The 2011 Summer Screen Review (Part III)

Having been watching more TV on DVD than anything else, a few movies have snuck into the mix, mostly at home, but occasionally on the big screen.

Having finished reading The Girl Who Played With Fire, I was able to watch the Swedish film of the same name. Though less effective an adaptation than The Girl With a Dragon Tattoo, it was still a decently executed film which does an admirable job of streamlining the book's complicated details. Gone is some of the tension of the book, along with a shuffling and compacting of timelines, but the changes have the feel of having been thought-out and deemed necessary to bring the book to the screen. As before, the cast is impeccably assembled (or reassembled, in the leads' cases) and apart from one glaringly obvious technical/factual flaw (which was an odd substitution for a moment in the book, anyway), the film holds itself together nicely. I'm waiting on the final book to be released in the paperback size to match the two on my shelves so I can read it and then view the final Swedish movie, which already lies in wait in my living room.

Onto much less reputable fare, I picked up the notoriously bad Masters of the Universe DVD, starring Dolph Lundgren as He-Man and Frank Langella as Skeletor. I'd seen it before, many years ago, but upon finding it in the cheap bin, I couldn't resist the trainwreck I remembered it to be. The biggest problem with the movie from the get-go is that the script fails where so many adaptations of cartoons and "old school" shows fail: it betrays the very core concept of the show. Presumably in the interests of saving a whole lot in set construction and location work, the filmmakers transport He-Man and company into modern day America for the majority of the story, in search of a Cosmic Key (which is, in itself, a ridiculously conceived object, a technological portal-opener that happens to play like a synthesizer). Abandon Battlecat (who is never mentioned) and essentially replace the mildly annoying Orko with the VERY annoying Gwildor, stick everyone on a distinctly 80s Earth and, combined with a hundred other flaws, you've got a hot mess of a movie, it still can entertain a little for all the wrong reasons. It's also fun to see Courtney Cox in her pre-friends days, hoping, I'm sure, that this will be her big break.

On the animated front, I watched Superman/Batman: Public Enemies, part of Warner Brothers' DC Animated Universe line. Based on a graphic novel, the movie's storyline centres around Superman being framed by the newly-elected US President Luthor and his battle, alongside ally Batman, to clear his name and save the world from destruction. You know, the usual. Despite the misfires that seem to occur with big screen adaptations of DC properties (Catwoman, anyone? Superman Returns? Joel Schumacher ever having anything to do with a comic book movie?), the DC animated adaptations -- starting with the 90s Batman: The Animated Series -- are generally pretty strong, even if they stray significantly from the source material. This one isn't their strongest, but it's a decent animated flick nonetheless.

3 Open Letters

#1: Counter Culture:

Dear Teenaged Girl,

The counter at a restaurant, even a crappy little place at Wonderland, is not the place for your backside. I don't even like it when people sit their toddlers on the counter, believing it to be a bit disrespectful of food service in general as well as of everyone else who is eating at the place. But teenaged girls who perch themselves on the counter so they can hang off their boyfriends and flirt while acting like a sexed-up preteen? Inappropriate on a multitude of levels. Get your butt off the counter and act your age.

Adamantly yours,

Me

#2: The Gloves Come Off

Dear Blond Adolescent Boy,

When you stand at the hand dryer in a public washroom and dry your hands with fingerless gloves on, I not only know that you're trying to dry your gloves, but that you haven't washed your hands anyway. I know that they're wet because it's a rainy day (and in regards to that, they would dry a lot more quickly if you took them off, allowing air to pass through them), but you've still been to the washroom and they should have come off in any case. Give your head a shake. Just don't shake my hand.

Grippingly yours,

Me

#3: Mind your Ps and Qs

Dear Every Male Who Can't Pee Responsibly,

Don't use public washrooms. If you are completely unable to aim, if you are unable to clean up after yourself, if you are not able to take any responsibility for yourself or to respect anyone else, hold it in until you're at home so I will not have to enter a facility which makes me want to puke. Urine belongs in a urinal and/or in a toilet. For the very young it belongs in a diaper. It does not belong on the floor. It does not belong on a wall. If you can't follow these simple rules, you do not belong in a public restroom.

A little pee-d off,

Me

Hey, Wheezie!

This evening, while standing in line at the cashier, a woman joined the line behind me.

Close behind me.

Now, under normal circumstances, the distance at which she stood wouldn't have been close enough to make me uncomfortable, but this woman was breathing rather heavily. Gaspingly. Raspily. And having a heavily gasping, raspy breather behind you doubles the "acceptable distance" requirements. The heavily gasping, raspy breather was therefore uncomfortably close to me.

Then she spoke. She spoke and said something head-shaking.

"Do you know where I can buy cigarettes around here?"

She asked for smokes.

The heavily gasping, raspy breather asked for smokes.

Now there's a good idea.

She even followed up by saying, "I just can't catch my breath!"

Do you have any idea how difficult it was to keep from saying, "Oh yeah. When you can't breathe, it's usually a good idea to smoke some more."

At this point, she started dropping all of her purchases, into a pile on the floor and grabbing a few more impulse purchases to add to the pile.

I made my getaway while I was still keeping silent on the whole thing.

Well Enough Alone

Christmas is now behind us for another year. I managed a quick visit up with my parents and with my brothers. I saw all of the nieces and nephews, who really are quite a charming lot. One of my nephews, who is five, received a Love 'n' Licks Puppy for Christmas, and was so incredibly overjoyed by it with it's wet lickin' love that the poor thing is going to look like it's got mange from being scratched and petted so much. I don't think he put it down for more than five minutes the whole time, apart from dinner.

Upon my return home, I was off to see Wicked in Toronto. I'd seen it last year when the tour came through and it was just as fantastic this time around. Thanks, Jackie!

Since then, I've pretty much played hooky from the work that needs to be done. Sleeping in? Worth it completely. After New Year's, I'll get back to the real world.

In completely different news, I watched THX 1138 for the other day for the first time in a hundred years and what I'm about to say is nothing new, but it bears reiterating. George Lucas needs to let things go. The movie's not for everyone, but I quite like it. That's not my problem. My problem is that it's the "Director's Cut" which means he's gone back and not just reedited it, which wouldn't bother me too much, but he's decided to beef up things with CGI effects yet again. Nowhere does it actually indicate that things have been added, but it's pretty darn obvious when you're watching a movie made in 1971 and you suddenly think, "My goodness. That looked like CGI." It DRIVES ME NUTS. (Problem #1: You know they didn't have CGI effects before TRON, and so it seems misplaced. Problem #2: CGI shouldn't look like CGI anyway, so it looks misplaced.) Accept the fact that you made the movie as you were able to make the movie given the fact that it was NINETEEN SEVENTY-ONE! This site has a blow-by-blow of the changes made, if you're interested. The monkey things at the end are of particular irritation, since they look so stupid, poorly integrated, and out-of-place in the whole movie. If nothing else, I wish that old Georgie would put both versions on the DVD so one can choose whether to watch the original or his souped-up versions.

Wow. That was more of a rant than I intended.

Happy New Year to whoever's left reading.

Hygenic Deadlines

My soap has an expiry date.

Soap. Expiry date.

I picked the bottle up and, for reasons I would be hard-pressed to articulate,
turned it over and looked at the bottom and saw an expiry date. On my
soap.

Yes, I've got to finish using my Bath
and Bodyworks handsoap before July of 2008. What will become
of the soap at that time, I don't know nor do I intend to risk finding
out. Curiosity drove me to check the other two bottles in my cupboard,
finding that they, though purchased at the same time, have rather
different expiry dates. September 2007 and June 2009, to be precise. I
wonder what makes the difference?

Jackie was the one who originally got me using these soaps (which may, to some, seem girlie, but I figure any guy can stink like Irish Spring, but isn't a
moisturizing and antibacterial handsoap more appealing, especially since
I'm always falling down in my duties to moisturize my hands the three
times a day I'm supposed to do it?) They're also pleasant since,
although they smell pleasant -- and sometimes tasty -- while handwashing, they don't leave a terribly strong after-odour.

I'm sure you wanted to know this much about my soap.

Suffice it to say that my soap has an expiry date. Seriously.

[Okay. See the crazy and annoying spacing / line returns in this post? I did NOT put them there. It just did them automatically, but I refuse to fix them all again.]

It's a Wrap

Today was the final performance of Chicago which was, of course, bittersweet. It's been great fun to do the show, and the audience responses have been great. Although I was scattered throughout the show dancing and singing here and there, one of the most fun things was playing the Jury in the courtroom. The director gave me a very long leash and set me off to create the characters from scratch. In the end, I think we figured I played eight different people if you count "just me" at the beginning. And, as always, it's always tough leaving the cast and crew, some of whom I've spent almost every night with for the past five weeks or so. Of course, crazy little me has already signed on for Rocky Horror, so I'll be back again soon (with Melanie, my Razzle Dazzle dance partner, too) in the thick of things.

On the flip side, of course, it'll be nice to have time to get some things accomplished. I haven't even started Christmas shopping, apart from a few scattered gifts picked up here adn there, so I've really got to get that going. Work will just be gearing up madly from here to Christmas, too, so my focus will be pulled in there.

Finally, and on an unrelated note, I must reiterate how much I'm loving Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. I'm terribly disappointed that it is apparently on the verge of cancellation when it's such a smartly-written and well-performed show. Yeesh. Just like the smoked ricotta ravioli at Lina Linguini's, so much of what I love seems to disappear before its time.

Ug.

I was almost finished writing a lengthy diatribe on my ridiculously obstacle-prone drive home from work today when suddenly it disappeared from my screen.

It vanished just as I started to write the "perspective piece" about how it's just a petty problem in comparison with many.

Then, as I mentioned, it vanished without explanation or even saying goodbye.

I'm way too ugged to rewrite it.

I'm going to bed.

Food Service Woes: The Continuing Saga

So, I go to the grocery store and I deal with Honey Girl.

I go to Subway and get stuck with Alternate Girl.

Today I went to Swiss Chalet for take out (long story which, in the end, led to "There's no way I'm going to go home and spend the time making something to eat; I have to eat NOW and I should avoid the McDonald's so, hey, the Swiss Chalet's right there across from McDonald's so why don't I go in there and grab something instead?")

And whom do I get to serve me? Inattentive Listener.

I sauntered up to the counter, waited a while ... and was finally approached by a young woman (who would later be identified as the aforementioned Inattentive Listener), who offered to take my order.

I ordered a Santa Fe chicken sandwich.

"With fries?"

"With a salad and a side of fries. And can I also get a dipping sauce?"

"Small or large?"

At this point I thought, "I had no idea it came in small and large," and so I said to the young woman (I still didn't realize it was Inattentive Listener) "I had no idea it came in small and large. I'm sure a small will be fine."

Then I asked, "And can I have a little tub [gesture with hands showing little tub] of the mesquite mayonnaise with that?"

"Sure."

And off goes the as-yet-unidentified Inattentive Listener to deal with life, love, and chicken.

After a ridiculously long wait, she finally brought my order and, for some unknown reason, I asked, "And there's a dipping sauce in there?"

"No. That doesn't come with the meal."

Mildly confused, I responded, "I know. I asked for it extra."

Now Inattentive Listener's telltale signs start emerging.

"You asked for extra mayo."

"Yes, I know, but I also asked for dipping sauce."

Now, at this point, the correct answer would have been, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I must have missed that." or even "Sorry, I misunderstood." Instead, I got:

"No you didn't."

So I responded, "I asked for both. I don't really care. I'll pay for it. I just want it for my fries." As she rang me up for my $0.41, I probably should have said, "Remember how you asked if I wanted small or large and I said, 'I had no idea it came in small and large'?" but for some reason -- probably my complete bafflement at this Inattentive Listener -- I didn't.

In any case, she brought me some dip and off I went.

It wasn't until I was home that I realized how Inattentive a Listener she really was. Useless really.

Scroll back up there in this tirade of a transcript and reread my initial exchange with the Inattentive Listener. Go ahead, I'll wait while you do.

*******

Okay, so did you notice that I asked for "...a little tub [gesture with hands showing little tub] of the mesquite mayonnaise with that?" Please note, also, that I did not ask for extra mayo on my sandwich. I did not even use the phrase extra mayo. No, I asked for "...a little tub [gesture with hands showing little tub] of the mesquite mayonnaise with that?" I do this EVERY TIME I EAT THIS MEAL, though if I'm in the restaurant, I ask for "...a little ramekin [gesture with hands showing little ramekin] of the mesquite mayonnaise with that?" because that's what they'd use if you're eating in. Why don't I just ask for extra mesquite mayo? Because I don't want extra mesquite mayo on my sandwich! I want to (and this is a little gross if you think too hard on it) dip my little corn chips in it. I don't know how that started.

You see where I'm going with this, right?

That's RIGHT! Inattentive Listener didn't pay attention to my very specific request for "...a little tub [gesture with hands showing little tub] of the mesquite mayonnaise with that?" and so I had no such little tub. Instead, I had a sandwich slathered in the stuff and nothing in which to dip my wee chips.

And that's why there should be an idiot screen for people going into food service.

Finally, and on a completely different subject, go here and have some fun!

Standards for Cashiers

On the way home from work, I decided to stop by ye olde grocery store. Like I often do, I talk myself out of doing "real" grocery shopping, instead convincing myself that I just need a few things to tide me over. Then I realize a few days later that I have nothing to eat.

In any case, among my purchases were two containers of honey. I bought a bottle of liquid honey and a tub of solid honey. Why? Well, I like each for different purposes. Runny honey is good for cooking or for using as a sweetener in tea (for guests -- I don't believe in sweetening hot tea) and such. Hard honey is my preference on things like hot toasted English muffins.

Then I went to the cashier.

Now, I should pause to say that I have nothing but respect for the grocery store cashier, so long as he or she is pleasant, capable, and chooses not to rant about politics using a great deal of foul language and without provocation. (Yes, that's another experience I've had.) In fact, as a youngster, I dreamed of being a grocery store cashier, though I think it had a lot to do with the apparent appeal of blipping things back when that was still a novelty reserved for the select few.

Be that as it may, today's cashiering professional paused and said, "Wow. This honey's solid. That's different. Is it better or something?" I won't even get into the fact that I had both types of honey on the conveyor belt, leading one to believe that perhaps I considered them different but equal. Inside my head, I was thinking, "You've lived on this earth for somewhere around two decades and you work in a grocery store and you were unaware of solid honey?" Out loud, I explained that I like them for different purposes as outlined above. Sadly, I think my explanation was likely lost on her, since by this time, she was looking over my shoulder at the cashier two lanes over, completely ignoring me, and asking her colleague, "So, does my hair look really stupid? Like, the colour. Does it really look stupid?"

Your hair? No. Your hair does not look stupid.