This week:
Lord of
the Rings
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Filthy says:
"Add two fingers for fucking fan boys!" |
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Jimmy says:
"It's so great, it's so cool!" |
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and
The Majestic
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Filthy says:
"Stand clear of the horse's ass until he's finished!" |
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Jimmy says:
"It sucks my ass!" |
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Here for My Christmas Gift to My Readers: A Very Special Christmas
Story and photo tour of Arvada
FILTHY: Because of my general lack of knowledge about
all things fantasy and sci-fi, I've brought in a ringer this
week to help review Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring,
an adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien's novel. My nephew, Jimmy, whom
you last heard from when he reviewed The
Matrix, is in town for the holidays. How old are you
now, Jimmy? Sixteen?
JIMMY: Don't call me Jimmy. Call me Necron, Romancer
of Death.
FILTHY: Necron.
JIMMY: Romancer of Death.
FILTHY: Can I just call you Ron?
JIMMY: Necron.
FILTHY: Does your mom know about this?
JIMMY: I have no mother, I am nourished by my band
of Vampyres. Be sure you spell Vampyre with a Y when you transcribe
this.
FILTHY: Why with a Y?
JIMMY: Duh. Because it's cool and because only mortals
spell it with an I.
FILTHY: Wow, Jimmy-
JIMMY: I can't hear you.
FILTHY: Sorry. Necron. I guess we haven't spent
much time together in the last couple of years. The last Christmas
you were here you were really just an awkward eighth grader,
into Sony Playstation and writing a vampyre robot novel. You've
really grown up, into a fucking weirdo. I mean, are you trying
to get your ass kicked with that makeup and white face powder?
JIMMY: Are you trying to have your blood sucked?
FILTHY: Have you ever even been laid? Last time, you
at least had a girlfriend in Canada.
JIMMY: I will be immortal. I don't bother myself with
thoughts of sex.
FILTHY: Oh, so those must have been vampyre stains
Mrs. Filthy had to wash out of the sheets in the guest room this
morning.
JIMMY: You know what? You're the weird one, with your
denim pants and your beer and your mortality. When I was fourteen,
I hadn't fully seen the dark. Now I'm older and more mature.
And I am still working on my vampyre robot novel. It's 526 pages
long.
FILTHY: You can take your trenchcoat off inside the
house. And the Lee Press on Nails, too.
JIMMY: Fuck you.
FILTHY: I just find it interesting that you say that
you have no mother. Who did you come here with, again? Who drove
because you failed your driver's test? Somebody certainly seems
to be feeding you well.
JIMMY: (sigh) I have a "mother" in your simplistic
terms, and yes she sustains my physical presence if you consider
Wheaties and meatloaf sustenance. But my life is in the mind,
and when I finally shuffle off this mortal coil, I will exist
in the ether, far beyond the petty imprisonment of a human family,
with its human rules about making your bed and doing homework.
As for my weight problem, it's glandular.
FILTHY: For someone eager to shake off the physical
world, you sure had a long Christmas list. Do your vampyre friends
know you want bubble bath?
JIMMY: Yours will be the first blood I taste.
FILTHY: Fair enough. Let's talk about Fellowship
of the Ring. I'm no fantasy fan boy, but I thought it was
okay, actually.
JIMMY: Okay. Obviously you didn't understand it because
it's a fucking movie is a masterpiece for the ages. Forget all
the hype, this is the best movie of all time and you're a loser
if you don't know that. I hate people like you who try to talk
about stuff you know nothing about.
FILTHY: Like I said, I thought it was pretty good.
JIMMY: Why don't you shut up before you look even more
like a fool? Thousands of years ago, in a hole in the ground
there lived a Hobbit. His name was Bilbo Baggins (Ian Holm),
a wanderer who stumbled upon the One Ring. This ring gives its
wearer awesome powers to rule and destroy.
FILTHY: Yeah, but that's not what this movie is about.
This movie starts with Bilbo an old man, ready to pass the ring
onto his nephew Frodo (Elijah Wood).
JIMMY: Your readers aren't cool enough to be in the
Keneally High Vampyre Society. They're stupid so you have to
start at the beginning for them.
FILTHY: The movie begins when the old wizard Gandalf
(Ian McKellen) comes to Rivendell to make sure that the ring
is passed safely from Bilbo to Frodo. In the east, the evil emperor
Sauron is amassing his armies to seek out the Ring and restore
his evil empire. They have learned that the Hobbit has the ring,
and now it is up to Wood to get it to safety before evil's minions
can catch him. The original plan was to leave the ring protected
by the elves, but Sauron's army is growing too strong for them.
So, the ring must be destroyed by returning it to the Cracks
of Doom where it was created. At each step, Sauron's army becomes
stronger and more threatening to Wood and his pals.
JIMMY: Uh, hello? You forgot to mention the Fellowship.
Frodo is helped by eight others in his quest. They include Gandalf,
humans, an elf, a dwarf and other Hobbits. What about Sarumon
(Christopher Lee) imprisoning Galdalf? You forgot to mention
Galadriel (Cate Blanchett) who protects the Fellowship, or the
Mines of Moria where the Fellowship first encounters Gollum and
the Orcs. And, derrrr, what about the Balrog? You know, one of
the maiar who followed Morgoth instead of the light?
FILTHY: We don't have time to go into every detail.
JIMMY: Speak for yourself, I'm immortal. I have all
the time in the world. I'll be dancing on your grave.
FILTHY: Peter Jackson does a hell of a job of bringing
the audience into his fantasy world. It's like a God damn Dungeons
and Dragons board brought to life, but in not-too-terribly-geeky
sense. Unlike Harry Potter,
which just copied what's in the book verbatim, Jackson brings
his own vision to the picture. He successfully creates a world
full of impossible peaks, lush valleys and pits of darkness.
It really looks like an epic of massive proportion and succeeds
in bringing even me into a world of dwarfs and monsters.
JIMMY: Like Christmas at your apartment.
FILTHY: Except, unlike my apartment, the movie has
no vampyres.
JIMMY: Oh, shit, I would have had a fucking heart attack
if it did. There would be no need for me to keep living because
then my vision would be complete.
FILTHY: A few of the characters are very good. McKellen
is just fucking great at Gandalf, a prickly wizard. He's not
the cute, wonderful kind, but a more believable one: tired and
a little bit pissed, but also aware of his moral obligation.
The hobbits should be interesting: they're tiny earth dwellers
who love mischief and are big pussies. They mostly like to stay
at home and eat, not battle evil. Throw these reluctant underdogs
into an adventure this big and Joseph Cambpell probably has a
boner poking through his casket. But, Jackson overplays them
as wide-eyed simpletons. Wood's Frodo just bumbles through the
story with his ass getting saved repeatedly by humans. His main
job is to be fucking surprised, to frequently turn slowly toward
the camera with really big, glossy eyes.
With nine characters, plus elves, wizards and others, people
are sure to get lost keeping track. The other three Hobbits in
the Fellowship all act like they're about to steal my Lucky Charms.
They're just stupid, condescending sidekicks meant for comic
relief, because everyone loves to laugh at filthy little people.
The humans look identical and it took me a while to remember
which was Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen) and which was Boromir (Sean
Bean). More importantly, the story never really makes clear why
I should bother.
This many damn characters is great in a book that fucking
fan boys will read over and over until the pages stick together,
because just remembering everyone is part of the puzzle. But,
on screen, keeping track is an unrewarding experience. Who is
Liv Tyler playing again? Why is she in the story? She saves Frodo
from evil horsemen, then is quickly gone after making googly
eyes at Bean. Come on, lady, take it off.
JIMMY: Why are you here? Well, you're a pretty bland
character to make a web site about. Frodo is fucking cool. He's
got hairy feet and when he has to he kicks ass. I think you're
jealous because you have hairy feet, you're a pussy, and the
biggest adventure you've had is getting stuck in the doggy door.
FILTHY: The story takes place in a world where some
characters have no reason to exist other than to be evil. In
fact, Sauron is hardly even a character, just an unstoppable
foe with unlimited resources and no redeeming features. Not even
a mother that loves him. The good guys face pure, black evil;
no moral complexities, no doubts about who is right. In the real
world, evil that black would be a laughably lame plot device,
and the story would be trashed for its moralistic simplicity.
So would a single ring that, when destroyed, destroys all badness.
If that happened in the real world, what the fuck would Miss
America do?
So, you have to accept that in the fantasy world, good and
evil are as simple as black and white. You have to want to be
in a place where there are dragons and little people so badly
that you just say "Okay, sure, it's all that simple."
And to a degree, Jackson's world makes that possible. He believes
in it so fiercely that he puts his faith on the screen in the
details and the gargantuan scale.
JIMMY: Pick, pick, pick. God, you're just like my mother.
I didn't even want to come here for Christmas, but my mom wants
to do an "intervention" on you.
FILTHY: She what?
JIMMY: She's going to make you stop drinking.
FILTHY: Bullshit. Look, we'll talk about that later.
Right now we need to talk about the movie. The monsters are cool.
The Orcs look really bad ass. Gollum is fucking spooky. The Balrog's
sort of lame. Unfortunately, for all the build-up the Orcs get
in the movie as terrifying warriors, they're really more like
a Girl Scouts from the housing tracts within the fallout zone
of Rocky Flats: horrifying and relentless little creatures, but
also as easy as pie to knock down. The Orcs attack in waves,
but they're the world's worst shots and even worse swordsmen.
The battles aren't so much fights as Orcs charging to the slaughter.
JIMMY: It's hard to beat foes in such large numbers,
even if they are weaker and dumber than you. It's like when the
football team caught me in the locker room. One on one, I could
kill them with my bare hands. But, I couldn't defeat them all.
Don't worry, though. I'll get even. I have a plan.
I knew you shouldn't be reviewing this movie. Why don't you
stick to the regular stupid movies that you hate so much? This
movie is for the cool people who know how to appreciate a masterpiece.
FILTHY: Did you appreciate the treacly, incessant Irish
soundtrack? I thought some fucker was going to start singing
"Danny Boy" or that Michael Flatley would start dancing
around like a ponce.
JIMMY: Ireland is a land full of myth and wonder. And
giant killer-robot factories.
FILTHY: It's a land full of fall-down drunks and car
bombers, who are often pickled to the gills. Look, I have no
problem with the Irish, but Fellowship of the Ring's soundtrack
is so fucking loud, and not a single moment of the story passes
without some musical cue telling us exactly what we're supposed
to feel.
JIMMY: Why don't I just shit all over your favorite
film now?
FILTHY: Because we're reviewing Fellowship of the
Ring, which at three hours is a bladder-buster. This isn't
to say it doesn't have three hours of story to tell, because
it does. Much of it gets repetitive, but still, at three hours
it's probably about right. The opening is the only scene that
overstays its welcome. We are introduced to the magical world
of the Hobbits as though it should be in a display case next
to the pewter dragons at the Hallmark store. The opening is a
fucking leprechaun convention, all of them so shiny and happy
and full of wonder. The sweetness gets poured on just a touch
too thick. The middle of the story is good, as the Fellowship
is built while they are pursued by villains. But, the last hour
is repetitive. It's a big fight, followed by a sappy, over-emotional
mythological speech, followed by another fight and another corny,
expository monologue. On and on without really building any tension
until the end.
JIMMY: It's not the end of the story, dork face, just
the first third of the trilogy. That's why they don't get to
the Cracks of Doom yet. And it's not repetitive. Sometimes they
fight Orcs in the mines, and then sometimes they fight in the
outdoors. If you'd just pay attention.
FILTHY: Well, I'm giving Fellowship of the Ring
Three Fingers. It does a fan-fucking-tastic job of creating
a new world, and then sort of craps out.
JIMMY: You fucking fascist. Anything less than Five
Sets of Vampyre Teeth just means you're an idiot. Which you
are.
FILTHY: Okay, fine, I'm an idiot. I'll be sure to return
the Mr. Bubble I bought you. Now let's talk about the other movie
we saw. I'm sure we can both agree on this trainwreck:. Jim Carrey
in The Majestic.
JIMMY: I didn't even want to see this. You made me
because you say the theaters shouldn't charge such high prices.
It sucked.
FILTHY: I agree.
JIMMY: It was so fucking boring I thought someone would
turn into a killer robot. But nobody does, and if nobody turns
into a killer robot, what's the point?
FILTHY: The point was for a bunch of Hollywood fucks
to puff up their chests and strut around like patriots. Far as
I can tell, that's the only point. It's a god-awful pile of shit
dripping with cheap sentiment and cornball acting.
JIMMY: It was so stupid. You totally owe me for making
me watch and then not letting me go hang out in the lobby. That
Carrey dude just wanders around going "Gosh! Golly! Jeepers!"
And you can totally tell he doesn't mean it. It would have been
cool if vampyres got him.
FILTHY: In The Majestic, Carrey is an ambitious
young screenwriter during the McCarthy Era. After he is wrongly
fingered as a communist, he gets blacklisted and goes on a drunken
drive, crashing his car and washing up on the beach of the perfect
little community of Lawson, California. And guess what? He's
got amnesia. Of all the crocks of shit that Hollywood has its
hands in, the amnesia one is just about the smelliest.
JIMMY: Amnesia is real. The government brainwashes
people and gives them amnesia all the time.
FILTHY: I guarantee you that lazy Hollywood hacks dole
it out more than the government. Without his own identity, Carrey
is mistaken by the simple, pure-hearted people as one of their
war heroes finally come home. Their faith in him makes him a
stronger person and he begins to believe he is hero Luke Trimble.
He becomes the hero they expect and helps the man who thinks
he's his father (Martin Landau) re-open the classic old movie
theater. The movie plods like a drunk Clydesdale through a minefield,
exploding occasionally bullshit speeches and unbelievably coincidental
moments. This movie is nothing but phony moments piled on top
of phony moments, all building to one incredibly crappy speech
at the end that's enough to make real blacklisted screenwriters
rise from their graves and beat the shit out of writer/director
Frank Darabont.
JIMMY: That would be cool!
FILTHY: See, while Carrey is playing war hero in the
small town, the Feds are looking for him. Although it makes absolutely
no sense except to Darabont, they now think he is a top commie
agent (a belief they magically drop later when it no longer serves
the movie). They happen to track him down the day after he recovers
his memory, realizes he's not the war hero, and Landau kicks
the bucket. That gives Carrey the horseshit opportunity to be
conflicted as to whether or not he should tell the dying man
he's not his son.
JIMMY: I thought when Carrey leaned over the old fart's
bed that he'd suck his blood.
FILTHY: Once Carrey returns to Los Angeles to testify
before the anti-commie committee, the most repugnant, fucked-up
thing happens. Rather than just take a slap on the wrist, Carrey
remembers all that courage he got in Lawson. Although he planned
to just fess up and get his job back, he instead stands up to
those Washington fat cats. What follows is probably the lamest
BIG SPEECH in movie history. It's dull, flat, inelegant and corny.
Carrey reads the Constitution's First Amendment as though nobody
had ever heard of it. Of course, the congressmen are shocked
and embarrassed. Gee, all it would have taken to stop McCarthy
in the 50s was showing him the First Amendment. The reporters
present at the hearing stand up and applaud. The movie makes
Carrey (and by extension Darabont) a hero--for stating the fucking
obvious! And the real blacklisted screenwriters all turn in their
graves, that their misfortune could be trivialized in order to
make Jim carry a hero for doing what I'm sure every single one
of them tried. Fucking Darabont. What an asshole.
JIMMY: Then Carrey goes back to making movies and writes
a movie about vampyre women who fuck the corpses. But it only
gets released in Germany, making it really hard to find and supercool.
FILTHY: I wish. Instead, he realizes he's too fucking
good for Hollywood now that he's got morals. So he returns to
Lawson and the good innocent people of Anywhere, America. You
see, the movie tells us that it's better to live among the simple
folk of small towns than work in the heartless, cold movie world.
I'm sure Carrey, Darabont and all the other cocksuckers associated
with this pile of crap will be packing up and moving out of LA
real soon.
Or perhaps they don't really believe that. Perhaps they just
want to shove that message up our asses because they think we're
as dumb and sweet as they keep telling us we are. What a pile
of shit, what a stupid movie full of big, obvious, insincere
speeches.
JIMMY: I just wanted it to end.
FILTHY: But it takes two-and-a-half fucking hours.
I guess a story this boneheaded needs a lot of time in order
to be as dull and fucking stupid as this. We need to see Carrey
stare dumbfounded at shit a lot. We need to see Landau overact
himself to death. We need to meet every fucking pure-hearted
store owner in town. We need Carrey to fall in love with the
absolutely white-bread young lawyer with the nice tits. We need
one character to dislike Carrey for absolutely no reason just
so he can like him at the end. We need the wise old black man
to say wise old black shit. What the fuck's up with that? In
Hollywood, young black men are portrayed as sass-talking morons.
Old black men are always stately and full of wisdom. How the
fuck does that happen? Doesn't Hollywood think there are any
smart young blacks or dumb old blacks? How do the dumb kids somehow
get all this wisdom between the time they're saying "She's
a freee-ak," and when they're old and saying some corny
variation of "You need to follow your heart." Fucking
racist Hollywood assholes.
JIMMY: You're turning red. Do you need one of your
pills?
FILTHY: I'm almost done. Fuck you, Darabont and Carrey.
Don't try feeding us anything you wouldn't eat yourself. One
Fucking Finger.
JIMMY: Zero vampyre teeth. Are we done?
FILTHY: Yes.
JIMMY: Want to see this hair I got off a real dead
person?
FILTHY: You're such a fucking weirdo.
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Here for My Christmas Gift to My Readers: A Very Special Christmas
Story and photographic tour of Arvada
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to tell Filthy something?
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