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The girls are headed to the Camp Cheer Finals with their innocent widdle puppy. A strong, silent type hacks away with an electric chainsaw at an already dead* tree. (An electric chainsaw. No blue smoke or noise. This is California after all.) Pussy.
Miscellaneous tools. Hillbillies. Cool dudes with facial hair. Electrical cord bandoleros. Yoyos. WTF? Yoyos? Saddles. A pet raven. Popsicles.
* No live trees were damaged by the feelming of this movie.
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This snorefest was filmed in April in Winnipeg, which any Canadian with half of a frozen brain recognizes as Winterpeg. Six months of winter, followed by another six of bad sledding is not untrue. Then there’s the six months of mosquitoes. And a year of provincial government auto insurance no one can afford. Plus a lifetime spent in a province right next door to Saskatchewan.
If all that isn’t pleasant enough for someone to imagine, then there’s Keanannnu’s face. I tried my best, but I couldn’t keep from stealthily approaching the screen whilst withdrawing my trusty Texas™ Alamo™ Bowie™ 12-incher™ from inside my underpants™. While Keanannnu was having sex, and in an attempt to force the actor into a facial expression related to the scene he was portraying, I hacked away at his backside.I’m sure I don’t have to say that it was all to no avail.
Eventually, the viewing audience calmed down and the theater manager approached. He explained that Keanannnu’s “acting face” was in fact being portrayed throughout the feelm, and my feeble attempt at forcing Kenny to move a facial muscle was wasted. Consequently, I demanded my money back before the police arrived to shut down the feelm for breach of acting integrity.
I was subjected to a pleasant ride downtown in the back seat.
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Learn all about the MAGA hilbillies livin’ the dream in some shithole country. Jes’ slap’n’tikkle that there banjo and it’ll all go ‘way.
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The troglodytes are coming!
Things aren’t all they’re cracked up to be at The Larned Learned Goat when Snake Plisskin Kurt Russell a crusty Sheriff Hunt shows up to advise the citizens that a local hottie subbing for the larned doc has disappeared from his jail while treating a prisoner with Snake’s lead in his leg. Threatening to slap things red when a disgruntled citizen has the temerity to complain about his missing stable of horses, Snake invites a token redskin to explain the meaning of an unfamiliar arrowhead embedded in his personal jail.
Cut to Snake Sheriff Hunt in his shack and a picture of domestic bliss wherein he carves up the salt pork while his wife lovingly wraps bread for the long, difficult slog to hunt down the troglodytes in The Valley of the Starving Men.
Walter Brennan is dug up to do a walk-on as the Snakester’s old and incompetent assistant to the assistant sheriff while assisting in the search for the troglodytes in The Valley of the Starving Man, a hard five-day ride distant that the mouldy good old boys will do in three but can’t seem to figger which way is up until the trogs land and kill shit and then the real fun begins.
Beans. Farts. Restless sleep. Gangrene. Surgery on the road. Eerie humming sounds, possibly across the border from Windsor. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Hobbits Hobbling. Fleas? WTF ? ? ? Fleas?
Damn but this thing was boring. Snake must have needed the cash for another run to El Lay.
Bonus points if you recognize a pleasingly plump Sean Young.
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Kristen Scott Thomas, a baking failure, some quantity of blow, a handgun in a garbage can, and one too many confessions turns a celebratory get-together into mild disarray as guest after guest turns the staid life she’s known completely upside-down. The ending is something else when we learn, well, you’ll just have to watch this little black and white gem to find out that life is not a bowl of cherries, even with National Health.
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Rebecca Miller, Arthur’s daughter, filmed this wonderful portrait of her father over the years. An accomplished director in her own right, she takes a loving look at her father’s life and legacy. I quite enjoyed this, too, perhaps even more, although it’s certainly missing the certified nuttiness of the Dennis Hopper production.
My recommendation: Go for it.
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A Dennis Hopper documentary love-fest in black and white by one of his drivers, Satya de la Manitou, who was along for the ride. Drugs. Guns. Girls. Rock and Roll. Apocalypse now.
I quite enjoyed it.