Hey, whore, how's
the whoring? This week, the honor goes to:
Jeff Craig of the nearly nonexistent Sixty
Second Preview
About Thirteen
Ghosts "The visual effects are breathtaking!"
Truth is, the
studios have cut back on the whoring in the wake of all the scandals.
But, fret not, it's not an ethical decision on their part, and
the whores will be back as soon as they think they can get away
with using them again.
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©2001 by
Randy Shandis Enterprises. All rights fucking reserved.
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This week:
Harry Potter and the
Sorcerer's Stone
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Filthy says:
"It's not so fucking bad!" |
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Mrs. Filthy understands, and for that I'm a lucky man. She
understands that it's hard to find a job when you aren't looking.
Yet, I keep uncovering a few extra dollars around the apartment,
in places where she knows I'll find them if I do my chores. Or,
I will find them if I spend twice as long looking than the chores
would have taken.
Mrs. Filthy understands the need of a man to drink pints of
beer in bars where it's easy to feel superior to all the fucking
downtown poseurs always talking about their cars and their feelings.
Every now and then, I need dark bars where I can see dark-haired
girls that I think nobody else knows are so fucking beautiful
they hurt my heart. They are girls who seem nondescript when
I first look at them, but something makes me look twice. Maybe
it's a Band-aid on the chin, a tiny bruise over the eye, or uneven
eyebrows. Whatever the reason, I look twice and I decide that
maybe the girl is sort of pretty, but not so pretty that all
she does is walk around thinking "I'm hot fucking shit.
I'm so God damn pretty that I'm immortal." Maybe she used
to be fat and has resulting low self-esteem and lingering aura
of uncertainty. Or maybe she has a wooden leg so she never dances.
I keep drinking, pretending to read the paper while I eavesdrop
on the conversation of the bald asshole with two needy women
on his arms, and I keep looking up and checking out the girl.
And she gets prettier to me until I'm staring. It's a secret
pretty, something only I can see. I know I could make her feel
like a million bucks plus a house if I told her how pretty she
was. Nobody ever tells her how pretty she is, because nobody
else knows. And if I tell her, she will see how pretty I am,
how beneath my unwashed hair, acne, acne scars, scraped knuckles
and "Show Me Your Tits" T-shirt that she will always
ache to be with me.
Then this terribly pretty girl's fucking boyfriend shows up
and he looks like just about the biggest asshole east of John
Travolta's butt (or as some call it, "The Widowmaker").
He sits beside her. He collects her beauty like a drip pan collects
pork fat, and it's wasted, lost forever because he's so dull
and boring and self-absorbed that he likes her for something
obvious like her perfect tits, not the secret beauty. And because
even she isn't sure of her beauty, she settles for an asshole
like this. Maybe they will marry and maybe over time she will
shed her secret prettiness because he never notices it. And that's
the sort of shit that ruins a man's fantasies.
I need my fantasies. Since I've been unemployed, I don't hardly
go out, and the longer I stay indoors, the harder it is to face
the harsh light of reality, and only my fantasies keep me sane.
Only my pirate adventures using sofa cushions, my ventriloquism
with the dog and the radio receiver I am building out of lettuce
keep me from wigging out. It's the power of fantasy.
Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone is fantasy, and
judging from the people seeing it this weekend, America's kids
need escape from their dingy little apartments, too. Holy shit,
the theater was fucking packed to the rafters with the brats.
They are a hell of a lot better behaved than adults, though.
They don't have cell phones and they don't come in at the last
minute and then pout when there are no good seats left. Plus,
they keep their fucking mouths shut. They still appreciate going
to the theater and know what a treat it is to sit in the dark
watching movies. They don't show up and look at the marquee and
say "I don't know, what do you want to see?" They know
because they care.
Harry Potter is a decent movie. It's great for little
kids who go to the movies for birthday parties, and it's better
than most of the shit parents will put on their minivan VCRs
to get the kids to shut the fuck up. It comes from great source
material, but it is surprisingly lacking in creativity of its
own.
Whiny little pom Daniel Radcliffe plays Harry Potter, a kid
whose parents were killed by the evil Valdemort because of their
goodness and the strength of their magic. He doesn't know he
has magical powers until he is brought to Hogswart, a boarding
school for young wizards. The best part of the movie is this
boarding school, a place that fulfills children's fantasies for
freedom from parents in a safe environment. Plus, it's a place
with unlimited halls and hidden doors to explore. Potter befriends
other students, makes enemies of others, and encounters a variety
of beasts, ghosts and danger before the movie finally settles
on its plot. That is, the school has a sorcerer's stone which
gives its user immortality. Radcliffe and his little pommy friends
uncover a plot by Valdemort to steal the stone and he is challenged
to save the world.
It's a great premise for a plot: a kid who doesn't even know
he has magic powers is put into the ultimate battle, not only
to save the earth but avenge his parents' deaths. And it looks
great. Fuck, what kid doesn't dream of magical powers? I'm an
adult and I still believe I can develop the ability to see through
women's clothes. This is one of those movies where the fantasy
world is fully realized, and the characters are immersed into
it. We are along for the ride because the rules, look and feel
of this world are all so well defined. It's not a world where
anything can happen, but one where magic, clearly understood,
does.
The problem is, it was a great plot in the book and the movie
adds nothing. It plays like a third-grader giving a book report
"And then this happened, and then it was really funny because
this feather blew up, and then there was this dragon, but it
got away, and then Harry Potter says 'No way.'" Like the
third grader, director Chris Columbus (who has previously blessed
us with shit like Bicentennial Man and Mrs. Doubtfire)
remembers all the favorite scenes from the book, but he doesn't
really connect them. It all feels lukewarm. We're expected to
get the emotional depth from the book and take it to the theater
with us.
Columbus and writer Steven Kloves are so intimidated by the
book that they are afraid to trim it or revise it. To me, a movie
adaptation should give us new ways of seeing scenes, or should
add to the lore of the book. But there's none of that. Harry
Potter is mostly a slavish adaptation more interested in
showing us how well a big budget can reproduce what your imagination
did while reading the book. And while they get the look of everything
right, they don't even really bother with feeling.
And still the movie is two-and-a-half hours long. The checklist
of cool stuff from the book front loads the story so that we
don't really get around to the plot until ninety minutes in.
And while everything looks cool, it would have been nice to know
where it was going sooner. It's like Columbus is fascinated by
the place of Hogswart but not the accompanying story.
The main actors are all kids, and kids are historically really
fucking annoying little shits on screen. These snots aren't much
different. It's not their fault; they're just kids and they don't
know any better, but I swear to God that if I see that little
Radcliffe prick stiffly go bugeyed with shock one more time I'm
going to beat the crap out of the next limey kid I see. Radcliffe's
pals Emma Watson and Rupert Grint both seem to be spouting their
lines in response to cattle prods, not what the last person said.
Mabe this is editing, but they sure seem to be not paying attention.
There are a couple of fine performances. Alan Rickman is wonderfully
dark and vaguely creepy as Professor Snape. And Robbie Coltrane
is the warmest character, despite his small hands, as Hagrid,
a quietly sad Giant who looks to animals for companionship. But
these good performances are pulled out of the muddy and shitty
dialog by good actors.
If I were a kid--which I wish I were because I see some real
jerks at the local elementary school who deserve a little of
the Filthy brand of justice-- I'd want to go see Harry Potter.
And If I were a parent, I would take him or her. It's a good
movie, but certainly not as good, or even different, from the
book. Three Fingers.
And now, as a special treat for anyone who is bored out of
his skull at home or work, here is the first two acts of A God Damn Love Story, aka A Hell
of a Lot Better Than Tomcats. If you're good, I will let
you read the rest later.
Want
to tell Filthy something?
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