The Master

The wake of a large ship, white froth churned up amidst sparkling aquamarine water. Paradise with a beach, and an Amazon goddess with breasts the size of mountains emerges from the sand, molded by eager hands. Sailors of the last Great War work together to form this tribute to the feminine ideal . . . and then a skinny dude with crazy eyes starts humping the inert object like a shell-shocked, battle-weary Luther Billis driven mad by jungle rot and home-brewed moonshine. This is “There is Nothing Like a Dame” as interpreted by director Paul (I drink your milkshake!) Thomas (I drink it up!) Anderson. Continue reading “The Master”

Beasts of the Southern Wild

You may have noticed there has been a bit of a gap between this review and the last post; specifically, twenty-nine days, which in internet posting time is the equivalent of normal time span converted to dog years. I’m assuming readers thought I had died, which would have been a real shame because that would mean the last movie I saw would have been Hope Springs. The real story is not quite as dramatic, but filled with irony and social injustice. Some mofo broke into my house and stole my computer. I’m sure it was just a petty thief looking for something small and expensive to fence, but stealing my laptop did more than just deprive me of my daily updates from; it also left thousands hundreds some people anxiously awaiting their next flicksthatmakesick post and feeling abandoned when none was forthcoming. In a world that is cold and unpredictable, the least I can do is be there for you every ten days or so. Man’s inhumanity to man (or his meth addiction) will not break my spirit, and I shall continue to blog in a timely fashion as the future unfolds before us. Let’s hear it for renter’s insurance! Continue reading “Beasts of the Southern Wild”