Left Coast Zombies
It's all good.
The beer is the Magic Hat Not Quite Pale Ale, which got old yesterday and then grew on me today after behaving reasonably well last Tuesday. This is a slightly sweet, slightly hoppy, lighter-bodied brew that went along well enough with a grilled tuna salad sandwich, got thoroughly buried under a spicy beef stew and tasted, well, almost like a Budweiser, but then served the spicy patties quite nicely. It probably did something to mitigate the organ flavor factor, but time will tell. It will require reflection to make that judgement.
The movie of the day is most definitely not-- NOT-- Quarantine.
In fact, it was not even the movie of the night when the Wifey and I put it in the DVD player Tuesday night. The first fifteen or twenty minutes were reporter-cameraman-firefighters-fooling-around-at-the-station, which was meaningless and silly and mildly fun, but, most of all, vapidly believeable. Then they went out on the call and got trapped in the building. For the next ten minutes, the Wifey yelled at-- yelled at, screamed at, cajolled, ABUSED-- the television. To the point that I was almost sure that the neighbor mowing his lawn up around the corner might have heard her. We stuck it out for a half an hour before I finally had to shut the thing off or risk the Wifey killing someone out of sheer frustration, and, given that the lawn mowing neighborn was some ways away, that someone would most likely end up being either me or the dog.
The next day, we both went and read spoilers for the thing that confirmed what we had suspected the previous night: we hadn't missed a goddamned thing. This was thievery, through and through, not a single original idea in the entire goddamned thing, and it was stupid thievery at that. The two things that needed to have at least decent, simple reasons got whole-blown bullshit explications that might have made a good movie on their own had the full 90 minutes-- and some modicum of gray matter-- been devoted to them. Suffice it to say that, in the view of these hollywood swingers, zombies require exactly as much justification as big, naked boobies.
The film of the day is, most decidedly, this. Which is proabably as stupid as Zombie Strippers-- sorry, Quarantine-- but at least has a better soundtrack. And a real sense of fun as well. And a history with me, actually. When I first caught this on HBO back in the 80's, I loved it, but knew that, on some level, I ought to hate it. The bullshit science, for instance. The plot revolves around the invention and building of a giant laser for use in a weapons system designed to assasinate a single human being from space, which was loudly talked about by Star Wars proponents, CIA buffs, conspiracy theorists, and members of the Southern Baptists Convention back in the days before 90% of the world concluded that such things were not feasible and any such speculation on such things was, at root, bullshit. And then a buddy of mine taped it for me, unbeckoned and unbeknownst, and gave me carte blanche to let this wonderful little pile of treacle wash across my consciousness.
So if you like Zombie Strippers and Quarantine, so be it. I like Real Genius and Cloverfield. Which makes me right and you wrong, but don't take that as a value judgement or a moral argument. It's jut the way things are.
*Don't for a minute think that I wasn't tempted to write " . . . the filling in these puppies is made of . . . well . . . puppies!" I was. But these aren't made of puppies. At least I don't think they are. They didn't taste like that last time . . .
Labels: Jamaican Zombie Food