The intention was to fill in with a few supplemental weeks before launching into the next Friday series. I was leaning toward the Coen Brothers. That’s eighteen films. That’s a lot. Now, I love the Coens, even their lesser works are wildly interesting but eighteen gave me pause. I’ve seen them all and know what to expect but four and a half straight months?
Maybe I’m just being a baby.
Still, I never sat down and put anything on. I was planning on watching Ghostdog but didn’t. I could’ve chosen Moonstruck or The New World — all films I own and love and have been meaning to do a rewatch on. I did none of it.
So, what do I have to talk about today?
I could talk about the impeachment trial but it will only serve to aggravate me. When you see a trial and on one side is a multitude of mild mannered, measured, plain spoken people while on the other side is a group of maniacs, yelling in absurd riddles AND THEN knowing that over seventy million people support the group of wannabe con artists, it’s tough to not fly into a rage myself.
Thennnnnnn what?
So yesterday, a friend of ours had a birthday. The celebration took place over skype. Wine, Prosecco, etc. was being consumed WHILE SETTING UP THE GET TOGETHER. Yeah, that went well. More booze. Tons of laughs. I kicked things off by getting stoned and quickly bowing out of the festivities to find something to watch. Maybe a Coen Brothers film? No? Too easy and obvious? Oh, I know, I watched Ghostdog or any of the other films I listed at the top. No, I did not. I put on Friday.
And you know this…man.
But it was on USA and the cursing was all edited and I cannot be bothered with that nonsense. Turned on HBO. Showtime. STARZ. The Spectrum channels.
“Give me something!” I yelled.
Boom. White Men Can’t Jump.
I love this movie. I love how cool Wesley Snipes is. I love how almost cool Woody Harrleson is. When I was thirteen and this film originally released, I was in love with Rosie Perez. The script is great and really nails the camaraderie of playing basketball — the competition (even with your teammate(s)) and the shit talking. I grew up playing a ton of basketball — lucky enough to have my own hoop and paved halfcourt area to play. Did I play in parks and the streets? Yep, did that too. I remember how annoying it was to see the chain link nets because kids would either destroy or steal the knitted nets. It also destroyed your ball. A friend of mine had a portable set up that we’d pull out into the street and run two-on-two tournaments all day long on Saturdays. White Men Can’t Jump captures all of this and it was a great two hours yesterday.
But the party!
Yeah, it was still going on and my wife had moved onto her second (third) bottle of wine. I was still pretty smacked — adding Prosecco to the weed will do that to you. I needed another movie.
Flip those channels. Flip, flip those channels.
Seven. Motherfucking. Psychopaths.
Here. We. Go.
Martin McDonagh is one of my favorite writers (and now) filmmakers. An Irish playwright going the Hollywood route and he’s three for three in my book. In Bruges is one of my all time favorite films. Go watch it. Do you hafta? Do you HAFTA? OF COURSE YOU DON’T FUCKING HAFTA! But you should. Seven Psychopaths was his second feature, smack dab in between Bruges and Three Billboards. Colin Farrell plays an alcoholic screenwriter. He’s suffering writer’s block. Sam Rockwell is his best friend, an actor, also the ring leader of a dog napping ring and he’s something else as well (spoilers). Christopher Walken is another friend who’s a part of the dog napping ring and oh baby does he have a past. Woody Harrelson is a gangster who is the victim of the latest dog napping. Tom Waits shows up as a weirdo with a rabbit and an ominous way of speaking. The dialog is insane (the eye for an eye debate is a favorite of mine). The performances are all great and Walken, my god, Walken is so good in this.
So that movie ended and the party finally began to wind down. But the booze wasn’t finished (and neither was the weed). My wife passed out across the bed. I watched a few episodes of Arrested Development.
And then at some point in the night, our chihuahua shit all over the couch.
That was my Wednesday, folks.
And now here I sit, on Thursday. Couch cushion covers out of the washing machine and drying. My wife is recovering and I am here trying to figure out what to write about.
You’re welcome, America.
Next Friday, hopefully something about film. Until then, love each other.
Open Mouth Insert Words 