Inglorious Basterds: An Apt Title

Yes, they were bastards. And no, they were not glorious.

Yet somehow I was surprised by the complete lack of Basterds in this film. I knew they were Inglorious. I knew it was Tarantino. But somehow I was convinced that there would be a lot more from the characters.

I guess I'm finally realizing that Quentin Tarantino is a party platter. He's the variety pack; the summer sampler. His films are simultaneously extended movie trailers and at the same time the antithesis of movie trailers. You get a lot of little bits that make you want more, but it's all stitched together with prolonged dialogue.

That being said, it is a film that's worth taking another look at. Another five looks at, even. Pulp Fiction left us wanting more Jules Winnfeild, more Vincent Vega, more Butch Coolidge, but we satiated that need through repeated viewings. We grew to appreciate these characters based solely on what was given us and we learned that more is not necessarily better. (see Death Proof and the same fucking actors playing the same fucking parts just with different fucking names so they could kill them all a-fucking-gain!) With more Butch comes the cost of less Vince. More Vince means less Jules. More Jules, less Butch. It's a vicious cycle, but somehow we get The Wolf and Macelus Wallace rolled in there too (Uma Thermon does nothing for me) while maintaining a balanced film that gets across the point that life is all sorts of fucked up.

Fast forward to the Basterds. Could we have had fewer extreme closeups for no reason? Yes. Could we have had more Basterds? Possibly. Could we have had less of everyone else? Well, that's up for debate. The opening scene takes for-goddamn-ever, and the first time, as Tarantino ironically enough explains to us in the lengthy beginning of Resvoir Dogs, hurts, like a virgin. But after that, you begin to warm up to it. You see where things are going and the anticipation for what you know is going to happen is what keeps you excited. Before you know what's going to happen, you have boredom and confusion. Some people like to figure movies out, like a crossword puzzle, where the more you pick up on, the closer you are to knowing how it all turns out in the end. Tarantino films are like solving someone else's crossword puzzle... from another table... while you're having coffee with someone. You really have to work to know what's going on. But after you know where everything goes, like say watching someone complete yesterday's crossword puzzle, you being to see the amusement in watching the traps and folleys and struggles of the crossword puzzler. After knowing understanding why Tarantino does the things he does, the film becomes much more interesting to watch.

Would I pay another $12.50 to see this movie again? Well, I didn't pay for it tonight, but the point is I wouldn't pay by the viewing anymore. Maybe when it's in the 2 for 20 bin at HMV I'll pick it up and have another look. I might just grow to like those Basterds a lot more.

Muscular Discrimination

One thing I never claim to be is a biologist. So it is of little wonder that I'm confused about how the human body works.

Why is it that some muscles are meant to be worked and some muscles are meant to be left alone? I thought that muscles were muscles and when you worked them they got stronger. I mean, way back when people put their backs into it.
(pause for laughter)
And back then, these people were referred to as "strong backs." But it seems these days your back will only get worse and working your back will lead to "bad back." But none of your other muscles do that. You don't have people at the gym telling you not to lift that with your arms. Hell, people tell you to lift with your legs and then preach about how you're not supposed to strain your knees! How the hell do you lift with your legs and not your knees?

So if anyone is, or knows of, a biologist, please explain to me why my back isn't meant to be used, but all my other muscles need to go to the gym and work for no reason whatsoever!

The Faster and The Führer(ious)

Am I the only one who thinks this would be the best film in the franchise?

It's late

Colin James from the 80s looks like Tobey Maguire and Michael J Fox rolled into one.

I don't think it's a bad thing.

You're drunk

Get of your fucking high-horse and admit it.

Is it just me, or does anyone else notice when people (drunk people) will give you that "oh, I'm not drunk" bullshit? I mean, come on. You've been drinking; you're drunk.

Of course there's a scale to it, but once you're "tipsy" or whatever word you want to use, you're in drunk-town, pal. You've crossed the city limits and you're either on the party bus in or the sleep train out. So why can't you just admit it?

I admit it all the goddamn time! I'll have a few drinks and if you ask me I will straight up tell you "yeah, I'm a little drunk," because I don't understand why you would think that you could, or want to, hide the fact that you've been drinking!

Dear Those People,

Shut the fuck up.

One word.

Broga.


*not this

I forgot how fucked up everything is out here...

Have things always been so complicated? Has the world always been this way? Maybe we were just too young to understand, or maybe we were too distracted to see it, but the world sucks. But not in a Captain Planet/starving kids in Africa/social injustice/ongoing communist threat/McDonald's deficiency in undeveloped nations kind of way. The world sucks on a personal level.

Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I'm starting to wonder if all the good things in life just make us ignore the bad things. Have a pint and forget about work. Eat and forget about the one that got away. Fuck and forget the disease. Are these the things that make life enjoyable, or are these the distractions?

I suppose a lot of things are inevitable. Maybe forgetting what you cannot change is as good as abolishing it as long as there is nothing you can do about it. Maybe distractions are productive.

We can't be purely hedonistic, but we can't dwell on everything. Where do we draw the line?