Television film noir for grownups at its best. Dim lighting. Hookers. Liars. Cheats. Thieves. Murderers. We even get a little jazz. The soundtrack alone is worth a listen. The visuals are fantastic. We also get a firsthand look at how America has been fucking over Cuba, nothing more than a cork floating in the middle of an ocean, for generations.
/begin political rant
It pleases me greatly to see America now doing to itself what it has been doing to so many other countries for a hundred years. It’s not even using lube.
NORWAY, as we all know, is a freezing, frost-bitten shithole where everyone braces their coffee with hard likker.
In NORWAY, people randomly throw snowballs at one another. Living room windows are prime targets.
NORWAY is also home to Commie socialist pigs and free healthcare for all.
Thank goodness. NORWEGIANS smoke all the time.
NORWEGIAN children build their SNOWMEN facing their houses in order that they keep an eye on mummy and daddy whilst asleep in their beds.
There are no window shades on any bedroom or living room in any home in that nudist-and-sauna-loving NORWEGIAN cesspit of immorality. (Not to be confused with FINLAND.)
Every children’s bedroom has a window into their parents’ bedroom. It permits them to keep an eye on mummy or daddy screwing the shit out of their neighbor. Good times for all.
In NORWAY, everyone knows how to skate.
In NORWAY, there are no murders. Everyone commits suicide by shotgun.
Chloe Sevigny? In coveralls? Seriously?
Coffee beans (see #1).
In NORWAY, the women all dress in woolens (see #1).
NORWEGIAN children are annoying (see #1).
NORWEGIAN police officers never report in (see #1).
NORWEGIAN police officers never call for backup (see #1).
There is no cell phone reception in NORWAY (see #1).
Val Kilmer. WTF! Val Kilmer? Old Val has subjected himself to too much plastic surgery.
James Bo Charlize Theron flys flies to Berlin via Neunundneunzig Luftballons** with nothing but a carry-on containing more clothes than Cher on a five-continent tour. Since I’m not all that much of a clothes horse myself – as those of you who know me can attest – I didn’t much care. Which is precisely why I walked out of this dog at about an hour. I wanted to leave at the twenty-minute mark, but I couldn’t get cell-phone reception to call 911 for assistance in a timely manner after yelling “FIRE!” numerous times. (I know. I shouldn’t have done that. There were only three other people in the place.)
Now the northern lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was the night in the Pacific, it was oh so teriffic- KONG! -with apologies to Robert W. Service
Joe ConradMarlin BrandoKurz KONG!
KONG eat meat. KONG wounded. KONG not care. KONG stomp. KONG pound chest. KONG stompin’ on to Good Tunz!
I was disappointed to discover that Pamela Anderson’s walk-on was brought to us by PETA. No CGI gorillas were harmed in the making of this movie. John Goodman needs a good meal. His emaciated face was enough to send me running and screaming from the theater.
With more fur and leather than a cancelled Barnum & Bailey circus, Frontier will be certain to ensure the arousal of PETA and Pamela Anderson unto her wet and untimely demise, courtesy of a communist socialist Canadian free-health-care death panel.
Fur and leather corsets abound. Heaving bosoms, not so much. Canadian lassies, unfortunately, weren’t allowed to cavort in such manner, thanks to the prevalence of the Catholic church and its predelicktion for the little boys.
Every unemployed Canadian actor will be working unto perpetuity if the series is continued.
Tight corsets. Heaving bosoms. Treacherous, deceitful women. Double-crossing, double-dealing men. Sunshine, sand, and wind-filled canvas. Pirate treasure. Much cursing. Need I say it again? Betrayal. What say you?
Arrrr, Billy.
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking. –John Masefield
HaTs. It’s about HaTs. HaTs and a good caning. Yes, that’s it. It’s all about the HaTs and a good caning.
Also, Bond. James BondCrockett and Tubbs someone pretending to be an Irishman drives through a poor man’s Florida and takes over the demon rum business out in the swamps. Much gunfire ensues.
