More About the Cock

Hancock that is. Pervs.

I HATED the ending. After Hancock realizes that he and Charlize can't be together without it killing them, he flies from California to New York. Literally flies. Away from his other half. From the woman who he was destined to be with. She ends up with her husband and her non-biological kid and is happily eating ice cream and staring at the moon when the movie ends.

Except that the film assumes that we will forget a couple of things. For one, she's immortal. She is going to outlive her beautiful husband and child and any other man she falls in love with. She is destined to watch the people she loves grow old and die over and over. Which is an incredibly depressing treatise on love.

And, hello, she's a superhero! She's as strong, possibly stronger, than Hancock. So what, she's never going to use that now? Will she ignore the horrors of the world? The crimes she can prevent? Yes, and why? Cause she's a chick. Call me a militant feminist if you want. Hell, I'll take it as a compliment. But there is very little that can explain why she can ignore her calling to protect people and it's okay, but when Will Smith is pissing away his superheroness, it's a tragedy. According to the writers of Hancock a woman's true destiny is to live the suburban life of wife and mother. How very Republican of them.

In Which I Spoil the New Will Smith Movie

So, Hancock. First of all, the title just begs to be giggled at. Heehehe. Cock. Ok, I'm done. Now before I talk about what a disappointing movie it is, let me talk about Will Smith. Damn. That's all.

Fine, there's more. He's hot. First and foremost. He may be my new unattainable celebrity crush. He's also extraordinarily talented at what he does. He is the only actor I can think of who can play a superhero who looks like an actual superhero (and not a skinny little Spidey one, Tobey Maguire) but acts like a regular guy. Albeit, a guy with issues. My point is, I was predisposed to like this film.

Hancock also features Jason Bateman in a very prominent, juicy role that uses his sarcastic wit and non-smarmy smile to full advantage. Bateman was so good on Arrested Development that I've been waiting for him to be given a star vehicle. This isn't the movie, but it comes close. In a couple of scenes he manages to steal focus from both Smith and Charlize Theron, and that is a testament to his talent and his every guy good looks.

And lastly, let's talk about Charlize. I am convinced she made out with the hair, make-up and wardrobe departments, because she has never looked so effortlessly beautiful. Her suburban mom with a secret is underused, and she has a transformation that's as believable as the one she made for Monster, but she does her best.

And now I spoil. Seriously, if you want to see this movie, stop reading.

Charlize Theron is a superhero too! And she and Will Smith are immortal! And married! That is the twist. They have been pulled together and apart for more than 3,000 years, and because of an 80-year old blow to the head that left him with amnesia, Hancock has no idea.

And that is where the movie fell apart for me. What started as a funny, interesting look at what would happen if the ultimate good guy became a boozing, foul-mouthed asshole morphed into a meditation on relationships and fate. Smith and Theron are meant for each other but when they are close together for too long, their powers fade and their mortality makes them vulnerable.

That is the moral of the story. Love makes us vulnerable. It's a good moral, and if the movie had delved more deeply into why the two of them couldn't make it work despite their love being created by a higher power, I might have enjoyed it. Instead, I was left vaguely unsettled and more than a little disappointed.

I Love the View of My Navel

Wanting a man who has a girlfriend is standing in a bakery that puts its chocolate cake behind bullet-proof glass. Frustrating, fruitless and downright disheartening.

A Rainy Day

Cyd Charisse passed away on Tuesday. She had been married for 60 years to the same man and didn't look close to her age. She was a beautiful, graceful woman. One of the few female dancers who could draw focus from Gene Kelly.

When I saw Singin' In the Rain the first time, I didn't "get" her. The entire dance sequence bored me. As I got a older and just a touch wiser, I realized that she was an exceptional performer. Watching her dance. Watching her move. I was suddenly aware of what the human body, particularly the female one, could do. It made me even happier when I found out she was 30 when she made that film. Not old in normal people years, but ancient in the world of dancing.

She left behind a lovely legacy of dance and film. Brigadoon and Silk Stockings come to mind. But when I hear her name, I'll always think of a leggy brunette in a green dress tempting Gene Kelly with a seductive dance.

Lights On!

You know what is an excellent idea if you haven't been sleeping well? Watching The Silence of the Lambs for the first time on a dark, cold Sunday night.

I have a fairly extensive knowledge of movies, and Hannibal Lector is a cultural icon. I've quoted the film for years despite being too scared to watch it until now. So brilliant woman that I am, I thought that I could handle what is considered one of the most terrifying movies of the last thirty years.

Hoo boy, not so much. The entire movie is just so brilliant. Jodie Foster's beautiful blue eyes act as conduits for the audience into the mind of Hannibal. It's a vulnerable and moving performance that was rightfully rewarded with an Oscar. And Anthony Hopkins chews the hell out of the scenery in the best way. Watching him made me feel as though I was watching Beethoven compose.

And maybe, just maybe I would have been alright watching the two of them. But friggin' Ted Levine. That man scared the shit out of me. "It puts the lotion on the skin or it gets the hose again." Aaaaah! Ok, and also a little hee! I love that line. I don't like to use the word brave to describe an actor. It's not as though he's running into burning buildings or anything, but Buffalo Bill would have been a ridiculous caricature in the hands of a lesser actor. Levine makes him eminently believable. It's the honesty of the character that kept me up last night. Waiting for a man with night-vision goggles and a desire to wear my butt.

Cultural Snobbery Pisses Me Off

If you think that liking foreign films makes you a better person than me because one of my favorite movies is Tommy Boy, I've got nothing for you. If you scoff at anything that's "mainstream" or popular, please stay away from me.

Hey, I watched Spirited Away in the original Japanese. I know who Akira Kurosawa and Jean-Luc Godard are. Big fucking deal. My love of ee cummings and Kandinsky does not nullify my love of fart jokes.

Look, I know that I have better taste than most people. If you are one of my friends, feel proud, because, hello, good taste. But I am also aware that every single person on the planet thinks that what he or she loves is superior to all other crap. It's a duh kind of statement really, but too many assholes forget that their love of The 400 Hundred Blows has no bearing on their importance as people.

I know that the United States is dumbing down at an alarming rate, but the solution isn't to become insular and elitist. Take a cue from your kindergarten class and share with the other kids. And for the love of god, don't feel guilty about the things that you enjoy. Unless you love Clay Aiken, in which case, make like Clay and keep it in the closet.

I Have to Wait All Summer?

I watched the last five minutes of Gossip Girl on perezhilton and could not have loathed the show more if it had farted in my face. I love campy, soapy trash T.V., but the actors have to possess a talent besides walking and flipping their hair at the same time, and the writers need to not look to old Sweet Valley High books for their inspiration. That Jessica. What a bitch!

On the flip side, the season finale of House left me dehydrated from excessive crying. I'm not a huge fan of the show despite my love of Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard, but it was truly the most wrenching sixty minutes of T.V. I've seen all year. The show's biggest strength is that the ridiculousness of the medical melodramas never distract from the variety of relationships the show contains. Wilson and House in particular shine as co-dependent best friends who want the best for each other but have opposing views about what that means. The reason that the season finale was so exceptional is that there wasn't a nail-biting cliffhanger. Wilson's girlfriend Amber died and House lived. The end. But whether or not House and Wilson will repair their friendship is tantalizing enough to make me want the fifth season to start right now.

And last but never ever least. CSI: Miami. They shot the Carus! He might be dead! Either way, his sunglasses are broken and he won't be standing with his hand on his waist like a little teapot for another three months. Gah! Will this torture never end?