

A bunch of Hollywood’s behind-the-scenes creative people were most influenced to go into the artistic end of movies because of their experience with the 1933 stop-action classic that still amazes and thrills nearly 85 years later.

Oh, yes, they have clips from all the major rip-offs and poor productions, which are somewhat enjoyable, but all the subsequent Kongs were dwarfed by the original.

There are anecdotes about people knowing Fay Wray over the years—and what a devotee she was to Kong, ever faithful to the ape who loved her.

Peter Jackson’s 2005 remake follows most closely as an act of love, updated, to pay homage to the Merriam C. Cooper version. The film omits the latest Kong movie called Skull Island, which features some interesting actors, all willing to play co-star to the big monkey.

Brady in Manhattan

There is no real answer as to why Kong remains beloved, despite the carnage he creates in New York for Carl Denham, the hilarious Robert Armstrong’s legendary performance as a rapacious movie producer.

Kong holds up as the eighth wonder of the world because the filmmakers managed to give a puppet all the range of emotions and powerful communication skills that are often missing in most action stars.

Long Live King Kong is certainly not the best documentary of the year, but it is one to most likely give you a smile of long-ago fun when monster movies defied your kid’s understanding of special effects and gave you mesmerizing appreciation for film.

 

30 Days of Night: North to Vampires

DATELINE: Beautiful Josh Hartnett Alert!

 Josh Hartnett

Director David Slade gave us the pretty vampire of Robert Pattinson in that sugar-pop vampire series, but has turned in an uglier version with 30 Days of Night. Here in Barrow, Alaska, when the sun sets, the vampires have a long winter’s feast.

It’s a claustrophobic experience to be cut off from the rest of the world with an army of hungry vampires.

Josh Hartnett has never looked prettier in this 2007 movie, but he seems to fall apart, as the film proceeds, thanks to makeup effects. He’s the sheriff of a cold, little town in the northern most latitudes of the United States. He goes from clean-shaven to scraggy, to—well, we won’t say.

Most of the residents don’t have a clue what the plague is that is attacking them as night must fall.

These are Nosferatu Nasty vampires, led by black-eyed Danny Huston speaking some weird language of vampires, in sub-titles no less. Huston wins the creepy award.

As one of those pick’em off one by one movies, you watch the little town of 150 or so dwindle to a precious few.

Ben Foster starts things off in one of his patented creepy roles, but once those superhuman vamps start flying like flakes in a blizzard, you figure that the movie will be over in thirty minutes.

Humans are resilient—and fight back, rather hopelessly.

The film is a little different than you might come to expect from the genre, and that makes it highly watchable, despite the blood-letting.

This didn’t win any Oscars, but it might have entertained a few people over the years. We have discovered it later than it deserved. But, better late than never. Go north, vampire hunters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

WordPress, Wherefore Art Thou?

DATELINE:  Biting the Hand That Feeds Us Tofu Turkey

Tofu   tofu turkey

Almost as juicy as our Tofu Turkey Award, we were just notified by WordPress that this is our seventh anniversary.

We almost expect the locust to descend upon our readers.

Every once in a while we realize that there are awards out there for blogs, but as Ella Fitzgerald used to sing, “But Not for Me….”

Yes, indeed, bloggers are writing songs of love, but not for me.

We heard there are real WordPress awards out there, but they are as mysterious as the Men in Black for us.

Fear not, fearless readers. We will continue for another seven years writing movie reviews on weird movies, pushing our bad books, and berating Tom Brady. If we are not mistaken, seven years is about the same length of time for those with bad luck when you break a mirror.

Thank you, WordPress, for reminding us.

 

 

Night Must Fall, or at Least Trip Lightly

wacky mcavoy

DATELINE:  Shyamalan’s Latest

Producers continue to give M. Night Shyamalan money to make movies of his choice, despite commercial and critical disparaging words.

The latest is called Split, about a man (if you can call him that in a supernatural thriller) with 24 personalities.  That’s a personality disorder with capital letters. It is about as overwrought as hyperbole can make it.

Shyamalan wrote this as well as directed. In terms of his writing, this film obviously came together after he saw William Wyler’s The Collector from 1965. That film is about a disturbed young man who kidnaps a beautiful girl and keeps her prisoner in hopes of making her fall in love with him.

This time, the man with the identity disorder kidnaps three women and keeps them prisoner in an elaborate underground prison. At least the John Fowler story of The Collector explained how he won the lottery which financed his mad caprices.

That’s not enough here. Shyamalan adds a touch of Hannibal Lecter and Psycho to the mix. That should pile-on adequately.

Don’t misjudge: this film has a rather wild performance by James McAvoy who limns about six personalities. He is highly watchable. Betty Buckley plays his therapist who is a classic enabler.

Shyamalan has all his usual Hitchcockian pretenses at hand: he makes a cameo again, sets all his films in Philadelphia, and loves to hear echoes of other movies. If you think this is his best since Sixth Sense, he will agree with you—as the sequel is already on the books, Mr. Glass.

Indeed, Bruce Willis makes a cameo at the end to promote the sequel. Nothing like trying to microwave your stew to guarantee an audience smells the aroma.

The film reaches the outer limits by the end credits, trying to sell us that psychosis is actually a means to reach the supernatural. Our grandmother used to say, “Balderdash,” and it still fits.

Yikes! The Ghost of Deflategate Returns

DATELINE: Oh, the Horror!Featured image

Like a bad movie sequel, Deflategate has risen from the dead again and is now ready to reap its zombie plot on another football season. We haven’t seen such horror since Abbot and Costello met Frankenstein.

In an act of solidarity that might make weaker men vomit, the NFL and the NFLPA have agreed to speed up the appeal process to suspend Tom Brady.

You might say the players’ union and Brady must be fairly confident that they will prevail to enter into an agreement with the Devil-may-care Goodell contingent.

Of course, all this may be a plot to guarantee more media coverage for yet another off-season. You can’t beat football zombies running through the NBA, MLB, and NHL seasons.

NFL officials all insist that 2015 and the playoffs in 2016, for Super Bowl 50, are sacrosanct. There will be no stopping Brady from appearing. They claim to want to have the matter over in time for the summer camp of 2016.

Perhaps Brady will be retired at that point. In all likelihood, he will be gearing up for another run at the Super Bowl.

The ostensible reason for the appeal speeding up is to settle the matter once and for all time about the authority of the NFL in matters of discipline.

And, you thought it was just to guarantee another shot at punishing Tom.

So, the Ghost of Deflategate will continue to haunt us for the foreseeable future. Everyone gags at the mention of the term, but don’t let that stop Roger Goodell from finding a balm for his bruised ego.