improved by an oil pipeline
May. 17th, 2009 09:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mustinvestigateThe Cameo had Watchmen and Sin City on as today’s free double bill – third time through, it’s still so emotionally draining. Skipped Sin City because 300 about filled my lifetime Frank Miller requirements (though I’ve seen it maybe three-four times now as well, but that’s due to an excellent Rifftrax).
JEH, as himself, I tend to find charismatic and painfully adorable. The graphic novel Rorschach was compelling, especially that arrestingly homely face, but…not one to inspire rampant sexytiem contemplacation.*
So why, oh why, do the two combine on screen to become SEX ON LEGS OM NOM NOM?
Although there’s no one in the film I’d kick out of bed, to be honest. Up to and including Keene-riot third extra from the left only seen from the back for .00008 seconds. The film has many flaws, but I’d forgive them all for the sheer beauty of every frame.
The only missing layers I really miss and don’t hold out any hope the extended cut will redeem is the Laurie/Sally plot line. They’re two of my favourite female characters ever, because they’re so damaged by their own neuroses and the madonna/whore knife-edge societal mores leave them precariously balancing on, but they still do some brilliant things and have real emotional progression. That really gets shortchanged in the film, and Laurie’s just too bland and nice to really have anywhere to go in terms of finally growing up, and all those lovely layers and layers of oedipal and sexual issues are squished into tissue paper.
Also, this time the scene that really made me teary was Manhattan’s retreat to Mars, his memories of being made into something gaudy and lethal – the distance and flashes of bewilderment of his eyes as he goes through the motions of fighting soldiers and criminals – and his best friend calling him in so many words an abomination against sanity.
Sploosh.
* pre-movie, that is. Re-reading it since then…hoo boy. Damn you, JEH!
JEH, as himself, I tend to find charismatic and painfully adorable. The graphic novel Rorschach was compelling, especially that arrestingly homely face, but…not one to inspire rampant sexytiem contemplacation.*
So why, oh why, do the two combine on screen to become SEX ON LEGS OM NOM NOM?
Although there’s no one in the film I’d kick out of bed, to be honest. Up to and including Keene-riot third extra from the left only seen from the back for .00008 seconds. The film has many flaws, but I’d forgive them all for the sheer beauty of every frame.
The only missing layers I really miss and don’t hold out any hope the extended cut will redeem is the Laurie/Sally plot line. They’re two of my favourite female characters ever, because they’re so damaged by their own neuroses and the madonna/whore knife-edge societal mores leave them precariously balancing on, but they still do some brilliant things and have real emotional progression. That really gets shortchanged in the film, and Laurie’s just too bland and nice to really have anywhere to go in terms of finally growing up, and all those lovely layers and layers of oedipal and sexual issues are squished into tissue paper.
Also, this time the scene that really made me teary was Manhattan’s retreat to Mars, his memories of being made into something gaudy and lethal – the distance and flashes of bewilderment of his eyes as he goes through the motions of fighting soldiers and criminals – and his best friend calling him in so many words an abomination against sanity.
Sploosh.
* pre-movie, that is. Re-reading it since then…hoo boy. Damn you, JEH!
