Red Line, Trippin' on a Landmine: A Concert Review...again.

All right, so I thought I'd throw this on up here, just to have more than one concert type review. I kinda like storytelling as an approach, and I like people to have the feeling that they're there. So, forgive my writing style.

Anyway, I wrote this today. I had an emotional falling out with the Boyfriend and we're no longer together after 2.75 years, so. I had to do something to get my mind off of it. And this is what came out.

Enjoy!

Trippin’ On A Landmine: A Concert Review of Montage Mountain, Scranton, PA.

It’s breaking dusk outside and I manage to fall out of the car, scraping the back of my leg and stubbing my cigarette out all in the process. My ears are popping from the unwarranted altitude and I grab my jacket. Slamming the door shut, I take a look around, taking in the fresh mountain air, the gravelly parking lot, and the sign proclaiming “No Alcohol Beyond this Point.”

We’re at Toyota Pavilion at Montage Mountain, located in scenic Scranton, PA. It’s a change from the indoor venues that I’m used to in Philly, but I’m willing to give it a shot. We begin the roughly half a mile hike uphill toward the venue. It’s steep, and a bit of a slide on the way down, but there’s wooden handrails reinforced with chicken wire, herding us all like cattle into a single formation. We cross into the parking lot for the busses and vans, and I grab my ticket.

I proceed through security, holding out my jacket, and they search the several Velcro-shut pockets. I know the drill: I hold out my lighter and my unopened pack of cigarettes while the woman checks the open one. This is customary, but I’m actually surprised for once, considering the reputation of the band we’re here to see. Finally, the cattle are released into a pasture of overpriced alcoholic beverages and band merchandise.

Checking the tickets for the row and seat numbers, we glance around, and I realize that most of the people here are my senior by almost twenty years; some appear older. Old hippies and bikers, women in snakeskin mini skirts who may have dug them from a keepsake trunk just for this show, big hair, and people with kids who are as old as seventeen. I can almost hear the hiss of an aerosol can, the scrape of backcombing, and the snapping of gum, in sync with the clicking of stiletto heels.

Welcome to Crue Fest ‘08.

The first band is already on stage. A drink is passed into my hand while I wait at the tent, and a guy in a wheelchair who already reeks of alcohol smashes into my leg. I can’t tell if he’s a vet, but he points to my jacket, which is actually my then boyfriend’s dad’s old military jacket. His caretaker apologizes and wheels him away, after which we find our seats and sit down, watching as the young man on stage throws himself around and croons about “being helped.”

A young couple in front of us averts our attention from the stage. The girl is dancing wildly, probably already had a few, and he boyfriend is looking around nervously, trying to get her to sit once in a while. I can’t help it: I giggle like mad. At some point, she turns, smiling wickedly, and grabs a water bottle from under the seat. Immediately, she offers us some, telling us it’s what’s left of the vodka she brought in. He boyfriend apologizes, gets her to sit down for a second, and takes the water bottle. He downs the rest of it, and she settles.

At least for what’s left of this set.

The next band on is a band that had only recently come out. With a title of Sixx: A.M., the band is Motley Crue bassist Nikki Sixx’s side project. Started for the sole purpose of a soundtrack to go with his book, The Heroin Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shattered Rock Star, the band stands well enough by itself. The songs reflect the book perfectly, and I was taken aback by the actual band itself live.

The lead singer is not Sixx, but a one James Michael. Singer, songwriter-this guy has a set of pipes to kill for live. Sixx pounds away on the bass, even making attempts to get their guitarist, a diminutive thirty-something who’s one of the most unassumingly wicked axe men I’ve ever seen, to laugh. They play flawlessly, even through one song where the bass and guitar stand in front of the drum set, allowing the drummer to throw a stick, have one of them catch it, and throw it back, all in time to the song. I was dually impressed. By the end of the set, their antics increased, as their guitarist, DJ Ashba, climbed up onto the speakers, sat there, and then promptly fell off behind it. A few seconds of worry, and he comes running back out. There’s a few jokes thrown at him by the front man, and then they launch into the “live your life like you mean it” anthem, Life is Beautiful. At the end of the song, I have never heard a crowd so into it. People are jumping up and down, fists are being thrown in the air, and James Michael is leading the whole thing with a great big smile on his face. Sixx is smiling, and gazing at the crowd , all ray bans and teeth, Ashba is clapping in time, and their newest drummer is staring in awe.

The song fades out, and they exit the stage, roadies already working to turn the speakers around so that Papa Roach’s logos are on the front and Sixx: A.M.’s are on the back. The scrim is taken down and Papa Roach’s is unfurled.

At this point, we get up to get more drinks, because honestly, neither of were really into them. I’m still buzzing from Sixx’s set and I watch and laugh as the couple in front of our seats tease each other. We get our drinks, sit back down, and watch as the girl, who we later learn is named Kerri smack her boyfriend on the shoulder and then usher us to get back up and dance.
She won’t stop hassling us until we do, so we stand, and her boyfriend apologizes yet again.

Finally, Buckcherry, a band I’ve been listening to since high school, comes on. There was a slight intermission, but all we did was smoke another cigarette and walk around some. Being the lightweight that I am, I’m already buzzed, and finally, the scrim drops and the Black Butterfly logo appears and is lit. The band comes out, in true dirty fashion, making crude jokes, and ramping it up with a classic. They segue into their next set of songs, picking and choosing from the new album. In between verses, Joshua Todd, the lead singer, will begin to ramble about something really truly crude and dirty. Even though half the time I can’t really make it out, what
I can makes me laugh. There’s a truly entertaining bit about a girl giving head and reaching around to tickle his balls, or something to that effect.

There’s a half hour intermission between their set and the band of the hour, Motley Crue. I find myself waiting in line at the port a potties, and can honestly say, that to this day, have had never had to pee so badly in my life. The strains of a Rock Band game competition are going on behind me and then I’m abruptly shoved into a stall. I slam the door shut, hearing the girls who were in front of me screaming and yelling “Save Yourself!” and I go as fast as I can, trying to touch the seat or….well, anything in there for that matter.

I hurry back just as the lights are dimming and huddle into the jacket. The lights come up.

The band hurries out with the same intensity and youthfulness as they had in earlier years. Not that I’d been born yet, even, but I can see it in their faces-this is what they were made to do.

“Kick Start My Heart” starts up full blast, and I’m going to unabashedly admit it now: I rocked out like an idiot. It’s my favorite song, and there is nothing like hearing those opening drop chords to get me going. I ran into the woman next to me several times, and she laughed when I apologized, saying twenty years ago she did the same thing. The song is in full swing: pyrotechnics going off left and right, Tommy Lee rocking hard on the drums, Mick Mars fulfilling his status as Guitar God, and Sixx sneering like he used to in the eighties. Vince Neil, though, still sounds like a muppet to me. Love the guy dearly, and would never replace him with anyone else, but he sounded out of breath, and Sixx and Mars usually took up the chorus vocals while he bounced around.

Finally the song ends and I settle down, and I get a good view of the set once the sparklers die out. The words Los Angeles are spelled out in large letters on the stage, props in themselves. The band is situated around them; even Lee’s drums are situated behind and above.

They shuffle through more of their more known songs, including “Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)”, “Same Old Situation” (which had antics from Sixx that involved him mocking a guy in the audience), and “Wild Side.”

“Saints…” brought out member of the other bands, singing along on stage, and it they were all rocking out hard to it.

But the night had slowly come to a close and we ended up leaving before the encore to avoid traffic. We had lost Kerri and her boyfriend earlier in the night, and glanced around, half expecting to find her passed out somewhere.

As we walk out to the parking lot, more explosives go off and we turn to hear Tommy Lee on piano, the beginning chords of “Home Sweet Home” starting up. We head back into the darkness and begin the uphill climb back to the parking lot, hearing the chattering of drunk concert goers with the same idea as us in the background. A few laughing adults, not kids, run past us, and begin snapping pictures of a few kids passed out next one of the port a potties.

All in all it’s been a good night, and as we follow the line of traffic down and through the mountainside, I find myself humming “Kickstart My Heart” and dreaming of hair mousse and brightly colored spandex.

Confetti and Dust at the Trocadero, Philadelphia: A Concert Review.

Hey, all. What? I enjoy saying "hi" to my imaginary readers. Anyway, I found this thing I wrote a while back while I was in school. It's an assignment to write a piece describing something "you had to be there review" for, I guess. Anyway, I think it turned out pretty well, and it was one of the few good marks I got in that class. Teacher, although spawn of the devil himself, was one of the best I had ever had. One of the few types of writing I happened to good at, as well.

So, without further ado, I present to you:

Confetti and Dust at the Trocadero, Philadelphia: A Concert Review

-It was opened in 1870. And when you step inside, you realize, it certainly smells like it was. It's small, cramped, and there are too many people floating around, drinks and cigarettes in hand. Other living bodies line the decrepit brick wall, shoulder to shoulder, bopping away to a DJ set up in the corner. He spins one song, then the promotional song for ancient building you're in.

Welcome to the Trocadero. You may not know anyone there, but the sudden closeness, as claustrophobic as it is, is oddly comforting. These people are here to see the same thing you are (and if you're old enough/lucky enough, to see that same thing straight once you've hit the bar.) Tonight, though, the bar is not where it usually is. It's behind the black curtain that leads to the balcony of the old theatre part of the Troc. People are sitting at tables that have been specifically set up for that night, casually drinking and talking; they're waiting for the show to start. The original bar is being used to sell the band merchandise for the three bands there tonight.

You saunter over, perusing the merch goods with your eyes. Be aware, though, of who's selling it. On many occasions, it's actually one of the band members. This night, the bassist for the headlining band, Kill Hannah, is selling tee shirts, pins, buttons, ties, etc, all with the Kill Hannah logo: a heart in a sniper scope. He's sporting a shirt from one of the opening acts, Clear Static, who's neon logo is set up above the stage.

It glares brightly at you and is quite possibly the most annoying thing in the room besides the smoke and dust smell. It illuminates the stage quite well, with absolutely no help from the 3,000 watt bulbs that are strung up next to it and around the stage. Rugs adorn the stage, and a patterned back-drop hangs by a thread above the drum kit. A few of the roadies are running back and forth across the old wooden platform, and they stop occasionally to talk to the familiar groupies from previous shows.

Two of these groupies appear to be younger than the (what appears to be) 18 and up crowd that is present. They're decked out in all Kill Hannah gear, complete with black and pink striped socks. They're chatting amiably (albeit one-sidedly) with one roadie, who doesn't look entirely thrilled to see them. Somewhere during the show, you end up next to them, squished against the wall. You begin to chat about the band, and you learn they've been on "tour" with the band themselves, following them from city to city.

You excuse yourself to get an overpriced bottle of water, thinking about how sad that existence must be, and when you return, they're no longer there. Instead, you begin to chat up the people next to you, who appear to be about your age, and find yourself soon exchanging Myspace URLs and AIM screen names. In the process of writing one down on your hand, turns as the lights begin to lower and the first band, who's lead singer has orange and green hair, come onstage.

Several sets and a sore throat later, you emerge out of a cloud of smoke and dust and out into the not necessarily cleaner Philly air. As you look down at the list of other Kill Hannah/Clear Static fans personal info you have written on your hand, and then back up at the vaudevillian sign that hangs above the establishment, harkening back to what it was originally used for, you can honestly say that you probably wouldn't have met these people through the internet alias' they use.

The same old theatre magic is still in use today. Thank you, Trocadero.

Thank you.

For those of you interested in The Troc, here's the website: http://www.thetroc.com/

"''Ello misstress! You fancy a shag?' And there she'd be, fuckin knees in the sky. It was sad, it made me sad! Girl had no self respect!"

Yah. So. Hai gais.
Remember when I said drug movies had a special place in my heart? Well, this post holds no exceptions. I first saw this movie years ago, didn't think anything of it, and a few years later, bang! I needed to see it so bad again that it wasn't funny. Everyone had one of those kicks. Ya know, the one where when you were a little girl-or boy, not discriminating here-where you would find that one super hot actor who you would tape pictures of to the inside of your locker. A group of friends and I had this crush on Devon Sawa. But this was made shortly after his popularity died down. Now, I still kinda wanted to see it, but anyway. Onto the review, yes?


Today, I'd like to talk about this little movie called...Duh duh duh-



SLC! Punk has become a staple in what has come to be known affectionately among my peers as "The DVD Bible." I never let this one out of my sight and I fucking love this movie so much.

Anyway, it has three definite acts, each one more dramatic than the last.

Stevo is one of the only self-proclaimed "real" Anarchists in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1985. His roommate, Heroin Bob, or usually just "Bob" has been his best friend for years and accompanies him on all his glorious drug induced adventures and through his journey into realization, or coming of age, I guess. Now, I may be ruining this for some, but Heroin Bob's name comes not from drugs, but from the fact that he's terrified of drugs and would never go near a needle. There's a hilarious scene in the first act where it's explained and a wonderful rant that is just the most amazing thing ever.

Okay. So, act one and the players: Meet Stevo and Heroin Bob. Two guys who have no jobs, do some epic rants, and above all things, party hard. Stevo, played by the perfectly casted Matthew Lilliard, is a pot smoking, acid dropping, hardcore punk. His best friend, Bob, played by one of my favorite quadruple threats, Michael Goorjian, is a self-righteous, seriously intense, basket case. I'm gonna take a second and be completely biased here: I love Michael Goorjian. And I got back into this movie after watching Newsies and going, Dude, I totally know him from somewhere. HA! So, yes, Heroin Bob sings and dances and is damn awesome at it.

So, ahem. Yeah. The two start off with a seemingly simple life. Stevo is in a relationship of sorts with Sandy, another into the punk scene. His friends are introduced as Mike, played by a seriously young Jason Segel, their German drug dealer Mark, and Eddie, played by Adam Pascal. Pascal is most famous for his work in the Broadway show RENT, in which he originated the role of Roger. The guy is awesome. And Devon Sawa in what I think is his most funniest role ever. I mean seriously, I laughed for a really long time during his big scene.

In this act, the party lifestyle is more or less shown and the characters are introduced and there's a shitload of fights, and so many awesome rants that I can't even begin to describe. Bob has an ordeal with an infected hand, which is quite possibly one of the funniest moments in the whole damn shebang.

In act two, Stevo begins questioning what's going on. Bob and he are going their separate ways, and all he can think about is the future. Turns out, he did well in college, and his father is pushing him to go to Harvard Law so he can become this awesome lawyer. His father is Christopher McDonald, a character actor that I've found to be the most awesome thing ever. He's hilarious!

Bob's found love with Trish, a woman who's more or less...I don't know how to describe her...she's kinda boho, I guess. Stevo's kinda found love in Sandy, but he's also seeing how pointless the Anarchist lifestyle is for him. He's not getting anywhere in life, and there's a really great part toward the end where someone calls him on the whole punk thing.

The third act you kinda hafta see. It's a little more depressing than the rest of it, and there's a lot of tension between Bob and Stevo. Bob's thinking of staying in SLC and Stevo doesn't really want any part of it. But it's the ending and the monologue at the end, including the flashback, that never ceases to get a smile from me.

The acting is brilliant in this movie, and there's some really wonderful direction. Merendino did a hell of job casting and I must say, I only found a few minor flaws with it.

For one, it has some really long parts to it, some of which are completely necessary for character development. And there were some scenes that I just didn't really like, but hey, I didn't make the movie.

Goorjian and Lilliard are wonderful as the two best friends. Goorjian's got the best "I have no idea what's going on" smile and he's crazy funny when he gets into the character. And Lilliard just makes ranting an art form. Not only that, but they play off each other so well, and you can hear it in the commentary between the two. They tease the ever loving shit out of one another and it's so fucking funny.

So, on that note, I'll leave you guys. Trust me, this is a must see with classic lines and an original idea. While depressing as all get out, it's totally worth the watch.

Natch.

Z

"Toby? Toby Wong. Toby Wong? Toby Wong. Toby Chung? Fucking Charlie Chan..."

I was originally going to put one of the more famous lines from the movie as the title, but I remember laughing so hard at that line that I just had to use it.

I'm also going to apologize for the lack of enthusiasm in my writing today; I did a ridiculous amount of time on the Wii Fit earlier and have thus since decided to rename the damn thing Wii Hurt.

Anyway, today's topic of choice is the timeless classic:

This movie has been a favorite of mine for the longest time and I can't remember a time where I didn't like it.

This post comes based off the fact that I was on the king of all Tim Roth kicks the other day after watching Lie to Me (FOX, Weds. 8:00pm) and I launched myself onto a Reservoir Dogs kick. I needed that Tarantino humor and the gore that usually goes hand in hand with it.

So, let's begin, shall we?

Reservoir Dogs is the lovechild of Quentin Tarantino and his obsession with 70's films. Primarily, those of the Grindhouse persuasion, Noir, and Expose films.

Dogs is a film about six men; each playing a part in a jewel heist that eventually takes a turn for the worst. While the film only focuses on roughly half the team in nice little vignettes about each of the main characters, it's clearly given that there is, in fact, a rat on the team. One of these men in a cop and although it's revealed about halfway through the film who, the impact it has on the relationship of two of the dogs is very effective. The film ends with a bang and some vagueness on just what exactly had happened.

The film plays out through a series of flashbacks, something Tarantino seems to enjoy greatly. It works for the film, keeping it under wraps just exactly what happened and the chaos of the heist is only ever described by the characters (okay, so there's like, one scene where the end result of the heist is shown).

The casting was a magnificent choice, as I usually have problems with Tarantino's casting until after I see the film. I went into this film knowing absolutely nothing about it, something I did when I was handed a copy of Boondock Saints, which has become one of my top ten favorite movies of all time.

This movie wasn't any different in making that list.

Now, let me just say this: I fucking love Tim Roth. I think the man is a god among actors and he's just crazy talented. I mean, come on! Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead was hilarious and his turn as a human lie detector on Lie to Me is unbelievable.

So, forgive me if this is biased. But fucking deal with it 'cause Tim Roth's the shit.

And so is Harvey Keitel, another major player in this movie.

Roth and Keitel have always been part of the Tarantino Trifecta in my mind, with Madsen, yet another of the Dogs, taking the top rung.

Roth plays Mr. Orange, one of the primary, and I'm going to say primary because some will argue that the entire band of Dogs were the main characters, and that Joe the Boss and Nice Guy Eddie are just as important. And don't get me wrong, they are, but they aren't the prime characters.

The Prime characters are as follows: Orange: played by Roth, White: played by Keitel, and Blonde: played by Michael Madsen, in one of his most notorious roles to date as the crazy one out of the six.

Roth and Keitel have an interesting relationship in this movie, one I would have liked to see more exposition on, but alas, this is Tarantino, and he only gives what you don't really wanna see. Keitel and Roth's characters are obviously very close, but without giving too much information, it provokes backstory in my head that probably shouldn't happen. Hahaha. Yeah....

Okay, so moving on to other characters, Steve Buscemi plays a skeevey skeezebag, Mr. Pink. Tarantino himself plays the late Mr. Brown, and Eddie Bunker, may he rest in peace, plays Mr. Blue. Lawrence Tierney plays Joe, and Chris Penn, may he also rest in peace, plays his dopey son, Nice Guy Eddie.

Between the dialogue, which is brilliant, by the way, and the somewhat tame amount of gore (for a Tarantino, that is), there's some truly amazing acting and seriously awesome shot sequences.

I highly recommend this movie. There's some kind of algebraic equation that states: If you like Reservoir Dogs, you will not like Pulp Fiction; and vice versa.

So, if you liked Pulp Fiction and have yet to see this, number one: shame on you, and number 2: possibly avoid this movie.

"Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?"

Z

"School's cancelled on account of the aliens..."

Oh...hai.



Yeah, it's been a while, but there have been many disappointments in the movie industry lately, and I finally managed to drag my ass back into writing.



This will be short, because disappointment or not, I must write of the heresy that is in fact...



This dreadful blasphemous remake is one of the more satisfying of the remake/adaptations of this past year. I decided to rent this based solely on the fact that I had gotten the giggles so bad in high school when I saw the original 1951 version. I mean, I love my little saucers circling D.C. on string. It just wasn't the same, as I soon found out.

So, I settled in to watch this, expecting mind-fuckery with the special effects, yet all I received was what was in the commercials.

OH HAI! YOU'VE BEEN DUPED!

Now, while the plot kinda more or less sticks to the original, with GORT being all...Imma eatcha! and whatnot, I think it lacks...naivety. It really does. The 50's version was all about the impending cold war. This is all about going green.

Yes, you heard me. The whole damn thing is about going Green. Like we're doing at work. Like Greg Grunberg of 'Heroes' fame is doing in commercials. Like...

I'm gonna stop now.

Anyway. Jennifer Conolly. The famous eyebrows of Requiem For A Dream. I didn't actually mind her much as the female protagonist. I did, however mind that ineffectual actor known as...oh, now what was his name?

Oh, yeah.

Keanu Reeves.

HE WOULD BE THE LAST FUCKING PERSON I WOULD HAVE PICKED TO BE KLAATU.

Come on, Pewpies! What's wrong with you guys?! KEANU? I know he's all emotionless and stuff, but that's how he acts in every movie he's done, sans the timeless classic Bill and Ted.

But the real star in the movie was Jaden Smith. Will Smith's kid is a dead ringer for him, and even more so, following in his footsteps well. He had an amazing turn as a kid with a grudge against the "alien." He was awesome, and the scene in the cemetery was seriously srs bzns. Srsly. He was so frickin' cute, too!

Anyway, since this is a remake of a classic, I will allow you, the viewer, to decide if this movie truly is heinous or not. I just wasn't for it, and will probably never watch it again. Ever. I would rather watch "The Day The World Stopped", which I swear I passed on the shelves in Blockbuster the other night. Fo realz, yo.

So, on that note, I shall leave you, Good Citizens. And remember, if you don't go green, Keanu will eat your babies and send big evil robots to dissolve into bugs and eat you car payment bills so you can't pay.

Z

"My thoughts drift back to erect nipple wet dreams about Mary Jane Rottencrotch and the Great Homecoming Fuck Fantasy..."

As are the wonderful last words of Private Joker in one of the more classic movies of our time, Full Metal Jacket.



Hi folks! Yes, it's been a crazy month, but there really hasn't been anything worth posting as I've been slacking in the movie watching department.



Look for another blog later today. I'm trying to make up for lost time.



Anywho.



I have always wanted to see this movie. I'm a big fan for R. Lee Ermey and everything that crazy man does. And this...well, this...this just takes the cake for every basic training movie I've ever seen. Which is few, considering I really don't watch that many.


But this movie was amazing.


A product of the year 1987, Kubrick brings to life a view of basic training during the Vietnam war and newbies going into battle. Very many of the cadets are not given backgrounds of any sort, even Joker, the lead character, played by a very young Matthew Modine, and for the purpose of making this a run on sentence, I think it adds...an estranged feel to it. You kinda don't wanna know what's going to happen to these guys, because according to many of the vets, it wasn't pretty. While there isn't a whole lot of Napalm bombing, and Agent Orange uses, and Mortar, and fun stuff like that, there is a whole lot of blowing shit up. I have to say, for 1987, Kubrick outdid himself in the special effects department. He takes a wonderful hint from the Godfather movies with the bloods prays, and some crazy ass grenade launching. Which reminds me, I have yet to beat Battlefield: Bad Company.


Anyway, basic training is obviously first in the whole shebang. We're introduced to the leading cast: Pvt. Joker, Sgt. Hartman, Pvt. Gomer Pyle, and Pvt. Cowboy. These are your main guys for the first act of the movies, as I've noticed that many a Kubrick film is done in acts that are easily distinguishable.


Joker is the main character for the last three quarters of the film. Cowboy makes a massive appearance in the third act, and some of the first.


Then the man of the hour: Gunnery Seargent Hartman. That title makes me laugh because a friend of mine's boyfriend is a Gunnery and he fucking loves this movie. Although, he does remind me a lot of Gomer Pyle. Only, without the retarded thing....


Ah. Gomer Pyle. Played by a seriously retarded looking Vincent D'Onofrio. The guy apparently put on about 70 lbs. for the role alone, breaking De Niro's record, apparently, according to the all knowing IMDB.COM.


So, we have our characters. Cowboy...not so important in this act. Joker is assigned squad leader for Pyle because Pyle is a total loss in the joint and the only thing he can do right is shoot and take care of his rifle. He can't run, can barely do the obstacle course...scratch that, can't do the obstacle course at all, and can barely even tie his own shoes. Joker is assigned to shadow the guy and teach him everything. Now, Pyle being in the squad gives Hartman reason to spew some of the best insults in movie history ever recorded. Writing those lines wouldn't justify them. You have to hear them. Anytime during the excersises, like the sound offs he sings to them during the jogs and stuff is priceless.

There's a crazy ending to the first act, and one I totally didn't expect at all. The only thing I knew was that this was the infamous bathroom scene, and that the title of the movie came from a line here.

Needless to say, we're gonna jump cut to the next act. A filler really, and something that really didn't hold my attention so much. I love Kubrick, but after the insults are done, I was ready for action. And that doesn't really show until the third act.

They're in Vietnam now, and it opens with Joker and his good budy Rafterman, who's busy taking pictures. A hooker comes up and delivers the ever so famous: "Me so horny. Me love you long time."

Well, I literally fell off my bed laughing cause I had no fucking idea that it came from this movie.

And what an awesome way to find out!

So we find out that Rafterman and Joker are part of war correspondance, I guess, or Field Journalism, they call it. They take pictures and write inspiring stories for the troops who probably don't even know they have some kind of newspaper. These guys are ready for some action, and a lot of the training squad has been split up. So, they're stationed at...Da Neng, I wanna say. I don't even know if that's how you spell it, but anyway. They get attacked, and then get moved to an actual squad somewhere else, where Joker meets up with Cowboy.

And here starts the other third of the movie.

From here on out, I'll leave you on your own. But this is really something to see if you haven't seen it already.

I'd say, "Help... a teenager cut my balls off. Call the police."

The above line pretty much sums up the entire movie I've decided to review today.


One of my favorite off-the-wall movies featuring the beautiful and talented Ellen Page and the ever amazing Patrick Wilson.

First of all, I just want to say I love this poster. I think the artwork is just...so literal when it comes to the subject of this film and it really hits hard when you're done watching.

Anyway, the movie itself is about online predators, but not about how you think.

An unsuspecting guy meets up with a young girl online. Girl lures the guy to meet her, and he takes her back to his place, where she begins her, more or less, plot to get him to do her bidding. Now, the plot doesn't seem like much. But for the scenes in the second half of the movie, it's worth the watch alone.

Ellen Page plays the first of her many typecast characters: young, witty, and too smart for her own good. She plays the girl on a search for the murderer of someone she knew. She's taking revenger against all girls hit by online predators. The one thing I didn't like about her character is how exactly she knew who she was looking for.

From what I've read, this movie is based on something that happened in Japan years ago where girls would lure predators and then did something...to them. Not quite sure what.

Anyway, this movie is more so a visual piece than anything else. It's a huge study in primary colors and clean lines. So much so that it's streamlined into a fine setpiece.

Page and Wilson do a fantastic job together as predator and prey, although the roles switch frequently.

There's one scene that has become infamous among those that have seen this film. You'll know which one it is when you get to it. It involves ice and testicles. :)

So, take a gander at this beauty. It's not to be missed for the world. The ending is something you'll never forget.