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MIRTH
IN YOUR MAILBOX! |
Is it worse to be ignorant or apathetic? I don't know and I don't care.
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I
managed to procure a pass to a
sneak preview of the most
anticipated movie of the year:
"Star Wars, The Phantom Menace."
What follows is the first
official Gern© Blansten®
Review™: In
the history of cinema, certain
practicioners have approached the
level of art: Welles (before he
got fat), Kubrick (before he
died) and -- although it's
unfavorable to say so amongst the
general public -- Steven
Spielberg, perhaps the most
underappreciated director of our
generation. And
now we can add George
Robert Wallace Lucas to
that list, and perhaps
to another list: that of
Unrivaled God of
Filmmaking. As if there
was ever any doubt.
(Okay, so maybe a little
around Howard
the
Duck.) In
his new film (don't dare
call it a movie... How
uncouth!), Star Wars:
Episode One, The Phantom
Menace (or How I Learned
to Stop Worrying and
Love the Death Star),
Lucas dares to make his
titles longer than ever
previously
attempted. And
what wonderful things.
Not since the the
Bible's influential and
highly regarded Book of
Revelations have things
done things in quite
this way. Some of the
things have engines, and
some of the other
things, "characters,"
get in those other
things and ride around
in them, at varying
speeds, usually towards
(or under) other
things. Lucas
parallels Anakin/Lucas
with Yoda, the ancient
Jedi "slavemaster."
(Lucas wisely avoids the
obvious historical
analogies, choosing
instead to draw
parallels between Yoda
and Tinky Winky, the
not-at-all gay
Teletubby, who becomes a
metaphor for the
regression of man, as
well as the innate
desire to dress in felt
and carry a
handbag.) Completing
the semi-circle is Queen Amidala
(played by the Solid Gold
Dancers), who Lucas obviously
intends to fulfill the Aristotle
"mother/non-mother" paradox. In a
Kierkegaardian sweep of objective
subjugation, Lucas allows the
viewer to infer Anakin's eventual
sexual longing for Amidala and
project it harmlessly upon his
slightly retarded sidekick,
Jar-Jar Binks. But
to tell the plot of the movie is
to only tell half the story,
which, for some lesser
filmmakers, would be enough. But
for Lucas, this must be taken one
step further, that step being
visual representation of the
subconscious. Or, in layman's
terms, special effects up the
wazoo. In
this regard, Lucas does not
disappoint. While watching this
film, I orgasmed unexpectedly at
least three times. (I must
confess, I lost count.) In fact,
I no longer have need of a wife,
masturbation or any other sexual
companion, as long as a copy of
The Phantom Menace is available
to me. However, it does cause one
to wonder whether such a film is
appropriate for
children. Such
concern might be justifiably
forgiven were it not for the fact
that the film brings about other
heightened emotions as well. I
crapped my pants in fright
several times, and during one
particularly frightening
cinematic moment, I began to
bleed profusely from the eyes and
ears. I
was not alone, although it was
hard to tell, as I was unable to
tear my gaze away from the
awesome spectacle on the screen.
Even if I had, I'm certain my
sight would have been obstructed
by the bleeding. When I finally
was able to regain my senses,
somewhere around twenty minutes
after the credits ended, I was
greeted by the stench of of human
waste and fluid. The dozens of
other film critics lay nearby, in
useless piles, covered by their
own filth. This
is not to suggest that watching
The Phantom Menace is an
unpleasurable experience. Far
from it. It may have been the
single most rewarding experience
of my life. If
I were to voice one complaint
about this film, it would be
this: The Phantom Menace is far
too short. Running a tight two
hours and ten minutes, it could
easily run ten times that. In
fact, the length presents one
significant problem. At one
point, near the middle of the
climactic sword whacking, I felt
as though I was rising towards a
warm, beautiful light in the
heavens. A
hand reached out of that
light and pulled me
towards it. All around
me, I felt only bliss,
enlightenment and a
vague desire for more
popcorn. The hand
belonged to either God
or George Lucas; it was
hard to tell the
difference at this
point. I actually felt
my spirit leaving my
body towards eternal
Jedi bliss. And
that's the truth. Anyone who
tells you different is either
being selfish, or a Godless
Communist. Or
Canadian. Of
course, don't take my word for
it. I had the same reaction to
Teen
Wolf
Too. Patrick
Keller waited in line for weeks
to see Howard the Duck. That'll
learn 'im. This article is
©1999 Patrick Keller, Gern
Blansten Productions. You may
redistribute this piece, provided
the text is unaltered and it
contains this notice. As always,
if you know someone sick and
twisted who might like this
stuff, let me know. Blah blah
blah e-mail me at
blansten@iname.com blah blah
blah Also
featured in the not-so
latest: All
contents of this web site -- even the
periods -- are TM & © Patrick
Keller, Gern Blansten Productions, so
don't try to steal 'em. Any unlawful
distribution, copying or non-educational
use is highly frowned upon, and will be
prosecuted when I get enough money to hire
a lawyer. Violators will be spanked.
Shoplifters will be persecuted.
Prosecutors will be violated. |
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