This week is a bit unusual for the eXhole movie viewer. Over the next two weeks Moscow will be the lucky host of four wide-ranging Hollywood films. On the surface they appear to have no connection: from Spielberg blockbuster to Larry Clark ballbuster, and two chick-flicks in between.
But as you'll see, there's a common message that each film reveals to the viewer: Your mother is a slut, and your father is a loser.
Due to the unusually high number of chick flicks coming out, this is the first time I've had to post announcements calling for two separate chick dates. Also, in order to help U save time and money, I'm introducing a couple of new icons to help improve your efficiency when choosing which movie to see.
The first new icon is the black eye. I realize that when it comes to describing a chick flick's effect on the average male viewer, Ted Bundy is a little on the eXtreme side. What if the movie doesn't necessarily want to make you pick up a log and crush your date's skull, but instead simply encourages you to beat her? Hence I'm introducing a "black eye-con." Then there's the NAMBLA pederast factor. With both Steven Spielberg and Larry Clark movies coming to town, I found myself completely bereft of a pederast icon. So this issue I'm introducing the Pete Townsend icon. Now, it's time to buckle up, boneheads, cuz we're going for a ride through the magic of Hollywood Hell. Yippee!
Catch Me If You Can
This film has all the ingredients for a three-Osama-icon'd film: Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks, Leonardo di Caprio. It's credits like this that make the Megan McRees of the world. My anger was only increased by the fact that you couldn't buy the VHS tape pirate version of this film in the local kiosks, only the pirate DVD version. Granted, pirate DVDs are now as cheap as 300R but that extra 90R is four Alyonka bars going into someone else's pocket.
Even so I am ashamed to admit that the film isn't bad. In fact it's pretty damn entertaining. That is due to the script, based on a true story of one of the great con artists of our time, with di Caprio as the con man and Christopher Walken as his loser dad. Spielberg mercifully keeps his sappy intrusive style to a minimum by his standards. And Hanks just sucks. He actually fucks up his role badly with his botched Boston accent, so much so that it's distracting. Seeing Hanks bomb calmed my rage and let me settle in to enjoying the plot. Di Caprio is aging badly, he's starting to look like a Neanderthal, and that made watching the film tolerable.
More than that, when I see a movie about a successful con artist, I want some insight. Like, how do they do it? This is one of the few films that actually gives you some insight. The way it works is this: JUST LIE! Duh! People are fools. Too many people are too afraid to lie and cajole and compliment. Also, dress nicely, preferably in a uniform, and shower every day. To many of you this may seem obvious, but you gotta understand, I've been high for the last 10 years and I'm just coming out of it. I'm as poor now as I was 10 years ago. I don't like being poor. It's scary, and it gets scarier every year. So I watched this flick like a student. And I learned that U can get people to give you money. If you talk to people, compliment them, they'll give you anything: money, pussy, their daughter's hand...
For Russians, many of whom come to America looking for ways to cut corners and fleece the gullible natives, this film will inspire similar hope.
There's a downside to the movie, naturally. Supposedly the di Caprio character is "amoral" and needs some kind of character transformation. And the reason, as in all Spielberg movies, is a lack of Family Values. In this case, his fuck-up father and his slut mother, who is French. Slut collaborator-mother dumps loser-father when the bank takes back the house. She marries daddy's best friend, a rich lawyer. She even boned her dad's best pal before the divorce. This pain drives di Caprio to huck for riches, which would be fine if, after he got rich, he didn't fuck it up trying to woo his family back together.