Archive for I Heart Amy Adams

No one ever uses the turn signal

Posted in Arrival, douchebag, I Heart Amy Adams, Nocturnal Animals, ramblings of a loser, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on November 29, 2016 by efcontentment

For as many years as this country has left, November 2016 will forever be known as the month that our very own The Adorable Amy Adams had two films released in which she had a starring role, and both of them have had Oscar buzz. Also this was the month where that other thing happened.

I finally made time to catch them both the other day at the Arclight Cinemas in Pasadena, where I tortured myself with the lovely scent of freshly made popcorn that I can’t eat yet because of some recent dental work. I was able to eat an overly salted soft pretzel, though, which I’m sure gave me about a week’s worth of sodium in one bite.

First, there was Nocturnal Animals, written and directed by (I Don’t Pop Molly, I Rock) Tom Ford, adapted from a novel called “Tony and Susan” (which has now been retitled after the film because, well, money). The Triple A plays Susan, a well-off art gallery owner who is married to The Lone Ranger from The Social Network and has a daughter in college, but clearly she’s not happy, despite living in an awesome house that’s clearly populated by the damning evidence that the person occupying it has nothing but Good News in her bank account. But at least she’s aware. Susan tells her friend that she feels bad about feeling bad, because she knows she has it good.

The scene where Susan confides in her friend? They’re having a dinner party in that scene, and one of the guests is this young woman who is being cheerfully vulgar to the crowd, and we find out she’s a famous actress. I’m going right ahead and assuming that character was a kind of swipe at Jennifer Lawrence, at least because she appears to be the Hot Actress Who Is Such A Regular Joe Like The Rest Of Us du jour, that’s who I was reminded of. There is the occasional moment like that in this film — all of them during the Susan art-world scenes — that made me want to laugh out loud and e-mail Mr. Ford the Catty Motherfucker award.

Anyway, Susan receives a package in the mail from her ex-husband, containing the proof for his new novel. The name of the book is “Nocturnal Animals” and what’s better than having the title of the movie said by someone in the movie? I’ll tell you: having the title of the movie show up during the movie.

You mean, like in the credits?

Bitch, you know what the fuck I mean.

So she’s reading the book, right, and luckily we don’t follow each word she reads but instead we see it played out. The story begins with Donnie Darko from Nightcrawler taking his family on a road trip through West Texas. His wife is played by Isla Fisher aka The Australian Amy Adams, and that right there is why Tom Ford is my dude: he knows what’s up. There’s also a daughter played by quite possibly someone who was created in a machine using both Adams’ and Fisher’s DNA. He and his two Amys end up in a horrifying situation that took me off guard. I hadn’t seen any trailers or ads for this on purpose, I just knew it was a Tom Ford joint and The Adorable Amy Adams was in it, all I expected was that it would probably look good.

Darko’s family end pissing off a group of the kind of angry/cruel/irrational rednecks that would probably feel more at home angrily F-wording up the proceedings in a Rob Zombie film and you can tell these assholes are just looking for an excuse. It’s possibly the most worked up (in a negative sense) I’ve gotten watching a film this year, I was feeling both tensed up and enraged. I swear a couple times I wanted to scream at the fucking movie screen. Plus, I was thinking, what the fuck, this is Texas and nobody has a gun? Isn’t that the whole point of that fucking place — that they’re like their own little country that plays by its own rules and shit?

Ford’s almost as sadistic as those characters, because right when you’re all worked up and ready to see what’s about to happen, the film cuts back to Susan taking a break from reading because the events in the book are working her up in a negative way too. (Also, she’s seeing a lot of parallels between the characters in the book and Susan & Ex-Husband.) The novel then turns into something that feels like some Cormac McCarthy shit written in between chapters of “No Country for Old Men”, and that’s when Michael Shannon shows up and he is, to nobody’s surprise, great in this.

Everybody is great in this, like Mr. Jake Gyllenhaal; this poor guy has been really putting himself out there every year to good notices and nothing else. The Academy finally gave an Oscar to DiCaprio, now they need to give it to Jakey G. here before he does something rash like cine-torture himself for Alejandro G. Innaritu. I don’t know if it’s going to happen for him this year, but Jesus, at least give him a Supporting nod because I think the dude deserves it for his work here.

I would be surprised if Amy Adams gets any kind of award recognition here. Because her character is more internal, that means all her beats have to be subtle, so hers is not a particularly showy performance and you know Oscar is kinda deaf and vision-impaired; they’ll probably be able to make out Gyllenhaal but they’ll be squinting their eyes and cupping their hands to their ears going “Whaaa?” at poor Amy. Whatever, she’s always been bringing the quality goods to these proceedings, which is all that matters.

(Until she eventually wins, of course. Then it will be all that matters. Suddenly Oscars will mean everything.)

The film cuts between the novel, Susan reading it and doing her art gallery/unhappy-well-off-woman-in-her-40s thing, and flashbacks to when Susan and her ex-husband (also played by Gyllenhaal) were in their early 20s. That last part, the early 20s stuff, really tripped me out because there is some kind of movie magic being used here to make them look like they just finished promoting Junebug and Jarhead in ’05. If there’s CGI de-aging being used, then it’s not as heavy as when they young’d up Robert Downey Jr. in Captain America: Civil War — either that or the technology has improved that much over these past few months, because it looks a lot more natural.

I’m thinking it’s a combination of aging up Adams (black clothes and caked on makeup) and Gyllenhall (thick ass beard) in the beginning, and then cleaning them up in the flashbacks with some light CGI work. Whatever the case, it’s not just the wow factor of that shit that got me, but it worked because it really hit me how much happier and fresher the characters look because Life hadn’t bent them over yet.

This is Ford’s second film, following 2009’s A Single Man (which I rambled about somewhere here) and like that film, this one is pretty goddamn good. (Like that one, this one isn’t the feel good movie of the year either.) He wrote the screenplay adaptation and knocked that out, he gets good performances from his actors, he is clearly a big part of the visual look for this film — a film so beautifully set designed and shot-composed, one could freeze-frame a random moment and frame it on a wall.

And man oh man, you can tell a Tom Ford joint from the others just on the fact that everybody here is so impeccably dressed and groomed. (Even the West Texas stuff gives everyone an artfully disheveled kind of look.) They all look like they stepped out of ads from a fashion magazine; as soon as I saw Armie Hammer step in for a giant glass of iced coffee in this movie, I’m thinking Fuck I Need That Suit I Need That Haircut.

LATE BREAKING UPDATE: EFC believes Tom Ford would make a stylish-as-fuck James Bond movie if they’re cool with an American/Texan directing a 007 movie.

Also, there’s two instances of Girls Wearing Glasses here, and in case you didn’t know, that’s like a thing I have. It’s not a fetish, no sir, I don’t need glasses to get hard or achieve orgasm, it’s not that kind of party. I’m just saying it ups every lady’s attractiveness quotient by like 10 percent for me. I can’t explain it, it just is, dude. Like, if I had directed She’s All That, it would’ve been about Laney putting those glasses back on after her makeover. Anyway, Susan puts on glasses sometimes to read the novel and then later on Jena Malone shows up in a pair of thick frames and that put a smile on my penis — FACE! I MEAN IT PUT A SMILE ON MY FACE!

(The rest of you Gyllenhaals and Hammers can stick to contacts and laser eye surgery. No glasses for you. Nobody wants to see that shit. My eyes are Exit Only, bro.)

I hate this motherfucker Tom Ford, this man who already won at life long ago but then decided to become a filmmaker — and he’s great at it! At least so far he’s great at it. Maybe next time he’ll fall on his face and get to feel what it’s like to be loser for once HAHAHAHAHAHA SUCK IT FORD

If you’re into seeing naked obese women jumping around with firecrackers but you’re not really interested in this film, then show Amy your support by buying a ticket for this movie, and then sit down and watch the first five minutes of this, then get up and walk over to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and watch that shit. I mean why not? They don’t need your money, they’re gonna make like 20 years worth of sequels for that shit. But I want to see more movies directed by Tom Ford and starring The Triple A, and that shit ain’t happening unless some fuckin’ cash is flowed into their current projects.

I then flowed some more money Ms. Adams’ way while dealing out ducats in Denis Villeneuve’s direction; the second half of my Triple A Double Feature was the aliens-are-here movie Arrival. Look, I get it — there was no disrespect intended towards David Twohy and Charlie Sheen by giving their film the same title as theirs, they shot this as Story of Your Life which is the title of the Ted Chiang’s short story it was based on. But I’m sure the studio suits were like Nah, Bro, Nah and so now we have these dueling Arrivals.

Except I think some respect was paid here, because the original film is titled The Arrival while this one eliminates the The. The filmmakers are saying “It’s cool, we’re Arrival but you guys are THE Arrival and no one will forget that.” It’s kind of like what they did with the Evil Dead remake a few years ago; they were Evil Dead but Sam Raimi’s will always be THE Evil Dead.

Had I not known that this was from the director of Sicario and Prisoners, I would’ve thought this was a Terrence Malick joint early on. It has that same handheld shallow-focus personally close/personally distant look thing going on with narration over it, and I’m thinking, wow, has his style become like a thing now? Like I see even dudes like Zack Snyder and Christopher Nolan taking this style, and I’m afraid I’ll get sick of it, the way I’m sick of zombies now. Meanwhile, much like George A. Romero, it seems like Malick is getting props as the originator while everybody else makes bank off of it. It’s not fair, but whoever said this shit was?

So yeah, it opens with our Amy as Dr. Louise Banks, she’s a linguist but she works for a living as a professor at a college, she’s probably too busy to correct your grammar and all that shit online or at least I don’t think she does. Or maybe that’s just an English major thing, I don’t know what Dr. Banks majored in, so who knows if she would correct your tweets and e-mails if she knew you.

Come to think of it, I don’t even know if she has any friends, she just has a nice house by the lake — oh shit, that reminds me, both her character in this film and her character in Nocturnal Animals share similarities in that they both hang their hats in nice pads and both have trouble sleeping. So there you go, it’s the Amy Adams Lives In A Nice House And Can’t Sleep double bill, ya’ll,

Anyway, she lives alone in this nice lake house — well, she lives alone *now* because in the beginning we watch her raise a kid until the kid becomes a pre-teen who then dies of some disease, so we’re dealing with that heavy shit too.

But yeah, she lives alone, and she’s so into her bubble that one day she’s walking through the university while people around her are looking all weirded and freaked, but she doesn’t notice this. She then walks into her class and wonders why there’s like five people in this big room, then everybody’s phones start to ring and she’s like “Huh?” until she turns on the giant flat screen television behind the dry-erase board and that’s when I went HUH?!

Bro, I missed all this good shit. In schools primary, secondary, and post-secondary, if we were gonna watch television for something in class, that shit had to be carted in on some big metal tv-stand shelf cart-thingy. And it was the square tube tv, too. Man, these kids today now have giant flat-screens to watch the world go ape-shit on? Lucky motherfuckers.

Or maybe not, because I was talking to my niece and nephew and they told me that at their schools they got rid of soda machines and sugary snacks and all that shit. The food is all health conscious stuff, and part of me is thinking that’s a very good thing because we need to wean the future generations off of garbage that does nothing for you other than give you a brief moment of joy in this overcrowded sinking ship of a planet. And the other part of me is like, damn, so you kids missed out on insane lunches like Rice Krispies Treats washed down with a Dr. Pepper, which was one of my go-tos in high school. I’m really surprised I still have all ten fingers and toes, to be honest with you.

Anyway, so she finds out on the tv that giant spacecrafts have materialized out of nowhere, 12 in all, and they’re hovering over different spots in the world. There’s one chilling out over a field in Montana, USA and that’s why Colonel Ghost Dog shows up to recruit her to join the Devil’s Tower-meets-Tent City festivities out in that field to help them figure out how to communicate with the things inside and figure out what they want. She’s joined by Marvel’s Hawkeye, playing a scientist who’s all about the math, so fuck that guy — because math is the fastest way to remind me how stupid I am.

What your usual sci-fi action-adventure would spend about a couple minutes on, Arrival devotes its entire running time; the movie is all about trying to figure out how to figure out what these aliens are saying. They just want to be able to ask these things what is the purpose of their visit, business or pleasure? Of course, you have different ideas from different kinds of people; a couple of educated libtards like Dr. Banks and Hawkeye think it’s more of a peaceful let’s-help-each-other type of visit, while shadowy creepy CIA types like the dude from A Serious Man (not to be confused with Tom Ford’s A Single Man) think these aliens are on some Independence Day type shit. Then you have Colonel Ghost Dog who is more of a I Don’t Question Orders, I Just Follow Them type who just wants good enough answers from Banks and Hawkeye to give to his superiors. (He’s also from a part of the country I haven’t figured out yet; based on his accent here, he’s either from Boston or Texas.)

Upon finding out that I was going to see this film, a buddy of mine who had already seen Arrival told me that he liked it and then we had the following text exchange:

See, my Good Friend here has my Amy Adams admiration figured out incorrectly, but I indulge him by responding in kind because that’s what Good Friends do. You talk to me about Amy Adams like that and I’ll indulge you too, you son-of-a-bitch bastard.

(To be honest, I felt like Ms. Adams needed to cover herself up during the bathtub scene in the Batman/Superman movie because there were plenty of men in the audience who were going to get the wrong idea about her. And we most certainly couldn’t have that. She’s a nice girl! Plus, I didn’t want her to catch cold.)

I’m a sucker for scenes of Smart People Figuring Shit Out, like, my favorite scene in Apollo 13 was when all those nerds are gathered around a table and they’re told they have to find a way to get one device to connect another device using only the various tools and junk on the table and Arrival is kinda like that scene. It’s a slow-moving film but not boring, it’s just they’re taking baby steps in this one; the funny thing is even with a deliberate pace the film takes more than its share of shortcuts.

Like early on, when Banks and Hawkeye are taken on-board the ship to talk to the aliens, they go through this whole process of getting on a scissor lift that elevates them to the ship’s entrance, then they hop off and let the ship’s anti-gravity thingy carry them the rest of the way, where they then begin walking the rest of the vertical path like it ain’t no thing. Then they get to this glass wall where the aliens are on the other side — by the way, kudos for finding a way to give us aliens that don’t follow the usual humanoid shape with big eyes and all that. They’re kinda spider-y, kinda octopus-y, and they’re both cool and scary at the same time.

By the time our scientists are boarding the ship for the first time, Ghost Dog and company have already gone through all of this, to the point that Ghost Dog shows no signs of excitement or tension or anything. He seems kinda bored by it. And I’m thinking, holy shit, that’s a whole movie right there! Imagine what these guys went through at the very beginning of this — and how long! — how long did it take them to figure all that shit out about how to board the ship and deal with the anti-gravity and all that shit, before being all nonchalant about it by the time Banks and Hawkeye arrived? If I remember it right, it was about two days before Team Banks arrived. Two days! These boys had to have been working around the clock. And who was the lucky son-of-a-gun who took that first step onto that ship?

(They do carry a bird with them in a cage with every visit, placing it a few feet ahead of them. So maybe they should give that bird a medal of some kind. Or some quality newspaper for its cage.)

Anyway, that’s what I mean by shortcuts. We’ll never know that or how even in the brief period of time they are able to make the advances that they make and then I remind myself that it’s a movie and that they only have so much time to tell this story before losing us all in the minutiae. Besides, that Cleveland Show-looking motherfucker Neil Degrasse-Tyson would shit all over it on Twitter (if he hasn’t already) on how much they got wrong while never understanding that all the degrees and smarts in the fucking galaxy will not help him reach the self-awareness required to step back for a couple seconds and say to himself “Neil, you are doing a lot of good for humanity by stressing the importance of knowledge — in particular in the fields of science and reason. We need a lot more of that in a world drowning in superstition. But dude, you are a thin-skinned asshole who thinks he’s fucking hilarious, and that, sir, is not a good combo.”

No sir, a good combo is Amy Adams and Denis Villeneuve. Arrival is a heavy-on-the-science sci-fi joint with some surprising emotion popping up here and there. It features a great performance by The Triple A, but, oh Amy, I’m sorry but you’re probably not getting any Oscar gold with this one either. I’m thinking about it, and I’m realizing that she ends up doing a lot of acting by herself, which has to be one of the hardest things for an actor. I think I mentioned this on the blog a while back, but there is what I call the Robert Forster school of acting, named after one of my favorite actors who will never win an award because his stuff is so subtle and within and I already told you how the Academy gets down with performances like that. And I think for these two back-to-back performances, she took a brush-up course at that school.

Also, it does that movie thing that Kiss Kiss Bang Bang made fun of, where if a shot lingers on a nameless character a little too long after the fact, like the cook in The Hunt for Red October, you can bet the fuckin’ Brinks truck that Chekov’s Extra is going to pop up in some plot-changing shit later, you just fucking know, bro!

As for the ending, I liked it but I can see how it would piss off others. It’s not a twist, by the way, at least not in my book (pre-orders available now!), just a revelation that some people have issues with, either for logical reasons or whatever else they have a bug up their asses about. I dug it. It kinda reminded me of the ending to — well, shit, it reminds me of the endings to a lot of things, to be real with you.

OK, I’ll mention one of them — Runaway Train, and I feel comfortable saying that one without feeling that I spoiled something because you will not be able to figure out the connection. You would need to invite me to an expensive dinner that you will pay for, and it would have to be after I’ve had at least half of that meal before I explain to you how I feel that both this film and Runaway Train have similar endings. They all have to do with Free Will, I’ll give you that much/little.

(Also, they are both similar in that this film also features a scene where Amy Adams is shouting out of a runaway train screaming at an evil warden in a helicopter above her while sticking her middle finger at him, in between taking slugs out of Eric Roberts’ flask, saying “sucka” in every other sentence.)

It was a morning/afternoon well spent at the Arclight Pasadena. I don’t know if they do this for all the movies at the Arclight, but for both Arrival and Nocturnal Animals there was a clip before each film telling us that after the credits there would be some extra behind-the-scenes stuff. They were each about five minutes or so; the Nocturnal Animals one featured Gyllenhaal and Ford and it focused on how the ending could be interpreted, while the Arrival one featured Ms. Adams doing her impersonation of her French-Canadian director — which I of course found delightful. I appreciated these little extras, called “Arclight Stories” because they allow you to stick around after the credits for other reasons aside from finding out if there are any hints about what the next Marvel film is going to be about.

Nocturnal Animals or Arrival? You can’t go wrong with either one, whether you’re an Amy Adams fan or a fan of good movies. But I get it. You have kids, or just like Dwayne Johnson so much, you just have to see Moana, right? It’s cool. I mean, you can go fuck your mother, but it’s cool.

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Suddenly you need Oil of Olay

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on March 27, 2016 by efcontentment

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.