Mark Bridges – Behind the Proscenium

The Master

With Wit, Reviewed By Kimmo Mustonenen

I was audited.

Not by the sucking of blood monsters – the IRS assholes.

That is numbers.

Easy are the numbers. No.

They tried to audit my brain stem.

Walking down Hollywood Boulevard see the hotness. She stands, nearly perfect, handing out a tiny paper for the handing out.

“Free auditing” it says.

“Go further into the Hollywood heart” or something like that. I cannot resist her boobishness (they were magnificent).

So I go. Free audit is cool!

They give me a “Test of Your Personality” instead.

I hold “the cans.”

My mind cries “what the fuck?” but it is too late.

I can be a better man, if only I have the money.

I will never get near perfect handing out of paper girl. She was the meat to attract this Finnish bear-man (not gay bear, you may understand my mouth from brain thoughts, or not).

I become aware of the thought that I’m surrounded by Scientologists.

Son of a bitch.

To them I lived 75 million years ago (thank you, internet research! You saved me millions of dollars!).

Xenu – the asshole of the story brings me to Earth flying on a 1950s Earth plane.

OK.

Then into a volcano, like a virgin whose meat curtains are intact, I am flung.

Then the bombing of the nuclear stuff. Boom!

We are all dead and floaty in space. Ghosts of space. Until onto bodies we cling, like ticks, or whores in Vegas with the money to make.

If I give up Kossu and the sweet weed my life will expand into others and money, greatness, and the ability to live in a closet (with Top Gun) will be mine.

Why this sharing of intimate and things that are close to my mind?

I just saw “The Master” and it is almost documentary in its truth.

The Cause is a front – cult to those who know what is a cult. No cans to hold on with hands, but Amy Adams… that is a rocker!

Plot? Totally in the face it comes!

First, Paul Thomas Anderson leads us in charming expressive fragments of the history of his protagonist Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) in mind.

Bird’s-eye view we see him on a warship with the noise and tries last night sleep high above the deck on a platform, from below him a bunch of sailors who party like sailors keep his awake.

The Second World War is over, Freddie is an alcoholic. Who isn’t?

A psychiatric admission and several jobs later, he is to have a drunk Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman) encounter, again on a boat.

Freddie follows, Lancaster is the leader.

Freddie has problems with Lancaster.

Lancaster has problems with Freddie.

There are motorcycles and a cool big boat on the floating of water.

And again, Amy Adams (yee haw!).

Much is happening.

Then it all arrives at basically “what the hell did my eyeballs just let enter my head?” And yet, awesome.

It has the look of well lit candy. Beautiful.

I need no sense to enter my mind parts. It is just good and cool.

So, two thumbs up, though slightly confused… the thumbs. Like the rest of my body parts.

Except for another part that is always up for Amy Adams. Heh.

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

P.S. Americahas gone to the dogs (this will be every headline, but I am always first)! At least on “America’s Got Talent.” Go, go you Olate Dogs! They know more tricks than a Kardashian whore with Ray J pretending that the camera was less than on. Again – go, go you dogs. Kardashians? Kiss my ass.

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: Mark Bridges

The Master [REVIEW]

The Artist [REVIEW]