Ed Lauter – Behind the Proscenium

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!

The Artist

With Wit, Reviewed By Kimmo Mustonenen

Confusion.

In the cinema.

Topped off with Kossu shots.

Warm.

Now for the reviewing the movie I see.

Then sick joke!

4:3 picture. Black and white. No talking.

WTF?!?

Elaborate joke on Kimmo?

Alcohol time travelling?

Heaven?

“The Artist” was not a joke on my head. A gift. From Hollywood. Or France.

Thank you, Hollywood. Or France.

I don’t care. Just “THANK YOU!”

Plot? Sure!

George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is the big screen star of the late silent era. In 1927 a photo gets on the front pages of the Hollywood press (pre-TMZ… yes, that time was in existence – Hi, Harvey!), on the charmer kisses an unidentified woman after a performance on the red carpet (I guess red – it was gray – like everything in the past).

Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) is named the starlet who wants to make her fortune in Hollywood and soon afterwards met (with Valentin) as a dancer among many on the set. Caught by her charm, the star for newcomer helps to a small role, oh yes he did.

Two years later, the demise of silent films was sealed. Valentine stubbornly refuses to accept this, and produced his next silent film itself, he has the same day as the new sound film premiere, in which Miller plays Peppy (confusion – must start reading press kit), go and miserably at the box office.

Valentine withdraws depressed, drinks (my man!) and is exhibited by his wife before and through the door. He must leave all his belongings auctioned off, and soon no one knows him (Uggie knows him – cleanly, you perverts!).

Only Peppy who has become the diva of the sound film entertains, continued feelings for him and tried to help him. But his pride gets in the way of their love.

U2 saw this. In the past. Or in this case, the future.

Enough plot. Spoilers are not in this. Yet.

Writer-director Michel Hazanavicius has dared to experiment, to swim against the stream (salmon!) and see if you still can make a silent film, which arrives at the audience.

With the elegant play of black and white film with light and shadow bathes the story in the Roaring Twenties, when the men still like tails (coats, not booty) and the women wore curly short hair and short dresses.

In 1927 George Valentine’s latest film, accompanied by a live orchestra, shown in a cinema that resembles an opera house.

Then the star interacts with its ubiquitous little dog Jack (Uggie – SAG award for the dog! Now!!!) on stage to be feted by audiences Jean Dujardin plays George Valentin, first as a light-footed charmer, a man who basks in the affection of his audience before he then almost at the abrupt end of his career break (see George Clooney and “Up In The Air Flying”).

Lots of music and the faithful little dog who is looking out for his master support, with Dujardin here to describe this inner drama effectively.

With the start of the new sound film era actor came out great on camera, here it is shown by Bérénice Bejo as Peppy Miller. Her bigger than Jupiter (Jupiter? The Sun!) eyes gives the whole story a fresh, even contemporary twist – and yank my heart chain.

She gave my area an expansion (totally). Her film character has a sincere thing and does not rise to the success of her head, which was as successful as her body (my area, again).

At the same time but she suffers because she can not find a way to get closer to the deep hurt in his pride Valentine. In spite of the cardiac pain, which he describes, the film also maintains a comedic, upbeat tone.

There are places where one sees clearly amazing what people say at the moment, although we hear nothing of it – silent! If only the “blue hairs” in row sitting behind me could stop their mouth flaps.

Talking in cinema should equal death. Painful death.

Enough!

My thumbs strain to the heaven place, having seen, of the year, the best film! I can review again!

Until the next “Transformers” or “Twilight” shit storm. I promise to like movies until then, of course.

Bérénice Bejo? Not just my thumbs strain sky-ward (dirty!). Ginnifer Goodwin, you exist no longer.

I am ready for Bérénice to do the Humpty Dance. On my thing. But not silently, nor in black and white. Loud, and with color. Perfection.

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

P.S. From “Shark Night 3D” to my television – Katharine McPhee!!! Have I died? Or finally Kossu madness? Good feelings need no question answered. Time for another shot. And time to DVR “Smash.”

Tag: Ed Lauter

Trouble With The Curve [REVIEW]

The Artist [REVIEW]