Suddenly you need Oil of Olay

I was going to see this but then I wasn’t going to see this. Then I was. Or I wasn’t.

As I was going to tell the gentleman on Facebook in my comment when asked if I was serious about not seeing this film, before I realized this was better off posted on my blog: I’m afraid, Kris. So very afraid. Afraid to sit there after paying for the ticket, the popcorn, the soda, the candy — all that to make the experience easier to sit through — all that time and money and end up with the feeling that I’ve been had.

Because of the reviews, oh man, those reviews. I wasn’t surprised, because in the comic book movie family, compared to goody-two-shoes Marvel Films, DC Comics is more like the fuck-up brother with moments of potential but mostly he needs a boot in the ass to help get his shit straight. But wow, these are particularly toxic, these reviews. If there were ever road signs telling me that there’s rocky terrain and an unfinished bridge up ahead, the reviews for Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice were it.

I kinda liked the last one, Man of Steel, even though I had some serious issues with it — namely, for a “fun” superhero movie it was pretty goddamn gloomy. But then maybe I’m the asshole here and it was never supposed to be fun, maybe Snyder & Nolan felt like the kids today, they’ve had enough fun in their lives and it’s time to smack ’em with harshness. Times have changed, bitches, and it’s time to toughen up, knuckle up, and pull yourselves up by your bootstraps: You want Reading Rainbow to help you enjoy books? Kickstart it with your dollars, kid. You wanna go to Sesame Street? Subscribe to HBO, you little lazy bastard. And you want a nice Superman who stands for Truth, Justice, and the American way? Watch the old shit, you young fuck.

Where was I? Oh yes, this film and why I was torn between seeing it and not seeing it. If you are a regular reader than you see this coming much like I saw most of this film coming, even though I never watched a single trailer. You know what I’m talking about — you know who I’m talking about.

amy-adams easter bunny

Oh, Amy. Why do you have to be such a talented — but more importantly, sincere and likable! — actress who seems genuinely appreciative of her success and carries no airs of fakery? And if you’re just that good at hiding the fakery, then you are in fact the greatest actor ever because even the best thespians of either gender fail miserably at doing that.

Meryl Streep is my jam, but man oh man is she suspect whenever she doesn’t win something. And remember Anne Hathaway’s shameless attempts when she was racking them up for Les Miserables? Or remember your co-star Melissa Leo winning Best Supporting Actress for The Fighter? Oh man, she was the worst at that. Her high/low point was singing along at the end of the Oscar ceremony to Over the Rainbow, holy shit, she thought we would buy that OMG DREAMS DO COME TRUE look on her face.

What I’m trying to say is that I’ll follow you anywhere, but wow, it would’ve been so much easier for me to wait for the R-rated Blu-ray of this movie, rather than deal with the rest of the country going to see this at the same time when I already knew who was going win and lose between Batman and Superman: The studio over the audience. But you’re in this movie, Amy! Anyway, sorry for using my one straight-up question as an excuse to mostly put down others. Sorry about that, Amy. That was very un-Amy with me and I need to fix that.

Take care and be well.

Signed, Me.

The Adorable Amy Adams returns as Lois Lane, but I wasn’t that hot on seeing the sequel in the theaters and the reviews only made me colder to it. So then I’m in the position of only being interested in seeing this film because The Triple A is in it and even then, what if she isn’t in it that much? What am I left with? Something so cynically put together then thrown at the great unwashed masses with such overflowing contempt towards us that it might as well have been directed by Transformers-era Michael Bay and titled Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice on the Fallen Dark Moon of Extinction Fuck You Dummy Dumb Dumbs Stupidheads We Love You As Much As Politicians Do So Go Get Fucked You Morons And Shove It Down Your Entrance And Shove It Up Your Exit And Thanks For The New Cars And Houses You Bought Us We’ll See You Next Time With The Next Bucket Of Cine-Slop You Cuntfaced Pig Headed Sheep People?

I remembered feeling burned by the second Transformers garbage bin that was Revenge of the Fallen and I swore I was done with that series, but then people kept going on about how the third one was actually the one to watch. What to do, I wondered. Am I actually going to have to see this one? So I hedged my bet by taking some of that fine green herb with me and toking up like a muthafuckin’ soldier in the parking lot. And you know what? The movie wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t that good, but it wasn’t that bad either.

Since then, I’ve cut down — way down — on the ganja. Once upon a time I approached Wake & Bake levels and then I surpassed it, then I realized I was becoming one of those weirdo stoners that I can’t stand and I started to exhibit behavior I loathed in my fellow pot-smoker. So now it’s relegated to the occasional Saturday night/early Sunday morning nightcap, or the occasional legit bout of insomnia.

Or a movie I’m not too sure about.

And so, I got up Saturday morning and drove to the 9:00am IMAX showing of BvS: DoJ, playing “The Love Movement” album by A Tribe Called Quest, which turned out to be their final album. (RIP Phife Dawg!!!) I arrived at the theater by the time “Find a Way” was ending (it wasn’t a long drive) and in the parking lot I busted out the vaporizer and got to work inhaling as much as possible in the short time window available, turning the greenery inside into a nice toasty shade of Fall leaves.

Then I ambled my way inside and you bet your ass I bought some nachos and a two-bladder sized Camelbak of Cherry Coke. I found a good seat and in a couple minutes I was surrounded by children — kids to the left of me, kids to the right, and here I am stuck in the middle of a good-fucking high. I felt irresponsible but fuck it, these kids need to learn about this shit. I figured I was OK so long as they don’t have some weird law I’m not aware of, like, I don’t know, like if being stoned near children qualifies as a Sex Offense or something and next thing I know I’m locked up with Popeye from Blood In Blood Out except he has higher standards than my ass, so instead he just beats the shit out of me.

I actually watched the trailers, except for the Captain America: Civil War one, because audio can’t really spoil shit for me, except for when the kid next to me screamed out the name of someone who pops up at the very last second; Suicide Squad looked interesting; Ghostbusters looked funny and as far as that movie is concerned, I’m good to go despite Melissa McCarthy being in it. The kids around me were pretty hyped up about it, and they were all boys, so take that you adult jagoffs who can’t take females bustin’ ghosts.

Anyway, for these ramblings on Beavis Dodge below, keep in mind that I was as high as Terence Herman Edward Dickens when I watched all of this.

SHIT IS GONNA GET SO FUCKING SPOILED NOW. COME BACK LATER IF THAT MATTERS TO YOU.

The film begins for me with The Adorable Amy Adams and we’re following her as she interviews an African warlord over there in the African Outback or whatever they call it, and it’s a pretty awesome entrance or maybe it was a decent one but because it’s Our Amy that ups it like 50 percent. So anyway, during all this it’s revealed that her photographer’s camera has a tracking device in it, so naturally the warlord does his thing (it’s noon and he hasn’t killed anyone yet) and puts a .45 slug into this photographer-about-to-become-a-corpse’s head.

Now get this — that guy who just got killed? I find out later that was Jimmy Olsen. No shit. Jimmy Fuckin’ Olsen. I guess that was supposed to be a Holy Shit moment except, uh, I don’t remember this dude in the last film and they didn’t give you any establishment of his character here — not even a hint or clue. So it’s not really a Holy Shit moment, at least not until you look it up online because you saw Jimmy Olsen in the end credits but didn’t remember seeing him in the movie. I honestly don’t know if that was a Fuck You from the filmmakers or a We Just Don’t Give A Shit from them, whatever the fuck ever; Lois ends up getting saved by Supes, so it’s all good.

You know who also doesn’t give a shit? Superman. Later on, Lois has an awkward conversation sitting in a bathtub while Clark Kent (played by The Man from U.N.C.L.E.) stands over her, and she talks about how Senator Holly Hunter is having press conferences featuring Stock African Townspeople saying Fuck A Superman, He Didn’t Save Shit and Clark’s like I Don’t Care.

You sure don’t, Clarky. I wish you did, I wish we saw more of you actually doing heroic stuff and not just the aftermath where Mexicans touch you like you’re The Jesus, and I wish you were portrayed with the same vim and vigor that Henry Cavill brought to the U.N.C.L.E. joint, and I swear sometimes it felt like somewhere off-camera there was a gun being pointed in Cavill’s direction, with some sweaty guy whispering “That’s right, limey, you keep not enjoying yourself. If I see even a speck of light in your performance, it’s curtains for you! Now jump into that bathtub even though you’re wearing clothes, because that’s as lighthearted as it’s gonna get!”

Hey I don’t mind seeing Amy Adams in a bathtub, but it’s not you get to see much anyway, but if you’re into hot dudes then you get Clark standing in his underwear and cooking eggs which didn’t seem very smart given all that hot oil that could potentially burn him but then again, he’s Kal-El, what does he care? He might as well crack eggs on those fuckin’ washboard abs and fry ’em with his Evil Devil Eyes Heat-Vision and forget about ever washing dishes.

Meanwhile in Gotham City — just located across the water a few miles away! — Batman (played by Argo) is doing his thing saving people and branding a fucking Bat logo on the criminals before sending them to prison (where the identification will get them killed). I guess tattooing a number on them before sending them off to a place full of similar folk to be murdered would be too much work. Even Alfred (played by Dead Ringers) is put off by this branding shit; he tells him that he wasn’t like that before and Bruce pretty much gives him some bullshit about how things are worse now so I guess he has to be, uh, worser. It’s also kinda hinted that Bruce Wayne is a drinker, like Affleck in real life.

Ah, I kid the rich and handsome actor and director of Academy Award-winning films who wins at life while I just blog about it. Sorry for hurting your feelings, Ben. I remember when the news came out that he was going to portray Batman, and I never had a problem with it. If anything, my only complaint was that he should be directing the movie because he’s a damn good director. As it is, in his actor-solo mode I thought he was really good and it kinda bums me out there isn’t a solo Batman movie featuring Affleck doing some more stabbing and shooting and bone-breaking and setting people on fire.

It’s a trip, man, it’s like Snyder and company thought the already controversial Burton/Keaton Batman was a pussy. But love it or hate it, you gotta give points to this Batman for using an electronic voice modulator so he doesn’t have to do that lame growl voice that Christian Bale had to do. One day, when I’m ready to die, I’ll find Bale at a bar and walk up to him and give him sooooo much shit about that voice.

Or maybe I won’t give him shit, because according to those e-mails that were leaked out of Sony, my man C.B. stepped in and gave a little of that Light Trashing magic to that niece-molesting actor-bullying fuckhead David O. Russell for making The Adorable Amy Adams cry. HE MADE HER CRY. This shitmouth has a history of this, and it takes a Bale or a George Clooney to ring this asshole’s bell every once in a while which is not nearly enough. So I’m happy his ode to poor Stockholm Syndrome-suffering Jennifer Lawrence, Joy, underperformed at the box office, because the more of those he makes, the less The Powers That Be will throw dollars at him, and the sooner he becomes Yesterday’s News — at least until a decade or two later when when his old movies become popular again and he tours the revival cinema circuit to blah blah the packed enraptured crowds, the way we do with Former Hot Shit/Terrible Human Beings like William Friedkin. And I say this as a major, major, major fan of William Friedkin — the filmmaker.

And I think you see a bit of where my crush on The Adorable Amy Adams comes from: the possibility that maybe she’s a genuinely decent human being and yet she managed to find success in a business where nice people finish last and walking twats win awards and get away with terrible behavior. I’ll always cheer on people like that. This blog entry will be hilarious to read after it comes out that Amy Adams is like a secret Nazi or something, or she does something stupid and open up a Twitter account and have an opinion. Then that will be the end of The Triple A.

Anyway, fuck those guys. As much as I think the movie really begins with Our Amy, it actually begins with this cool sequence that goes back and forth between Young Bruce Wayne at his parents’ funeral and the night they were shot dead by Joe Chill (after Thomas Wayne makes the incredibly smart move of taking a swing at the handgun-toting Chill). Then it goes into him falling into that bat pit and getting all batted on and I guess he’s the King of the Bats or something now because they encircle him and levitate him up towards the light.

It worked for me, and it made me think for a second that I was actually watching a straight-up new Batman reboot (which I guess it is, but it’s also a Superman film, a Justice League film, etc.), but then it goes into the events of Man of Steel, when the World Engine is fucking up Metropolis and I guess it wasn’t doing a fast enough job, so here comes Superman and Zod to speed up the destruction process.

While this is happening, Middle-Aged Bruce Wayne is driving his SUV trying to get his people out of one of his buildings, but hey, he’s the star and they’re just bit players. Doesn’t take Neil Degrasse Tyson to figure out how that’s gonna work out — and that’s because he’s too busy making a cameo in this film. I gotta say, I thought all of that worked but that could be because 9/11-style imagery mixed with a soon-to-be-smooshed dude praying to God to save his soul is gonna automatically give me a case of the Strong Emotions. (I don’t think this film is gonna play very well in Pakistan at the moment either. Sigh.) Call it cheating, call it good filmmaking, but mostly I prefer to call it bad-taste ballsiness. This film? This Batman v Superman film? It’s actually kinda fascinating.

For example, check out Jesse Eisenberg as Lex Luthor, and then go nominate that dude for Best Supporting Actor or give him two in the back of the fucking head so he never does it again — either way I’m fine with it. Because never have I felt like jumping at the screen and tearing it to shreds the way I felt while watching him, ruining my goddamn high, this fuck. His Luthor is an absolute shit of a human being in every goddamn way: the way he walks, the way he talks, the way his face will twitch. It got to where it was starting to hurt me watching him breathe.

His Lex Luthor is this super-rich kid with eccentricities upon eccentricities multiplied by many social anxieties and everybody puts up with it because he’s a Master of the Universe. I guess that’s why he has this hard-on for Superman, ’cause he’s going on and on about how people see Supes as a God and this bothers him. Maybe the idea that someone could be on a higher plane than him really rubs Lex raw. So he disguises this player-hating as looking out for the world, because you can’t have this being roaming around with the potential to burn it all down to the ground whenever/if ever he felt like it. That’s why he has his people locate Kryptonite and that’s why he tries to get Senator Holly Hunter to get with the idea of keeping Supes in check with the green shit. But in the end, he’s setting up Supes and Bats to fight it out because Man Must Fight God, and if God Is Dead then ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz I really didn’t care and plus I was too high to really pay attention to any scene that wasn’t focused on the star of Enchanted.

Oh by the way, for those who’ve seen this film: didn’t you think those Polaroids that Lex had of Martha Kent being held captive were a touch much? Poor Diane Lane, but I guess you take what they give ya. I mean, they were really freaky and looked like something out of some serial killer/rapist’s collection. Again with the bad taste and insanity of the film — and the filmmakers.

This may not be the most popular opinion, but I never felt so much hate towards any of the Marvel film villains, or any hate at all, compared with how I felt about Lex-Dog. So I’m giving DC the award for having the better bad guy in a comic book film. He was so cartoonishly evil and petty, he almost seemed like a real human being. In other words, Eisenberg’s Luthor was absolutely Shkrelian.

There’s a nightmare sequence where Batman is living in post-apocalyptic Wherever and he’s searching for the last piece of Kryptonite or something, but it turns out to be a setup and suddenly he’s surrounded by black-clad soldiers with Superman arm patches and they start beating the shit out of him — and then! Then these winged devils or whatever the hell they were swoop in and start pulling bodies away and it’s all so very insane.

It felt like something out of the most expensive Christian-exploitation movie never made (or if some billionaire asshole funded a film adaptation of a Jack Chick cartoon tract) where it’s the near-future and the poor Christians are being hunted down for being down with G.O.D. (Happy Easter, btw) and they have to take the Mark of the Beast and they just got caught trying to smuggle The Last Bible In Existence, because all the bibles are being burned and crosses are being destroyed and then on television Dictator-For-Life Obama is talking about bringing our former enemies together and now abortions are mandatory (for men and women!) and our national flag is now the Islamic crescent moon & star and Oh My God The Poors Have Health Care! And the Homos Are Getting Married! And if only they let me keep my guns and my Jesus, this would’ve never happened!

By the way, The Poors Have Health Care! And the Homos Are Getting Married! sounds like the most fucked-up Andy Milligan film ever.

Speaking of fucked-up, there’s also some disturbing undercurrents? and metaphors? or hidden messages? in this film. What I’m saying is that Lex’s plan involves blowing up the Capitol Building in order to drum up more hate against Superman, and it got me thinking of the conspiracy theories about various False Flag operations like, well, like 9/11 and how it was done in order to justify going over to Fuckheadistan (thanks London Has Fallen!) and get that sweet sweet guzzleline, and I wondered if that was the purpose of Snyder and company or maybe I’m just falling into the stoner trap again, forgive me.

Oh, another thing about the Capitol Building scene; I saw a name plate for someone named “Sen. Purrington” and I decided that if I ever decide to get a cat, that’s what I’m going to name it.

So what of the ultimate showdown? It was OK. Pretty much what I expected, with a couple cool gadget traps being used by Bats and Supes using his powers to punch him back about a couple miles. It’s all technically awesome but I didn’t really give that much of a care about who would win. All I could think about was the tagline to Alien vs. Predator: “Whoever wins…we lose.”

You have the two comic book titans facing off against each other — thankfully this time they’re in an abandoned part of town, the better to lessen collateral damage — and yet I was more into the scenes of Lois Lane walking around holding this Kryptonite-tipped spear and she looked awesome/adorable doing so. Where’s that movie? Shit, I’ll direct that spin-off, if they’ll let me.

It’s like Snyder read my ramblings about the last film and kept in mind that I really dug seeing The Triple A walking around with a space blaster thingamajig and thought “Hmm, how can I please ol’ EFC with this one?” and he certainly did. So thanks, bro. See you at the gym tomorrow, where we’ll bench press some heavy weight and laugh at the skinny flabby weaklings — where’s my high-five, broseph?

There are no stingers in this film, which I found out with my trusty RunPee app, which not only told me not to bother sticking around after the end credits, but also let me know that Kevin Costner’s Pa Kent showed up to pep talk Clark while I was busying emptying the ol’ bladder. So yeah, no stingers, but that’s because there’s a sequence late in the film that feels like all the stingers put together; this is where you see the rest of the Justice League like Aquaman, The Flash, some Black dude all chopped up and with wires sticking out of his body cavities looking like Murphy in Robocop 2, and Diana Prince aka Wonder Woman.

Almost forgot about her: Wonder Woman shows up to join in on the CGI-fighting shenanigans and it all looks good in a visual sense, and while the soundtrack was telling me DUDES! DUUUUUUDES! WONDER WOMAN IS HERE! SHE’S KICKING ASS WITH BATMAN AND SUPERMAN! AND SHE’S SMOOOOOOOKIN’! ISN’T THIS AWESOME! I nodded and said to no one “Hell yeah, this is awesome — dipping the jalapenos that came with my nachos into the melted cheese was an excellent idea!” Don’t laugh, lady and gentleman, these jalapenos went above and beyond the call of duty and I applaud whoever grew them and whoever was in charge of picking them for this movie theater establishment.

Say what you will, and I’m gonna say what I will: Zach Snyder is now an honest-to-goodness genuine auteur. Triple-feature this film, 300, and Sucker Punch and you’ll know more about this guy than he probably even knows about himself. Among many things I learned from his two Superman movies is that Snyder’s favorite Superman is the drunk & angry people-hating one that split from Clark Kent in Superman III, the one who will punch a hole into an oil tanker because Fuck The World.

Like I said earlier, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice was a fascinating film to experience. If you’re too much of a comic book fan or love the older incarnations of Supes and/or Batman too much, maybe you should stay away. No, you should definitely stay away. But on its own, the movie does a good job taking a long time telling a simple story, but it’s redeemed by the whacked-out style and perverse decisions that I can only describe as…well, I don’t know how to put it succinctly (he says after spending numerous paragraphs going on and on and on). Is it a train wreck? Um, maybe — but it’s more like a train derailed by gigantic testicles. People are dead and the train is destroyed but wow, look at the big balls on that guy, I didn’t know they made them that big! Not for nothing, but Snyder’s production company is called “Cruel and Unusual Films” — which is right on the goddamn money, Zachy.

So I liked the movie, but not for the reasons that your average Batman and/or Superman fan would want to like it, let’s put it that way. As it is, my commitment to this particular galaxy in the DC universe is probably going to last as long as Amy Adams is involved. But what do I know? The kids seemed to bounce around like crazy during the BvS stuff, and fidgeted like mad during everything else.

In conclusion, I hope Soledad O’Brien made it out OK.

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