Trouble With The Curve

With Wit, Reviewed By Kimmo Mustonenen

Movies follow my life now.

Not as much as the “Millionaire Slum Dog,” but close.

Just the last week of my happening comes “The Master” and what the crazy Cruise/Travolta types tried to do when they attempted my mind screwing.

Now this.

Clint Eastwood is older than he should be.

He has the olds that bring the crazy.

My eye orbs were scorched with the sadness of the chair talking.

Why?

I remember my Uncle Jaarko in the final Kossu madness frenzy.

There were no chairs, only a fishing boat. Jaarko stared at the boat, and with his mouth foaming the mouth juice yelled, “Boat, if you stare at me for another minute I will rip you back to wood!” In his crazy mind place, the boat answered.

What it, the staring boat said, only pickle-minded Jaarko could ever answer.

But he is dead.

This was my life.

And now, for weeks counted to number two in a row, my past is my now.

Son of a bitch.

This week the thing that puts the “I know that old and death are like taxes” in my mind front is “Trouble With The Curve.”

I look at the man who was the badass mo-fo in “Unforgivable.” Asses, both cheeks, had the kicking.

“Outlaw Josey Wales.”  “Dirty Harry.”  “The Good, the Bad, and Eli Wallach.”

Now babbling like three-year-old ice cream screamer, still looking like the icon-man, almost reduced to joking old guy who drives his car into people now dead in Santa Monica (Google it if your mind is unable to recall).

“I was trying for my brakes!”

No, you had nothing right in your head. You can’t tell your brakes from your ass. Yet you remember January 7^th, 1958 in detail that is perfect.

Time has taken its toll.

Youth is over. It is fleeting. It is rarely appreciated.

So, our hero people, we wish them to forever to be ass-kickingly beautiful. With muscles that pop out like a squeezy toy.

Because if they never crap the pants, get covered with spots, drool like the monkey – how can it happen to us?

So when the crazy comes, it is that our hero is finally losing the fight. This is not possible. This is not us

But it is. God dammit.

So, while the fun is made (and I was at the T.V. party watching things Conventionally and howling like the next guy at Eastwood being the orangutan – minus the turd flinging, at least literally) we see the mortality that turns us all into smelly meat boiling in the dirt.

Where goes the soul? What did I do to make the remembrance of me? Who will give a fuck about Kimmo if he laughs at our past icon?

Omega Man (and Soylent Green and Will Penny, his name escapes my thought parts – see these films) also had his mind become cheese.

Did that lessen his earlier stuff of importance (marching with Martin Luther in the Reformation, yelling at the damn dirty apes)?

God, the hope is NO.

If our Kossu late life madness is our definition, let me die tonight – or let me disappear into a sweet smoke haze somewhere inHelsinki where I cannot be judged and die in peace.

Shit. I did not do a movie analysis. Life is bigger than the cinema. But much shorter.

But… I liked it (the cinema film). I had a pain near my heart that I was in my eyes seeing the last of a hero of a generation.

Amy Adams, great. Justin Timberlake (I am jealous of his way), great.

Clint Eastwood. Great actor. Great director. Now old guy. As we all will be. Old guy, anyway, me.

Again, son of a bitch.

So, two thumbs filled with melancholy yet straining to the sky while my face rain from my eyes fell and made my pants look like the pee stain I will make at 85. I will see “Trouble With The Curve” at least more than once.

Kimmo Mustonenen – (Kimmo On Kino) – Behind The Proscenium

P.S.  Kyrle tells me that meandering will be the firing. So next week, a review that will “Ain’t It Cool” be talked to.

P.S.  “The Voice” is back! I think Blake Shelton likes more booze than Kimmo!  Is that possible? Go Blake!