We Approach The Gates Of The City-- Alert The Spoilers

SO THIS IS the final conse-quence of having bought a package of ersatz roast beef a couple of weeks back. It made me consantly regret having done so, because what I had actually wanted was Black Forest ham. So today this is what I have: Black Forest ham on rye with sliced shallot, white and yellow American cheese, faux-Mexican cheese, and Plochman's yellow mustard. And fries and Ketchupo!(TM). So excited was I, in fact, at the prospect of such a sandwich, I piled on about four more slices of ham than I rationally would have, which, along with all that cheese, made for an unfinishable sandwich. Which is a very good thing indeed.

The beer, both of them, were relatively recently procured for the purposes of consuming fried dumplings and mixed lo mein from our lovely local Chinese take out joint, but in this case proved instrumental. Mainly in that I have always claimed that Sierra Nevada Pale Ale's closest genetic sibling is Harpoon IPA, and this, at least to my satisfaction, proved the case. Harpoon's the one with the dimples.

This was the Weekend Movie, which we watched while eating our Chinese take-out. We speculated openly beforehand that, without the Chinese, we wouldn't make it all the way through. (This is what happened, you might recall, with The Informant!, about which more in a moment.) But shortly in, we started having an inkling that this flick might be worth more than originally anticipated. The acting was more than reasonable, the set-ups weren't overly hammy, and there was no attempt to make up some kind of absurdly over-arching explanation for the whacky plot device-- which was that some little kid in Massachusets back in 1959 predicted the date, death toll, and latitude-longitude location of every major disaster for the next 50 years, up to and including-- and if you didn't know this was going to be spoilered, go back and check your brain in with the manufacturer, it should still be under warranty-- the end of the fucking world. It was like a roller coaster, at least in that the only way to ride it was to strap in, hang on, and trust the machine.

That was before the aliens showed up.

Yes. The big plot twist was somehow aliens knew the world was ending, whispered to selected children for no adequately explained reason, and whisked them off to their own little Eden-planet (and I mean little, you could see the curvature of the planet at the horizon, or maybe that was because they ran out of CGI money by that point in the production and had to skimp) while Nick Cage went home and reconciled with his religioso father and bland sterotype mother and sister to await the end of the world.

Now, I knew beforehand that this flim had something of a troubled past, that it was in and out of production and turnaround and what-the-fuck-ever for the better part of a decade, and there was some Dim of the Yard (Consternation! Uproar!) when the selection of director Alex Proyas was announced, and, of course, when that guy announced his intentions (according to Wikipedia,
"to emulate The Exorcist in melding 'realism with a fantastical premise'"), I figured the whole damned house of cards was doomed. Then, after it came out, the majority of critics panned it, most of them taking the standard "this thing is fucking awful because everyone in it sucks for this specific reason that I alone seem to have divined. Only our beloved, beknighted Roger Ebert seemed to tilt at the true nature, insisting that the film itself was really pretty good and rather suspenseful with an unfortunate detour at the end that kind of ruins things.

With which I would mostly agree. But, really: aliens? For the lovea Claude, man, why?

I found myself hoping, actually kind of day dreaming, that part of what happened in the pre-production-stall-and-turnaround period, the thing could be sold because no one thought anyone would want to see a movie that has, as its ending, the predicted, yet utterly unstoppable, destruction of the earth (and that it wouldn't have been by way of solar flare that kills everything on the planet, which, any physicist will tell you, is both just stupid and something that wouldn't happen wihout centuries of warning signs) (and a realignment of the planets) (and living in another solar system orbiting another, far different, @#$%$#@ @#$%$##@$#%%$ sun) (or maybe that was different too). And eventually some producer type said "I know! Aliens!" And some half-witted, inbred, terminally stupid Hollywood execuitive type narrowed his milky eyes in sly agreement.

Or whatever.
Hey! How about another look at those Rockwaffles!

Snazzy!

So I definetely recommend buying the right thing. If what you're craving is not available, buy something like it, and then when you finally get that thing your were craving, it's really twice as good. Nick Cage movies are always a challenge-- and a crap shoot-- and, to my mind, there are two kinds of Nick Cage fan: the ones who roll the dice and watch his stuff when it comes out, and the ones who wait slavering for their chance to finally get to see Bad Lieutenant: Port Of Call New Orleans. If you're the second kind, I don't really need to recommend this film, because you're gonna see it anyways. If you're the first kind, then sure: load up on goodies, and make sure you're not watching with someone who will be constantly annoyed by your exclamations of "Really!?!" And "What the FUCK!?!" And you'll be just fine, really. It'll only hurt for a bit.