The Great Gatbsy

With Wit, Reviewed By Kimmo Mustonenen

I have a changing of ways.

Too many movies have been battered by the tongues and other mouth parts of reviewers around me at screenings for the press.

My colleagues are dark clouds that also think they are smart clouds.

No fun.

They aren’t even clouds!

I went out to see a movie, paying with my own treasure, and sat amongst you people for thinking that my eye holes would see like your eye holes – that there would be no darkness.

I was stupid.

My first sadness – I have to see “The Great Gatsby” by über-hack Baz Luhrmann. He is stuck in most rememberings as the man who pulled down his pants, grabbed each butt-cheek, bent over, and sprayed “Moulin Rouge” on movie screens.

I don’t mind. I now know that to un-crapify “Gatsby” I just need to lap up Kossu. Then the real part of reality rips my knowledge – “closed” says the sign on the Theater Bar!

The Theater Bar is closed!

They are having a “We Love You Mr. Gatsby and Baz Luhrmann, too, So We Will Dress Up As Time Travelers From One of Gatsby’s Make Believe Movie Parties” party so… no public in the bar!

That is me! Madness! Anarchy!

I mind thoughts are now limp. No Kossu – my heart will have no armor and will be in pain.

Terrible pain.

Note to American Women – in the 1920’s, flapper women had no extra skin. They had a Depression coming and so practiced starving. They were hot as smoke in little flapper dresses.

Modern women have become hippos with the sucking of McDonald’s meat in through their lip gap. My eyes were scorched by a 21^st Century flapper herd moving through the lobby.

There was flapping – but it was giant arm sausages flapping against other bare skin.

So never, in my life time, dress this way again.

Now a review.

Baz Luhrmann had someone say, “Hey Baz! Let me tell you about a book my eyes read to me long ago! It is romantic. So listen to my mouth repeat it…”

So Baz never read the book.

The story opens with a sad Peter Parker (Tobey Maguire) being sad because he ran out of alcohol.

So he goes to a Sad Home and makes a Doctor listen to his bitching about rich people.

His brain wanders through history to a feminine product commercial with lots of curtains getting wind blown and sees his cousin Daisy Duke (Carey Mulligan – cute, but too much clothing).  Her husband is a dick, so Peter goes to a party next door at Gay Disneyland Heaven – wanting the meet The Great Gatsby.

He does.

Then the fever dream (still very feverish) takes Peter on Mr. Gatsby’s Wild Ride (coming soon to Baz Luhrmann’s Gay Disneyland Heaven with even more CGI and 3-D!) and eat lunch at a barber shop that serves lobster (covered with tribbles and fine herbs – this shit is not made up).

A time travel band from 2013 plays music that makes no sense.

At this point – there is great joy… I found an old joint in my jacket pocket of “contraband-and-fun-times” and inhaled the sweet, sweet smoke from my mouth and into my mind-brain while in the Men’s Crapper – then bought Hot Tamales and a large Coke.

Because of my lucky joint, the last 40 minutes wasn’t too much suck.

Leonardo DiCaprio did not stink. He now looks almost 16 in human years, but was not as good as recently in “Unchain Django!”

There were other actors.

And car chases I remember making up in my “Only I See It” world in my mind when I was 5.

There was a cute dog eating from a plate.

And whores – and politicians (these are the same).

So, one thumb, saying with much relief, “Thank you Odin – this was not the great brain rape that was Moulin Rouge!”

The other thumb saying, “Mr. Luhrmann – if you are going to steal ideas, steal good ones – better movie for everyone!”

Both thumbs were much recovered in happiness when the smoke finally calmed all to calmness. If only I had Kossu in the first times and not had my vision assaulted by flapper cows.

At least they didn’t “moo” for Leonardo…

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

P.S.  There is much for hoping! A better “Gatsby” is in the future – and a music filled musical!  See the early rehearsals for “That’s Gatsby” and purge your brain of Luhrmann-cheese.

You’re welcome.