Drag Me to Hell
SPOILERS
Sam Raimi? What the hell do I know about this guy? I hear it’s funny.
From the first few minutes, I fall completely in love with Christine, partly because Alison Lohman is one of the most beautiful actresses I’ve ever seen (Marylin Monroe’s reanimated remains can suck a choad) and also because her character’s so well written and performed as a character ripped from my sweetest, dearest dreams. Nobody could predict just how tortured I’d be to see such a vision of perfection abused by a disgusting old woman, get tossed across rooms, get facially penetrated by flies, maggots, lace handkerchiefs, and dead forearms; after seeing such a wild amount of grief destroy her life, for making a simple human mistake, nothing I’d endured so far could prepare me for her death and damnation.
I did not find the experience funny. It was terrible and painful. I’ll probably think less of you and your moral judgment if you enjoyed watching this beautiful goddess of a human being suffer so much, in the slightest.
(Nothing personal, Miss Monroe.)

Wanted
SPOILERS (I GUESS)
The comic. I hated reading the comic. The first issue was cool, with interesting visuals and a character that most of its readers can relate to. An introduction to the idea of what a superhero world is like without superheroes was an interesting bit of literature. I can’t even finish the first few pages of issue two. The main character, with whom I used to relate, had become the most heartless piece of shit. What an asshole.
How could I watch a movie based on this comic that I can’t work up the nerve to start reading again?
The film. I loved watching the film. There’s an annoying introduction, explaining shit I’ll find out halfway through the motherfucker. It didn’t include the amazing death of the Eddie Blake parody character at the beginning, a disappointment. It featured despicable John Woo slow motion moments, but to a forgivable credit, for the outrageously entertaining gun battles. There are NO elements of supervillain mafia, which has no chance of proper translation in these days of film, though it looks very possible soon, for such an expansive audience after Watchmen and Iron Man. Lex Luthor is replaced with Morgan Freeman being everything I want Morgan Freeman to be. Angelina Jolie is attractive, to me, in the first time AND she plays a sympathetic character.
It’s a great film, all around, flaws and all, and it’s one of the few I deem worthy of personally owning. (I think you can imagine the size of this list if you know my taste in film.)

Taken
TRUST ME
Everything I expected. Cut out the first few minutes and the last few minutes, and you’ll have an onscreen adrenaline rush, but unfortunately with the cautious warning toward travelers I hold so dear will be ruined. Enough people will own it, and it’ll show on television enough for me to be able to watch without worrying about buying it. (I’m watching it right now.)

I enjoy a good laugh, but nothing is funny when a piece of shit gets treated like a freshly cracked geode. Why can’t my father respect that I treat film as individually as he does? I’ll make fun of whatever I want. He’ll enjoy whatever. Everyone’s fine, yeah?

No. Let’s go apeshit. Any excuse to take out our frustrations on our son will do just fucking fine. You steal our lives, you make existence a struggle, you take and never return, you selfish little shit, and insulting overpaid talentless teenage hacks is the last goddamn straw.

In this world, is it so terrible take pleasure in disliking? Fuck you for being so self-centered. A film doesn’t magically get spit out of a god’s anus and land in DVD boxes, father. There is an art, and it is being insulted, scarred, perhaps even destroyed, by meaningless indulgences like the “Twilight” franchise, and I couldn’t possibly live with myself if I saw all of this happening with serious eyes.

Your points of view aren’t even your own. You listen to those people on the internet talk, and you want to think just like them.

That’s a joke. It has to be. I would not be so passionate to defend the ideas of other people, would I? It breaks my heart when I hear people slander Terry Gilliam, though I actually enjoyed few of his films. My world was turned upside-down when I learned it was possible for someone to dislike “West Side Story”. I didn’t think I’d wake up the next morning, it was so terrible. When I think about the viewing habits that I’d grown up with, I stop breathing, because I know that for so long, I’d denied myself the self-respect that comes along with appreciating what empassions me. Watching mediocre comedies and Disney movies never satisfied anything. I only laughed when I thought I was supposed to laugh.
Nothing can make me angrier than thinking of what an idiot I used to be, and how my parents encouraged this delusional frame of mind.
Supposedly, this is all a false point of view inspired by the words of respectable film critics. Fuck you, dad. You think you’ve ever had an original idea in your life? because I’m pretty damn sure you wouldn’t accuse me of anything that YOU have done with your own life, out of the fucking blue. Get a therapist, you asshole.

Joss Whedon and J.J. Abrams, comin' atcha!

Season 1:
Joss N’ JJ’s Excellent Adventure
Joss N’ JJ Go To the Moon
Joss N’ JJ Meet Frankenstein
Joss N’ JJ Cure Cancer
Joss N’ JJ Have A Baby
Joss N’ JJ: The Swimsuit Special
Joss N’ JJ Meet the President
Joss N’ JJ Find the Plot
Joss N’ JJ and the Dynamic Duo Kill Jeff Loeb
Joss N’ JJ Start a Band
Joss N’ JJ: The Musical
Joss N’ JJ Meet the Harlem Globetrotters
Joss N’ JJ, Awesome Show It’s Canceled!

What further adventures can we look forward to?

It’s just a momentary gag, yeah, but it’d be fun to see if anybody can some up with some real stories to go along with the idea of a buddie-time-cop series that throws references to these guys’ shows.

I’ve just seen the first episode of the second season of Dollhouse. I’m not too fond of it, but I know that these shows follow a pattern. As soon as the “ordinary circumstances” are drawn in the dirt, we can fully enjoy the thrill of it all being thrown off balance, which was every episode of the first season. Awesome. It has its terrible moments, like the pointless memory-disease episode that only served to give a little backstory to Caroline, who is not a character I sympathize with or enjoy watching, and the plot twists involving Paul’s neighbor/girlfriend was such a trivial thing for a character I passionately hate, but it’s all cool. The Alpha and Omega thing was the perfect apology for such painful moments.
I was almost hoping that it might get canceled, just so I could see a movie-length continuation of the thirteenth episode.

I said that I’d try to keep things up to date on here, and really all I have to say is “I’m in another show and I can’t read comics these days.” to hit the nail on the head.
I’m experimenting with sublimation tiles and printer ink. It’s rad.
I’m not quite as excited to act now as I was last year.
I’m not sure quite what to do or not do about someone who’s just entered the picture. I remember saying before that I document thoughts and ideas in notepads. Well, I also remember writing in one that this is a strange feeling for me. I’m not sure what is the cause for my interest in this person, but she gets more fascinating as time passes. Am I attracted? Am I smitten? I have no fucking clue what I’m feeling, but it feels good, whatever it is.
I recently shaved again. I look fatter and paler. I’m ugly, now, and must wait more than a week to make my hideous jaw disappear behind a mask of facial hair again. There was a time I thought I looked good. Now, this feels like a mistake. If I feel good in a beard, I should keep it. What made me shave it, post-audition thrills? Fuck. I look like a harlequin baby. (That’s a terrible thing to say, and I apologize, but I dislike my appearance that much.)
I’m more impatient. I’m more tired. I’m less angry.
One kid in Drama doesn’t seem to know that he plays for another team, but he’s coming onto me pretty hard. I don’t know what to do about it, how to handle it without lying or hurting the guy.
One friend of mine has something for a girl, and I have noticed that this girl’s started paying a strange amount of attention to me. She is attractive, but I don’t feel much for her, and I fear I’m stealing spotlight from my friend.
I am still very uneasy about some things concerning homosexuality. I don’t know if it’s a homophobic thing, because I get along great with some gay guys and lesbians, but there’s some odd feeling that I feel the need to get over, and I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’m afraid of finding a bit homosexuality in myself, but I have to wonder if that’s a real possibility. If I have potentially romantic feelings for a girl, and I’m fascinated by women, then there’s no question that I swing that way. Am I bisexual?
This reminds me of a conversation, in which I recalled what my grandmother said to me about one of my astrological alignments, which she said was a trait rarely held by other men. Something to do with my emotions.
Listening to the Rushmore soundtrack. It is a film that I would call perfect, like Broken Flowers. Why? Dunno, don’t care. I love it. At moments, it reminds me of my friendship with Smith, but Max’s absurd desire for romance from his teacher draws a line. At one point, a long time ago, I thought I had those kinds of feelings, but they’re gone, and all I care to be to Smith is the best friend I can be. Sometimes my taste in film reflects my inner conflicts, and the course of the movie reflects my course of meditation. I never did anything outrageous, like Max Fischer, and it was because I’d drawn his very conclusions in a matter of days. Sometimes I have to remind myself that Smith is attractive, and keep in mind what conclusion others would draw if they don’t understand my inner workings. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s part of Smith’s job to know me, and her job doesn’t stop even when we’re capable of having a regular friendly conversation.

I’m tired. Thoughts of a Drama girl keep me awake at night. What do I do to keep myself from forcing this new person away, or thinking the wrong things about what I think of her? I’m not really “scared” of anything, but I worry about how things can go wrong. She seems easy going, but what does that mean? I’m sure she’s spent enough time finding the more attractive guys wandering the halls, and how long will it be before some confident, pretty guy reaches her interest before I do?
Smith has enrolled the help of Kayla to write our script project as a musical. In Amerson’s class, sometimes she goofs around with her guitar, and sometimes she plays, and I can’t help but be so impressed by her. Not in a jealous way, like I’m accustomed to.
I have the strange feeling that I’ve been cheating my way through my short art career, as a student, and I don’t know why. Like I don’t deserve praise, and it’s all I seem to look forward to, sometimes. I used to do things for praise as a kid, like an excited puppy. Now, when I try to do things for myself, I end up depressed when I don’t get rewarded. I want to say that I’m pathetic, but I know it’s for other reasons.
I’m so tired, these days. I’m hardly a pleasant individual in the mornings. I wish I could be, so… the Drama girl gets a little bit of a better impression of me, but it’s better that I act like myself more than show off something that isn’t me. At all.
Last night, I remember going to sleep, feeling like everything’s alright. Like nothing was of consequence. Nothing bothered me, and all that mattered was whatever I happened to be thinking about at the moment. Now, all day, I’ve been so uncomfortable, like last night’s feeling was a sham, like it was all something from a pill I don’t remember taking, but it wasn’t. What’s with me, now? What calls forth this degree of discomfort?

After I turn 18, I’ll ask everyone who matters to me whether they think I should give that free mental health clinic place a go, and weigh their opinions against my own desires.

Joey tells me that Mike was killed at the end of the first movie, and immediately after embedding the white horse dream symbol into the front of my skull, Rob Zombie starts off right where he left off. Why? I mean, the story could stand very well on its own, and if I’d seen the first damn film, I doubt I’d forget its ending so soon. He excuses himself with a slaughter scene right at the beginning that drags for quite a while, so I made the assumption that the story needs to continue from that specific moment immediately after the first movie ended, but SPOILER it was just a dream. The entire opening of this movie was a recap in a dream. Fuck.

From that moment, I couldn’t take it seriously. I yelled and commented for everyone to hear, and the other eight of us seemed to agree. I even got a few replies now and then from a couple of girls sitting very near by.(Their anonymity suggested a possible interest in myself, but a few good looks from outside the lobby and I decided they were a bit too young, and their looks of disgust made way for a lot of immaturity.)

I had fun with it. Not enough killing, no scare or shock, the purposefully ironic bits were depressing instead of humoring, and the purposefully depressing bits were fucking hilarious. Some overacting and lack of acting, but who cares? I got to see a stripper’s face get flattened against a mirror, the only likable fuckhead in the stupid town get his head stomped, a slut with homosexual tendencies get strangled in slow motion, doctors perform surgery through a mess of barbecue sauce, and the most beautiful stealth-kill I’ve ever seen.

I don’t give a fuck about about Myers having a sister. I didn’t give a damn about any of the characters in the movie, especially Mike’s psychiatrist, whose performance (coupled by the tree-kill) was the highlight of the two-hour-long joke. I could give a rat’s ass about Rob Zombie’s desire to explore the Halloween franchise. It seems to me like he’s got enough ideas he wants to use in a psycho movie, why doesn’t he invent a movie series of his own, with characters of his own, so that people won’t enter the cinema expecting onslaught to get disappointed by a long music video without music. (It does have a score, but the only band music in the whole thing gets framed and highlighted with neon signs surrounding the performers. I’m not being literal, but you get what I mean: the whole thing has to stop just so Zombie can show everyone what performers he likes. Following this particular thought, it seems to me like the movie was perhaps made by a teenager who wants to believe he’s the only person with issues and thinks the imagery he can muster up is demented or unique. “I don’t see you making any movies.” You’re damn straight, asshole. I don’t see you making any fair, critical assessments of film with a self-taught education in film. Zombie, I’m sure you’re a cool guy, and we’d probably be great pals if we met, but I’m sure this movie could’ve been made by the depressed clusters of teenagers in black that go to my school, if they had the budget. I seem to be the only one of those kids that matured to this understanding that fighting convention is the greatest, and longest lasting convention of all.)
Oh my, I’ve filled out another side-note. Whatever. Go watch it for a chuckle or a date, because it isn’t one of those movies that requires or asks for your attention.

“If you ever wanna eat a Sauerkraut sandwich again take your Wiener Schnitzel lickin’ finger and point out on this map what I wanna know.”

Landing the Shore:
We all knew what we wanted this film to be. Very few of the men and women entering that cinema could understand the gravity of the very things that awaited them, but we veterans knew. Few of us would leave with beating hearts.
My own heart stopped several times, (1.) when the free ticket had to be checked for a real one at the box office,
(2.) when I heard the ticket was void for tonight’s show,
(3.) when the money gathered between my wonderful friends was useless for a SOLD OUT SHOW,
(4.) when I thought I had to watch the movie fifteen minutes late in another cinema, and
(5.) when I got smuggled in.
With beads of sweat and the strongest fear of being discovered, I trudged through the film, thinking that I might be taken out. I’d heard that sometimes you can see the flashlight moving on faces in the audience, and sometimes, you don’t see it at all. Would I be next? (It’s a joke, guys, I wasn’t that scared. I swear, I really wasn’t.)
Further details will not be disclosed to protect myself and others from conviction of theatrical felony. I would like to thank my friends for this night, and you all know who you are.

The Battle for France:
Inglourious Basterds was a cinematic event. Never, never ever even think that you can get away with experiencing the movie as well your first time. Never, fucking, ever think that anything can replace the thrill of hearing a collective “yay” or “nay” from dozens of people just like you cheering on your wildest fantasies. There is no, not a single one, none at all, reason for you to think that it is okay to watch this alone, at home. This movie, just like all of Tarantino’s brilliant works in the past, is one that is meant to be experienced in the vain of those films which he takes his material from. If you want a realistic Nazi-killing team of heroes, watch Zwartboek. If you want to see homicidal fucks killing Nazis, watch The Dirty Dozen. If you want to see all of Hell descend upon the Nazi regime, watch Inglourious Basterds. There’s no need to doubt the surreality of this world, because I’ll be goddamned if our world is as fucking entertaining as this.

Aftermath:
On reflection, there were a few scenes, beautiful and delicious as they are, that were heavy in need-to-know-basis vintage film trivia dialogue which lasted very long, just to put our heroes in slightly tighter spots than before. As if they didn’t need to exist. (Forgive me for thinking that it’s odd for Europeans to have seen only any interest in films instead of art or radio in the days when children had to save for months to afford a cheap ticket and nobody thought the art would last longer than another trend. Well, Germans and French take pride in their places in cinema history, so it is fair, just unusual in a WWII movie.) But I love them, and I love what they do for me, which is get rid of a few aces to make the game more interesting while my ears get a verbal lap dance from Nazi-killing lips. The things that could hold the movie back for some have certainly strengthened my love for it, even though it isn’t altogether one of the best movies, nor, obviously, is it perfect. It is one for the books.

“Grat-zee.”

Or, as I think of it, American Graffiti: the Sequel.

Rich Linklater really shows an influence from the young, experimental George Lucas, with a casual approach to storytelling and a heavy reliance on an understanding of the setting.

Find it difficult to put together better words to say these things.

It’s better than American Graffiti, in ways that the 70s were better than the 50s, and it worse in ways that the 70s were worse than the 50s, which says two things:
I allowed myself to embraces my own age, which movies don’t often accomplish.
The omniscient viewer unanimously associates the time period with the story. That takes a LOT of work to accomplish.

I expected to hate the movie, but I didn’t.
I expected it to be boring, but it wasn’t always.
I expected more stoner scenes, and I’m glad as fuck that I didn’t have to endure many.

I won’t dignify the minor details of the film, which so many mindless people think deserve a “cult following” rivaling the over-popular Boondock Saints and the overpaid Kevin Smith, by mentioning them. I don’t earn anything of value to know that other people can recite that moronic pothead’s George Washington theory.
If anybody should circulate the movie, it should be film students, not potheads. Those fucks think cheap laughs are an art form. No offense to my good friends, but really. Get some perspective in film, and I might consider taking people seriously.

REASONS TO WATCH TROLL 2:

if you despise the appearance of trolls
if pissing on the dinner table is the only way you can organize a hunger strike
if you saw Treevenge and thought something was missing
if you love supporting films with all-robot casts
if you forgot what 80s clothing looks like
if you don’t know how to spell “goblin” backward
if you relate to people whose lives are led by an audible soundtrack
if your dead grandfather told you to do it
if you want to prove the merit behind your hate for the color green to everyone you know
if you stumbled into the room and have nothing better to do
if you’re a vegetarian running out of ideas for acceptable ways to eat people
if you’re sexually aroused by popcorn

I fit all of the criteria! Do you?

There’s something I love about the Japanese culture in its attitude toward childhood. I’m not talking about the mass hysteria of pedophilia. I am talking about the idea that a person’s life is decided by the actions he or she takes in youth. High schoolers go through all sorts of hell in cartoons, comics, and movies. It’s just a reoccurring theme of boys becoming men and girls becoming women.

Just got a call from Red Cross. Girl sounded cute.

Back to the action!
Battle Royale starts out as a non-stop joyride of dramatic death! I saw the stereotypes: the romantically driven hero and heroine, the war-wise veteran, the homicidal maniac, the cold-hearted bitch… and I fucking loved it!
Until the end. I should’ve stopped watching at a point when the plot twisted. I totally saw it coming, and immediately after, I knew that it wasn’t over, and I kicked myself pretty damn hard, because everything after that predictable “twist” was irrevocable shit. Fuck that ending.

It was good, though, watch it. It shall be my figurehead of my notion of “trash culture”.
If underage Japanese girls turn you on, you should be forced to watch them die horribly at the hands of the people who care most about them. Call me sadistic, but it’s the kind of erotic thrill I can also get by watching beautiful, innocent young women being eaten alive in zombie movies. Have you read American Psycho? The movie was great, but Bret Easton Ellis really knew what kind of horrible deaths could rev me up.
How can I possibly say these things? I’m a humanist and I love women!
Well, we can’t always keep our erotic interests locked in a box. How many have I found within myself? Jesus, more than I can count.
Cannibal Holocaust was really the one that made me reexamine my approach to all of this. It made me so sick.

I started going into a strange direction with this.
No real… plans for this. I didn’t put down any ideas beforehand, and I just started typing immediately after watching, so who the fuck could guess what would get put down?
I wonder how old that woman working with Red Cross is.

I just read in Roger Ebert’s review of Time Traveler’s Wife, and there are some points in the science that bother me. I haven’t seen it myself, and I realize that this is a drama fueled by a single aspect of science-fiction. It’s supposed to be cute, it needs to be sad, it must drive our emotions, but avoiding scientific principles to do so with an element of science fiction is like using a newspaper praising Spider-Man’s heroics to kill radioactive spiders. There’s nothing more than human drama to distract me from the time traveling, right? The only thing that keeps me from accepting the film’s rules as truth for the movie’s sake is that I’m following two people whose lives keep getting interrupted and shit, yeah? Well, damn it, that’s not enough, is it? I’m okay with LOST and the first season of Heroes. Why? Because I don’t give a shit about about disproving something that I willingly accept and take for granted on my own.

I’m not being fair.

When a person jumps forward or back, it is the living being taken to and fro, not his or her clothing, because that would be ridiculous! Why would non-living material be brought through a vortex created and sustained within a living thing? Following this logic, which I could without the upcoming flaws, wouldn’t dead cells stay behind? The man would be shaved bald, nail-less on fingers and toes, without bodily fluids… he would come into a new point in time needing immediate medical attention, just to justify why his clothes stay behind when he flashes away. That’s a big risk for a mindless summer romance. One that wasn’t taken, so why should I give two shits about a movie that doesn’t give any about me? Well, I don’t, now, and you can predict that this film is very low on my list of “need to see”.

Ho-lee shit! Age of Reptiles by Ricardo Delgado was a portal to my childhood, and I was just as intelligent back then, by the way. A thrilling tale of vengeance and irony told in stunning silence and brilliant illustrations? I can’t even tell you how awestruck I am in over Delgado’s work.
Hieroglyph is also just as striking, visually and as a story. He’s a master, Delgado, and there ARE people in this world worshiping him, no doubt.

It really is difficult for me to get into how this writer actually makes me feel. He makes me believe in these outrageous and forgotten landscapes, like there’s no room for any doubt that these things could’ve happened, and there’s nothing in existance to stop me from facing it right here and now. He’s a rare type who shows us a world from his imagining, and there’s a bridge between all of humanity, and this man’s comics transcend whatever separates us.

I added quite a few more titles to the wishlist. I love seeing it grow. That’s what it’s for. It shows that I have more to look forward to in life, and that I’m willing to stick around for that.

Getting tired.

Listening to /Filmcast. They’re about an hour away from starting their review of G.I. Joe, while Spill has the unedited form of their review online already. It’ll be removed as soon as it’s edited and animated.

What I’ve heard from my most reliable resources tell me exactly what I expected to hear, except for the “having fun” part. I don’t think I’ll have fun watching this movie. I think that I am far above whatever shitty humor makes up for how terrible the plot and acting are.

I’m starting to have lifted spirits.
School next week, comics tomorrow, I have a handful of readers who still pay attention! That last one is reason enough for celebration! I love you guys! Now love ME more!

Bad thing to write: I’m depressed now. Don’t think you’ll understand why, but I am, and I hate myself again.

I’m still trying to use up space as filler to make the image aesthetically fit where I’ve placed it. It would look like shit if it got any smaller, and it’s much easier to come up with bullshit to make the page look pretty, and it’s a lot of fun anyway. Just look at that illustration. Isn’t it gorgeous. My god, I may ejaculate just looking at the damn thing!

I wanted more Big Man scenes. Grandfather’s rampaging through the city, topped off by a salute to the sun, was my favorite part, being the most hilarious. The end: what the fuck? I can understand that this is a parody, but do you really have to swing that at me? Holy shit. I started watching the final scene with an air of confusion, followed by a realization of how far the parody had gone and accompanying laughter, I regained a silent sense of confusion to find myself wondering if I was still supposed to think it was funny, and finally laughed when I realized how poorly delivered such an outrageous joke was… but I’m of another culture, so who knows what I missed. The important thing is that I enjoyed it, and merely thinking about the movie has made me forget how my fragile heart collapsed under the pressure of my depression only a couple of minutes ago.

High Tension
After murdering the father in such a manner, I feared how the killer would kill anyone else. I feared so long, I eventually wanted to see someone die: why I’m watching. The dead head was morbid and Alex’s father’s decapitation was surprising, but I’m about halfway through and nothing’s impressed or entertained as much as those brief moments.
Second act is boring. Cat and mouse can be suspenseful, but it isn’t here, and all I find myself wanting is a view of Alex being maimed, that two-dimensional generic victim bitch!
The twist shows me I’ve wasted time, but not as much as The Machinist. I could’ve seen the main character’s pre-twist journey without the game of hide-and-seek. It would’ve been easier to follow and make sense afterward. Should’ve been 30 minutes long.

Otis
A torture film with a summer comedy sense and style of humor probably makes easygoing audiences feel “hardcore” for laughing at images of pain and death the way indie zombie fans do. Doesn’t stick to comedy and drama, tone shifts without warning. I don’t care about any of the characters, least of all the easily identifiable teenage victim, except, very slightly, do I get a flicker of connection with Otis and his brother. All of the payoffs for enduring the film are comedic, and in a knockoff Caddyshack “hyuk, hyuk, it’s irony” kind of way.
I’ll probably delight in the thought of never seeing this again.

Feast
I like it when I see kids die in film, and this one delivers. Fun, until I’m faced with the uncomfortable position of watching two survivors sacrifice a bound, defenseless woman to rape by monster and death by explosion so they can escape. Her death was a little cartoony, but too terrible for me to even think of as a joke.

Boy, was this one a doozey or what? Overacted, overscored, and underwritten. I felt like I was watching a stage show, which works okay with a stationary story, but the most important moments of the plot take place when the characters are on the move. The actors try to lead the atmosphere, and I see how hard they try. The characters’ actions are so fickle. It seems like this was a production put together by guys looking for money more than a group trying to pay homage to a popular novel, and granted, I’ve yet to read the book and it may be just as painful to endure, but it looks to me like the underlying purpose behind every decision disappears so that the characters can have their stereotypical moments with dramatic music, corny lines, and picturesque poses for the advertisement reel. If all bad murder plots were filmed by the same man, you could tell he hasn’t learned a goddamn thing over the years. It’s such a disappointment to see that even today people manage to squeeze out staged pictures just as bad as this one.

I found myself feeling almost exactly the same way I did in the theatre, with tears and everything, as memories from my first reading returned to me, and all I could focus on was how I felt so close to this other world, from a time I was never alive to see. Even on a screen 1/20th the size of the one in the theatre, with an audience of two people whom I dislike watching anything with, I got completely wrapped in with the film… until I saw, once again, that Zack Snyder fucked up the beautiful sex scenes and butchered the political logic and suspenseful thrill building up in the later half of the movie, but the first act was a magical moment. I heard from someone that Doc Manhattan’s origin story could’ve worked as a short film on its own, and while I disagree, I still feel like the moment’s establishment within the story is separate, in that it begins, has a climax, and ends on its own without interference from the rest of the show, and could certainly hold up better as a separate feature with a lot of work.