Inside a busy deparment store… Santa is alone and enjoying a quiet moment as I go by.
Me: Hey, Santa – when are you going to leave me that pretty girl I keep asking for?
Him: First, get yourself on to the good list. I bet you don’t stay there long.
Inside a busy deparment store… Santa is alone and enjoying a quiet moment as I go by.
There was some sniggering in the aisles back in 2013 when Gina Elise added the Bomb Girl Patch to the merchandise at Pin Ups For Vets.
Bomb, huh? As I said at the time, it appears someone had a very sheltered childhood.
Today I discover the joke’s on me. A little bit on Gina, too, but mostly on me.
Bomb Girl is riding neither a bomb nor an (ahem) appendage, but a rocket.
Hard to imagine anyone in Hollywood being so forthright about their conservative views today.
Originally posted on Pacific Paratrooper:
Maggie’s tour truck
Martha Raye was a Vaudeville born actress, comedian, and movie star that was known for bold comedy. She was named “The Big Mouth”, not only because of her comedy, but for the physical trait.
Politically, Raye was conservative, affirming her political views by informing an interviewer, “I am a Republican because I believe in the constitution, strength in national defense, limited government, individual freedom, and personal responsibility as the concrete foundation for American government. They reinforce the resolve that the United States is the greatest country in the world and we can all be eternally grateful to our founding fathers for the beautiful legacy they left us today.”
Beginning in WWII, Raye started a lifelong commitment to entertaining and assisting the troops overseas. She worked with them during WWII, Korea, and Vietnam. Some nights she would do shows, but other nights, she’d skip the show because she’d been…
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I really don’t know what happened last year.
I enjoyed the movies… so I had reason to write. And I was unemployed… so I had time to write.
Somehow, in spite of all the advantages, 2014’s Revelation Film Festival was always out of reach.
Abii. Vidi. Ego non referre. (Except for Under The Skin, which featured in my premiere From Page To Screen post.)
And now here it is, 2015, and November already. Time to get my arse into gear! This year, something different: twin reviews, a movie from Rev 2014 alongside one of my 2015 selections.
The show begins with two very dark titles.
I was never a Dexter fan, so the name of Michael C. Hall didn’t mean a whole lot to me. After seeing Cold In July I tracked down a few episodes and came away rather impressed with Mr Hall’s acting abilities. After several years of Dexter the appeal of a character like Richard Dane would be hard to resist. Dane is a small town businessman; a little tubby, with a mo and a mullet. A popular but unremarkable member of the community – until he shoots a burglar. Dane was an imposing leap from the meticulous serial killer who delivered his special form of justice. But Hall makes the transition and does it well.
Sam Shepard appears presently as the father of the man Dane shot, and for a while this looks like another trip to Cape Fear. Dad’s gonna make you pay fer what you done, boy. But suddenly we’re on a new track altogether, when Dane realises the man he killed in his house is not the man the police buried. That’s when Don Johnson rolls into town as private investigator Jim Bob Luke, a man with a big white hat, a big red convertible, and no visible surname. Together the three men uncover a secret bargain that is repulsive, but entirely plausible. Richard Dane survives to go home to his family, but he’s paid a price for that piece good fortune. Next time he hears a burglar in his house, he might let the feller take what he wants and go.
The novel from which the movie was taken (yep, another p2s!) was written in 1989. The movie version of Cold in July keeps that setting, but it left the movie feeling slightly wrong – a shoe that doesn’t quite fit. VHS videotapes and war service in Korea are important points in the plot, but not so important that they couldn’t have been updated. Maybe it’s me… maybe I dislike the 1980s more than I realise.
Echoes of War has generally been belted by reviewers and audiences. Had it run for longer than 100 minutes I might have had time to agree with them. Civil War soldier, haunted by nightmares of the battlefield, brings his demons home to a tense situation between his family and the neighbours. You can see well before the end that it’s bound to go all Hamlet.
Between the scenery and the performances I found Echoes of War not too bad. James Badge Dale plays Wade, the returning warrior back home from being on the losing side in 1865. Confederate soldiers took the cattle from the McCluskeys, and they are now stealing from his brother in law and niece and nephew. Everyone is scraping to survive. But Wade, defeated on one battlefield, sees he has a new war to wage. Step by step he moves closer to a bloody confrontation with Seamus McCluskey, played with effortless style as usual by William Forsythe.
The cast includes Ethan Embry and Maika Monroe. Echoes of War, incidentally, was directed and co-written by Australian film maker Kane Senes. His short movie from 2010, A Relative Stranger, appears to have been the foundation of Echoes of War.
I’m assuming there was a cause to be promoted here.
An article on the CBC Toronto website picked up on the #illridewithyou campaign that began in Sydney after the Lindt cafe shootings. It’s a heartwarming article, full of care and concern. And for some reason I can’t determine, it’s leading people to a piece I wrote shortly after the siege.
As you might recall, I wasn’t so hot on the concept.
They’re a cheap, easy way to send a message. The message usually being ‘I care more than you.’
Four hours ago my two week holiday started.
In the first hour I witnessed a man who may have been under the influence fall on a stairway, get up cursing, and then carry on cursing at random strangers. Shortly after this my bus got stuck in a long queue of buses behind another bus. Like most machines I’ve encountered it had developed a mind of its own – and decided it didn’t want to move. Kind of like ‘Fuck you, I’m an Anteater!’ with wheels.
I managed to get off the bus courtesy of another passenger who was tall enough to hit the manual switch above the back door, which he did as he said some very discourteous things to the driver. He said them repeatedly and with considerable volume. The driver didn’t come out from behind his cage. I hit the footpath running – or at any rate walking very quickly.
The walk to the station, the train ride and the walk home were all completely uneventful. However, as I walked around to the fish and chips shop, I found a police car with the reds and blues going wild as the occupants of a small car were being interviewed. By the time I was coming back the other way a second police car had joined the party. Passenger in one vehicle, driver in the other (less comfortable looking), and their car locked up for later examination.
I’m hoping that this is the high point of my break, drama wise.
SPECTRE, the 24th James Bond film, has arrived. Daniel Craig has returned to play 007 a fourth time and seems to have been having a jolly time with the media during the advance publicity campaign. He’d rather slash his wrists than do another Bond film, according to reports, and this has led to all sorts of speculation about his successor. Will we have another blonde Bond? Is Hugh Jackman too old for the role? (probably, but I think he’d do rather well as Her Majesty’s Suave Assassin.) Also coming through quite clearly is the accusation of – well, I won’t say racism: let’s call it, extremely restricted thinking. The next Bond doesn’t have to be a white guy at all, according to one corner of the argument. What’s wrong with a black Bond?
Here’s my view on that. You want a black Bond? Fine. But that works both ways. Let’s make a John Shaft movie with Tom Hanks in the title role.
Tom Hanks? Sorry, I meant Tom Cruise. I don’t know what I was thinking back there.
The real problem as I see it with the next Bond is that people simply aren’t thinking BIG. Let’s turn 007 into a giant female praying mantis. Possibly gay, possibly not, but definitely Catholic and left-handed. And forget the Beretta. When she conquers her enemies in fight scenes she can just tear their heads off and eat them.
Obviously, a transformation of this magnitude would be a hard sell to audiences. Then again, writer Anthony Horowitz has pushed the boundaries by giving 007 a girlfriend and a gay male friend in Trigger Mortis. Silva, Bond’s enemy in Skyfall, evinced a distinctly sexual interest in 007; and of course Goldfinger wanted to run a laser through Bond – starting at the groin. But Mr Horowitz may have gone too far by making Pussy Galore into Bond’s girlfriend. Trigger Mortis is set in the months following Goldfinger. James and Pussy have hooked up and settled down into some sort of semi-domestic bliss. Which would inevitably have a few rough patches, given P-girl’s interest in her own gender…
Bond’s thoughts drifted as he waited for the lights to change. He was brought back to the present when three young women crossed the street, laughing at a private joke. One gave the hood of the Aston Martin a cheeky pat – the sort of half affectionate, half lecherous touch that Bond himself had applied to more than a few female bottoms. The irony wasn’t lost on him. 007 smiled. But his good mood went sour. He noticed Pussy’s longing eyes following the girls.
‘You promised me you’d given all that up,’ he said. The light turned green and Bond put the car in motion with a deliberate jolt.
Pussy was thrown backwards slightly into the leather seat. ‘I’m trying,’ she said, though it was more of a whimper than a statement. She turned to look at the opposite side of the street. Bond pretended to not hear her snuffling into a tissue.
And how would Miss Moneypenny handle the competition? No, the whole situation would get ugly in a very short time.
Speaking of ugly situations…
Photo: behind the scenes pic from SPECTRE, featuring Lea Seydoux, Daniel Craig, and Dave Bautista in the middle.
Comment: from the usual source.
(Mantis photo credit to Claire Anderson)
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