‘Kill Bill’: How A Crappy “ghettoplex” Theater In Chicago And A Giant Rat Made Me Fall In Love With This Tarantino Classic

On November 8, 2024November 8, 2024 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Amongst other reasons.

Chapter One: The Man From Knoxville, TN

I’m not a Tarantino stan by any means, though like many, I admire his work and his unique voice. I was too young to see his early stuff like Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. Only years later did I appreciate True Romance and Jackie Brown.

The two-time Oscar winner and pastiche-r of genres is kind of the patron saint artist for college students. Or cult leader, if you prefer. I would hear about him all the damn time and how great his movies are when I was in school. I think that’s why I put off watching them for so long. They were so constantly hyped up like “You gotta see it, bro!” that it had the opposite effect on me. I actually fell asleep the first time I was made to watch Pulp Fiction. I’m still kinda neutral about that one. I see the appeal, but it just never captured me, as most films featuring race as a prominent theme generally don’t. I have a younger cousin who loves it and calls it his favorite film.

Tarantino dominated the 1990s. His turn-of-the-millenium output has seen equal critical and commercial success, though maybe not in the same generational-zeitgeisty way as his early stuff. Even now, I passively follow his work, which for me remains hit or miss. I only recently saw Inglorious Basterds. Miss. Never saw Death Proof. Saw Django Unchained once. Eh, it was okay. Hated The Hateful Eight. Enjoyed Once Upon a Time…In Hollywood, though it felt underdeveloped and indulgent.

I do, however, fucking love Kill Bill Vol. I and II.

Kill Bill holds a special place in my heart. Not just because I really like the story, but because of the memorable venue where I originally saw it. I was 21 and going to a private college in north Chicago in 2003. Loyola University sits wedged alongside Lake Shore Drive and Lake Michigan, and like many city schools, criss-crosses different neighborhoods of varying class levels. You’ve got your gentrified hipster streets, your more “ghetto” areas, your working class avenues, and your young professional couple cheapo condo building spots. Of course you have all the retail staples. Chinese food. Delis. Convenience stores. And bars. Lots of bars.

And you have the “ghettoplex.”

Chapter Two: The “Ghettoplex”

The “ghettoplex.” This was a tiny run-down old fashioned style theater on North Sheridan Road. Opened in 1913, it’s name was originally The Regent. In 1990 new ownership renamed it Village North Theater. Then it became the New 400 in 2009. Like many theaters, Covid punched it hard in the face. But it eventually reopened. Only to suddenly (and finally?) close in 2023.

I never knew the theater by any of its real names. It was just the ghettoplex around campus. The ghettoplex had only a few auditoriums. It attracted an eclective mix of people from all walks of life. Mainly broke college students. But also hipsters. Whites, Blacks, Hispanics. Uptight professionals. Homeless. Thugs. Everyone. Every screening was a melting pot and often chaotic, with people shouting at the screen, getting up and down, arguing, throwing food, amongst other activities. Even though I typically hate interruptions during movies, the ghettoplex was the one venue in which it seemed not just appropriate, but even welcome.

In other words, it was the perfect place to watch the vibrantly raucous Kill Bill: Vol I.

I was instantly attracted to Kill Bill from the trailer and all the advertising, as it looked unlike anything I’d ever seen. Which is ironic, considering it’s a blend of several classic film genres; namely spaghetti Westerns and ‘70’s Bruce Lee-style Martial arts flicks, combined with noirish crime and pulpy gangster revenge stories. Some people credit No Country for Old Men (2007) with starting the neo-Western trend that still continues today with The Last Stop In Yuma County (2023). But I think Vol. II of Kill Bill has an argument for being a bigger influence.

That Tarantino was splitting his new film into two parts felt audacious also. The Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions did that the same year. But they were both highly anticipated sequels to the beloved 1999 hit. It felt strange for even a respected artist like Tarantino to do the same with an original story that didn’t already have millions of built-in fans. Especially after a six-year hiatus from film making. His last film Jackie Brown (1997) didn’t exactly light the world on fire. There were even whisperings that Tarantino was just a ’90s man. That he wouldn’t make the jump to the new century with us coming-of-age Millennials.

I didn’t really care about Tarantino’s earlier works. I hadn’t even seen them at the time. All I knew was Kill Bill looked pretty badass. So, off to the ghettoplex I went the weekend of October 10, 2003.

Chapter Three: Ratatino, The Giant Rat

Movie theaters today are trying so hard to create immersive viewing experiences. There’s 3D, IMAX, 4DX, those D-Box seats that vibrate, stadium seating, and the latest and greatest in The Sphere in Las Vegas, NV, which has a near 360-degree wrap-around screen that’s so transportive it will give you anxiety. I highly recommend going. It’s mindblowing.

However, no theaters have considered the visceral experience that our good friends of the Rodentia order can freely provide during a film screening.

Kill Bill provoked hoots, hollers, “oh shits,” “fuck nawws,” and more from the get-go. The opening scene where The Bride surprises suburban homemaker Vernita Green (aka Copperhead) was a riot. “I should have been motherfucking Black Mamba,” brought laughs. The Kaboom cereal attack and its subsequent knife to the heart caused gasps. It was the kind of rare opening where you just knew you were in for a classic good time.

For me, the strongest reaction came at about the mid-point. It was right after when The Bride visits Hattori Hanzo to have a custom-made Samurai sword made and she’s off to Tokyo to deal with O-Ren when a giant rat ran across the bottom of the screen.

Now, for years I had often heard the legend of New York City’s giant sewer rats. As a new citizen of Chicago, it had not even occured to me that such massive cat-sized rodents could also live in the Midwest.

This rat was fucking huge. I’m not sure if it was in front of the screen or behind. It was a giant black shadow that scurried underneath Uma Thurman while she was determinedly seated on the airplane as The Green Hornet theme played. It ran across, its tail flopping behind it as thick as a coaxial cable, until reaching the other side and disappearing. The memory is burned into my brain. I’m not sure if anyone else even noticed it, as nobody reacted. I asked my friends that I’d gone with later about it, and they swear they never saw a rat. But given that the theater was called the “ghettoplex,” perhaps such gargantuan infestation was simply expected. Maybe this particular R.O.U.S. frequented the establishment and was well-known. I don’t know. But it freaked me out in kind of a good way.

What made it even better was that not long before, The Bride tells Hanzo about how she has a giant rat to kill (meaning Bill, of course). Did “Ratatino” (the name I gave him) hear Uma mention his species namesake, and take that as a cue to come out of hiding? Who knows. But I’m glad he did. God bless you Ratatino, wherever you are.

Chapter Four: Kill Bill and I

Have I mentioned how much I fucking love this movie? Good, I’ll jump into the many reasons why.

1. Uma

Okay, ngl, Uma Thurman became my movie crush for years after Kill Bill, displacing Katie Holmes’ solid four-year run, and knocking out an insurgent Jessica Alba. But aside from my own star-struck amore, Thurman really was perfectly cast for the role of The Bride/Beatrix Kiddo. I only found this out recently, but it was actually she and Quentin who conceived of the idea for Kill Bill while on the set of Pulp Fiction. This is why the credits for the story are “Q&U.” Tarantino refers to Thurman as his “muse.” It’s easy to see why. Uma’s tall, near-Amazonian figure ignites the screen, hacking and slashing away like a blonde supermodel Grim Reaper. The movie thrives on juxtapostion and irony — West meets East, red blood on snow, spaghetti Western meets Kung-fu flick — a killer ex-bride (and mom) on a bloody rampage is striking. Her big blue eyes are as close to “anime eyes” as one can physically get without CGI enhancement. The whole effect is instantly iconic.

Very often, whenever talk of “badass action heroines” comes up, the go-to examples are always Ellen Ripley or Sarah Connor. Sadly, The Bride seems to be constantly left out, and deserves to be placed atop that stage. Uma’s performance is also enhanced mightily by the character’s maternal qualities, which mirrored her own. She’d already had two children by filming, and her daughter Maya Hawke was almost the same age as her movie-daughter B.B.

Uma also deftly handles the film’s more darkly comedic elements. Tarantino flicks are known for their outlandish violence, but it’s their nuance, complexity, and subtext that make them endearing and memorable. During The Bride’s interactions with O-Ren, her attitude shifts across a range of channels — vicious determination, inside humor, cruel taunts, sharp retorts, respect, and even tenderness. There’s a sense the two women were once best friends before the falling out. A hard subtlety to pull off, which Uma does in spades. Her whole performance is solid throughout.

2. Soundtrack

It may be cliché to describe a film as a “symphony,” but in the case of Kill Bill, it’s apt, and largely because of its pitch perfect soundtrack. As we first saw in Reservoir Dogs with the “Stuck in the Middle With You” scene, Tarantino likes to pick ironic music during violent scenes. But many of the musical cues are also just traditionally fitting. And “original.” Not in the sense that all the music was written specifically for the film. In the sense that much of the music was comprised of lesser known hits that Tarantino dusted off and reused in surprising and dove-tailing ways.

Some of my favorites are “The Flower of Carnage,” which plays directly after The Bride gives O-Ren the worst haircut ever. The song bears significance, as it’s sung by Meiko Kaji, an icon of Japanese cinema, who famously played Lady Snowblood (1973), an inspiration for Kill Bill. “Crane/White Lightning” by RZA is another one I enjoy. “The Demise of Barbara and the Return of Joe” perfectly encapsulates the end of the climactic battle between Beatrix and Bill. “Battle Without Honor or Humanity” was a major hit from the soundtrack.

3. The Mythology

One of the ways a great film pulls you into the embrace is with its often implied but sometimes depicted mythology. Star Wars is the best example of this, of course. Who the hell is this Darth Vader guy? Why has this Ben guy been hiding out in the desert? What’s a Clone War? While its prequels and sequels filled in the details with mixed results, what makes the original special is all the mysterious backstory.

Kill Bill does a similar thing. Giving us just enough backstory through flashbacks to keep the main story going, but also digging into the classified files, so to speak, of many of its characters. There’s a whole animated sequence that shows O-Ren Ishii’s tragic childhood that lead her to taking over the Yakuza gang in Tokyo. Even O-Ren’s bodyguard Gogo Yubari gets a mini biopic.

My favorite is the chapter “The Cruel Tutelage of Pai Mei,” which shows us quite explicitly how The Bride became trained to what is practically a supernatural-level of martial arts expertise. Then there’s the sequence with Hattori Hanzo. If there’s one criticism I have, it’s that I wished we could have seen a little of Hanzo actually making the sword. But perhaps it’s better that it remains a mystery how a seemingly simple bar owner in Okinawa is able to craft a weapon that can “cut God.”

4. The Venn Diagram “Super Movie”

To go along with Number 3, Kill Bill is also a good example of what differentiates a great story from a pretty average one. It combines a number of narratives that could on their own be a movie, into a “super” movie— like a Venn diagram — with the main one in the middle. You could do a whole film just on Bill founding the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad, Pai Mei, O-Ren, even Gogo Yubari.

To say nothing of the some of the “loose ends.” What in the hell happened to Sofie Fatale? Actually, I don’t want to know. Did Elle Driver make it out of the desert after losing her eye? My vote is the Black Mamba snake eventually got her. Will Vernita Green’s daughter Nikki grow up seeking revenge on The Bride? More on that in Chapter Five. Here’s where editorial and artistic restraint are needed. Sometimes it’s better to leave people wondering. It’s not always best to fill in all the details, as some of the excessive and creatively bankrupt Star Wars spin-offs have shown.

5. The Subversive Humor

The Pussy Wagon. Kaboom cereal. Much of the Bride and Elle’s fight. Budd’s shitty station in life as a bouncer at the titty bar. Beatrix Kiddo’s name reveal in the kid’s classroom. Boss Tanaka provoking O-Ren’s sensitivity about her mixed Japanese and Chinese heritage (a scene I always appreciated as a mixed-race person myself). I could go on and on.

Striking the right balance in tone for a movie about a woman going around cutting people’s heads off is tough. But necessary. Like much of Tarantino’s work, Kill Bill is very self-aware and post-modern. The bloody graphic kills in the Showdown at the House of Blue Leaves are cartoonishly but purposely over the top.

6. The Cliffhanger

The end of Kill Bill Vol I., where Bill reveals to the butchered Sofie that The Bride’s daughter is still alive elicited a few gasps from the rowdy audience at the “ghettoplex,” as I recall. It’s one of the first real film cliffhangers I remember that left me really wanting to know what happened next. As I was never a fan of the Star Wars sequels, the ending of The Empire Strikes Back never rustled my jimmies. The end of Matrix Reloaded was tepid and actually kind of confusing. The only other film ending that left me really wanting more was, oddly enough, The Blob. A film with a sequel tease that’s still not been paid off some thirty years later.

Making it all the better was that Kill Bill Vol. II premiered on April 16th, my birthday, the following year (2004). What a perfect birthday present.

7. Zoë Bell’s Balls (And Uma’s Balls, Too)

I’d be remiss not to mention the Herculean (or perhaps She-Hulkian) physical contributions made by the peerless and legendary stuntwoman Zoë Bell. Bell sustained serious injuries filming the scene where The Bride gets blown away by Budd’s shotgun blast. In addition to being a “crash and smash” double for Uma, Bell also doubled for her in the fight scenes, becoming trained on swordplay and combat moves herself. Stunt work is often underappreciated, but the work done in Kill Bill went above and beyond. Both Bell and Uma got put through the ringer for our entertainment.

There’s also this dark episode from the making of the movie that honestly hampers my enjoyment of the film. Tarantino pressured Thurman to perform a dangerous driving stunt that wound up leaving her hospitalized with neck and knee injuries that she still suffers from to this day. The accident led to a falling out between her and Tarantino for 15 years. Uma doesn’t blame him so much as she blames the film’s executive producer Harvey Weinstein — yeah, this fucker again — for trying to sweep the whole thing under the rug. Check out this link here detailing Thurman’s account of the ordeal, which also contains a frightening video of the car crash. It’s very sad and sickening for any actress to be forced into a stunt for which she is not trained or prepared. But to do it to the star of your movie who inspired the story itself, is grossly irresponsible and monstrous. This is on top of Thurman having had an encounter with the disgraced former Hollywood producer in which Weinstein allegedly assaulted her in hotel in the ’90s. You can read about that here.

Uma Thurman describes her experience after the crash as “dehumanization to the point of death.” It’s a stark and scary reminder that for all its glitz and glamour, Hollywood is at its core, a brutal business that has allowed some real abusive assholes to gain power. There is a human cost that sometimes takes place behind the camera that often goes unnoticed. The unseemly developments I’ve mentioned don’t ruin Kill Bill. They do, however, give me a recontextualized appreciation for all the literal blood, sweat, and tears that went into making it.

8. Poetic Fights And Fates

Perhaps Kill Bill’s most creative component are all the diverse and fitting ways in which members of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad get their comeuppance for their role in Bill’s attack on The Bride. Vernita Green’s death is quick and brutal, hinting at the fact that likely the two women were never exactly close. As I mentioned earlier, O-Ren’s drawn-out “graceful” demise indicates that she and Beatrix were probably besties at one point.

As her former brother-in-law, it seemed The Bride was satisfied with giving Budd a quick and painless death by surprising him at his shitty trailer. But a Black Mamba still wound up getting him anyway due to the vicious one-eyed Elle Driver. Driver and Beatrix were clearly hated rivals of one another, both professionally, but also romantically over Bill. Elle tells Bill, “You need me baby, I’m there,” over the phone before her surprise confrontation with The Bride. Their duel is a messy cat fight, ending after Beatrix yoinks Elle’s eye. This after Elle sneeringly and proudly confesses to poisoning Pai Mei, who plucked out her eye for impudence during her training.

Then there’s Bill’s death, which is both cathartically satisfying, but also bittersweet and tragic. At its core, Kill Bill is about a serious marital spat, and all the fallout that ensues. Both sides can be blamed. I always got the sense that if Beatrix had explained her side to Bill about not wanting her daughter to grow up in the life rather than just running off, he’d have likely understood and made proper arrangements. A workable compromise probably would have been reached. But this is not a story about rational, level-headed people. This is a story about brutal killers who think impulsively. We’ll never know what could have been.

9. Even Side Characters Are Memorable

This kind of goes along with mythology in Number 3. One of Tarantino’s gifts is in creating very lived-in minor characters that look like they were breathing and eating long before being summoned for their short appearance. Take Esteban, for example, the Mexican pimp and father figure to Bill. There’s a whole history to this guy and and how he raised Bill, but he’s gone after all of five minutes of screen time.

And let’s not forget Buck. Who’s here to do what? Fuck. A rather simplistic and base behavioral drive. But an unforgettable one, for sure.

10. The Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique

It’s fucking awesome. ‘Nuff said.

Chapter Five: The Blood-Splattered Sequel Rumors And Conclusion

This past October 10th, 2004, it’ll have been 21 years since the premier of Kill Bill Vol. I. It’s hard to believe that much time has passed. For me it’s a literal whole other lifetime ago.

Not long after the conclusion of Vol. II, rumors began to swirl about a possible third installment. All kinds of theories abounded regarding possible plots. The most popular being a grown-up Nikki Green seeking out Beatrix to get revenge for killing her mother, with an assassin-trained adult B.B. being in the mix.

As much as the fan in me would love to see a third Kill Bill, I’m not sure it should happen. I’m very much a “completionist.” When a story is done, let it be done. I feel that way, as do many others, about the first two Alien and Terminator films. I feel that way toward Kill Bill. It ends as perfectly as it could. Why ruin that with a sequel? The whole point of the two-part film is The Bride rescuing her daugher from her savage life for a peaceful one. Which she does. But perhaps Bill is right in his “Superman talk.” Maybe Beatrix Kiddo is a killer at heart. Maybe it’s just a matter of time before that deadly assassin life will pull her back in. We’ll just have to wait and see. But I’d much rather think of Beatrix and B.B. living happily ever after.

Movie Review – Barbarian

On October 30, 2024October 30, 2024 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Barbarian: Timely Treatise On Sexual Assault, Or B-Movie Schlock? Or both? A well-crafted but weirdly-structured flick.

By 20th Century Studios — https://www.imdb.com/title/tt15791034/mediaviewer/rm3095860225/?ref_=tt_ov_i, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=71533473

Last night I finally had the chance to catch Barbarian, the 2022 horror film written and directed by Zach Cregger. Like most films with memorable twists that I’m not able to see the very second it premiers, I had this one spoiled massively for me due to rampant YouTube reviews with certain images in the thumbnails.

Can we talk for a second about the humanitarian crisis this clickbait spoiler-craze really is? Barbarian is the just the latest in a string of highly anticipated films and shows that had plot reveals ruined for me. Don’t Look Now was, too. I’ve also had every major plot twist of Invincible (my new favorite show) shoved in my face thanks to YouTube shorts and “critical analysis” vids. It’s frustrating, but I suppose that’s the way things are now.

That said, SPOILERS incoming.

Barbarian starts off appearing to be your standard Hitchcock-style roommate stalker thriller, like The Resident or Single White Female. A young woman named Tess (Georgina Campbell) shows up late at night during a thunderstorm to her AirBnB in a decrepit part of Detroit, only to find someone else staying there. A young man named Keith, who looks nice enough. But can she really trust this guy? Somehow their reservations were booked simultaneously, leading to the awkward situation of two strangers having to share a house for the evening.

After Tess is unable to find a hotel due to a medical conference, she’s forced to spend the night. But soon she discovers this AirBnB has dark, macabre secrets, including a creepy basement room with a dirty mattress and a subterranean labyrinthine that seems straight out of a Kane Pixels “backrooms” video. But that’s only the beginning of the terror. A hideous humanoid monster also lives down there, too. And she feels the need, the need to feed.

Then suddenly we cut to Southern California, where working actor AJ (Justin Long) is cruising along in his convertible when he receives word from his agent/producer that he’s been accused of rape by a former co-star. With his life in shambles, he’s forced to liquidate some assets to pay for legal defense. So he flies off to Michigan to visit his, you guessed it, AirBnB rental property, where Tess and Keith just disappeared. It isn’t long before he too is captured by the monster, who has a bizarre need to “mother” her captives by forcibly breastfeeding them.

Suddenly, we’re launched into a flashback to the early 1980s, when the neighborhood was in good shape. We’re introduced to Frank, a middle-aged single man who kidnaps young women and holds them prisoner in his house of horrors. The “mother” creature there now is the hideous offspring of numerous inbreeding generations over four decades. Essentially, the ultimate thematic representation of male sexual assault coming home to roost.

—

Barbarian is mostly a smartly-written B-movie flick with a tight opening act. But I’m not sure the transition from its tense-filled beginning into a sequence straight out of The Hills Have Eyes, entirely works. It feels like two seperate stories were mashed together in the service of creating a Get Out-style socially conscious horror film. It’s tonal shift and plot twist is basically Psycho. Even Keith, played by Bill Skarsgård, reminded me of Norman Bates. The underlying theme regarding male violence, sexual harassment, and rape, is a relevant and timely one.

The movie is a cut-above the “hilbilly horror” schlock of the early 2000s, such as Wrong Turn or Jeepers Creepers. I enjoyed it, overall. But the film was far more engaging during its subtext-soaked first act, when even something like a simple bottle of wine appears menacing. When it becomes a freaky monster mash, it loses its thematic impact. Sexual predators rarely appear like the monsters they are. They’re often smooth talkers, manipulating their victims emotionally, only implying the threat of violence, until finally trapping them. Sexual assault is a grotesque physical crime, but much of it is psychological, too. Such ghastly human behavior is better explored realistically to relay its horror. AJ has a conversation with his best friend at a club, where he confesses how he had to “convince” the young actress to have sex with him, which is far creepier and more true to life. As is his later drunken phone call to his victim. AJ is a classic “mild-mannered” wolf in sheep’s clothing abuser. Clark Kent, except he rapes instead of changes into a hero in a phone booth. That sort of everyday psychopath is far more intriguing to observe than just another mutated creature.

There are many illogical plot turns and character choices that no sane person would ever make. While it’s believable that a single woman might stay at an AirBnB with a strange man by herself due to a reservation mix-up, you’re telling me she never even checked out the surrounding neighborhood? Google Maps is your friend. I also highly doubt anyone, male or female, would keep heading down into a creepy labyrinthe, even if their new guy friend was supposedly in trouble. The irritated police showing up, only to dismiss Tess as just another slumming crackhead, was far too convenient. Most police have very good sixth senses. Tess comes across as clearly educated and articulate, i.e. someone you take seriously. And wouldn’t there have been a history of young women disappearing in the general neighborhood that would trigger some suspicion from the cops? Frank’s abductions numbered in the dozens. There was no logical need for AJ to even visit his rental property, as liquidating it could all be done via email and pdf file signatures. He only went there because the plot needed him to. And how did a malnourished inbred freak develop super strength and become a giant? Most victims held prisoner in similar cases have usually turned up bony and uncoordinated due to isolation and vitamin deficiencies.

Then there’s that ending, which was almost laughable.

These questionable elements aside, and its jarring narative shifts, Barbarian is a decent film worth checking out.

How to Save ‘Star Wars’ from a Guy Who Doesn’t Give a Shit about ‘Star Wars’

On October 14, 2024October 14, 2024 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

Probably the most sarcastic article you’ll read all year.

When your franchise’s latest installment sounds like a brand of female sex toy, you might have a problem.

“Girlfriend, my Acolyte just came in the mail. My weekend is all set.”

How do you keep up with the torrent of Star Wars content these days? I barely remember my own birthday anymore while there are whole YouTube channels and publications devoted to following this garbarge.

I’ll tell you one thing. None of this new stuff feels epic. It all puts off weird local hipster playhouse energy. As if the same cornballs behind Lesbian Interpretative Dance: The Musical, or My Vagina and Me, A Monologue, were suddenly put in charge of a billion dollar brand and told let ‘er rip.

The original Star Wars and even Empire Strikes Back felt on par with stuff like Lawrence of Arabia or Dune or Lord of the Rings. The new shit feels small and unimaginative, and so slick-looking it looks like it was shot inside an empty bag of potato chips. Really, go compare the recent Dune trailer, or Avatar: The Way of Water, to any new Disney+ Star Wars stuff. No contest.

I don’t give a shit about Star Wars. I never really did. I count myself lucky I never saw it as a young kid. There was a brief time when I was 15 or 16, after I’d seen the original ’77 release that I sort of got into it. I admired the storytelling and the special effects. But it was nothing really special to me. For me, the “saga” was contained to one very good film, end of story. I never cared for Empire because it was like a weird Muppet movie, and the “romance” between Leia and Han felt immature and highschoolish. The first half of Return of the Jedi was decent, then it became a wacky cartoon with teddy bears.

I will admit I was one of those suckers in 1999 who got swept up by the hype for Phantom Menace. Then I saw it, hated it, and realized the whole franchise was purely a cynical toy-marketing machine for baby-men. I skipped Clones, but did check out Sith out of morbid curiosity and because I was reassured it was “good.” It was not. It sucked, too.

I can trace back to the exact moment I lost all interest in Star Wars, and in fact, began to actively hate it. I was in some sports good store years ago, mid-2000s maybe, when I spotted a Jar Jar Binks fishing pole.

Even I knew Jar Jar Binks was the most hated character in Star Wars lore. And they’d made a line of fishing poles with his face on it? I couldn’t get over thinking about how at one point some lawyer had to have handed Lucas a form to sign to authorize the manufacture of a Jar Jar Binks fishing pole. And Lucas sat thinking yes, this is a great idea and a necessary thing for my legacy and franchise income stream. I saw that fishing pole as a symbol of the ultimate abandonment of art and storytelling and the selling of one’s soul in exchange for a few more pennies. From that point on, I began to despise anything and everything associated with this shitshow called Star Wars. It offended me on a deep level.

Then came the asinine sequels from Disney/Abrams and Rian Johnson. The Force Awakens, an obvious clone of A New Hope, only with an even bigger death star this time. It took me four nights to hate-watch Last Jedi, and believe me, it was paaaainful. That was the last I saw of the franchise. I recalled hearing about various Disney+ shows, but in the same sense as one hears in the news about a new virus discovered in the rainforest. Just something to be ignored while you hope you don’t get infected.

Having said all that, you might think I’d be the last guy in the world you’d want trying to save this sorry ass franchise. You’d be right, of course. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have some ideas.

1.) Make ‘Star Wars’ Bigger and Blacker

There are apparently armies of Youtubing dorks crying about how Star Wars is “woke” now, which is why it sucks so hard. I’m not entirely sure what “woke” means anymore, other than it seems to often boil down to the intolerable presence of too many Black people and/or gay people and/or gay Black people in a show or movie. The YouTubing dorks are very quick to point out how that’s not the case, insisting that wokeness is purely about left wing messaging and poor storytelling or something, NOT race. Except it’s rare that I see the charge of “wokeness” levied against any show where Blacks/Gays-A-Plenty isn’t the demographic distinction. Meanwhile, the show creators bray on about diversity and inclusion and other virtue signal corporate buzzwords.

Hey, if you don’t like Blacks or gays or whoever in certain roles or movies or shows, just say so. It’s perfectly fine to prefer whoever you want. It’s like dating. No one’s obligated to like everyone. Freedom of association extends to whatever garbage you care to scroll through on the tube. It’s kind of painful and cringe watching people contort and twist themselves in knots trying to justify or lambaste particular people or groups, using meaningless words like “woke” or “diversity” or “inclusion.” The supporters of diversity acting all open-minded, as if they don’t have an online cancel mob gun to their head. The opposers trying hard to toe the line between reasonable criticism and outright prejudice. It’s all make believe anyway. Just be up front about it.

Now personally, I say fuck both sides. Why make some watered down half-ass “woke” compromise? I say commit all the way. Make the next Star Wars show or movie with ONLY Black people. And not just Black people, but Black women. You set the story on a planet populated entirely by a race of aliens who happen to look like Black women. Strong Black women, to be exact. Then you introduce a villain. A White guy. That’ll be the only White character in the entire show. What’s his motivation? Who cares. What’s his name even? Who gives a shit. He’s White, he’s evil, ‘nuff said. Then, after, say, half an episode of setting up the characters and showing how strong, Black, and female they are, the villain shows up. Then you spend the next seven episodes just having the strong Black women beating the shit out of the evil White guy until he dies or goes away. You know the famous hallway fights from the Daredevil series on Netflix? Just like that, only for seven episodes. That’s it, that’s the show. Anything less than that is racist and insufficiently woke, as far as I’m concerned.

Yes, I know I’m being ridiculous here. But I’m trying to illustrate a point by making an argument by absurdity.

A good example of the type of “post-racial-don’t-give-a-shit-about-offending-anybody” sort of vibe I’m going for is what you generally see in a Tarantino film. Like, say, Django Unchained. That movie pulls no punches. Django starts off as a downtrodden slave rescued by a White guy. But he ends the film blowing up a plantation and avenging the death of the White guy who saved him, and freeing his wife. All while looking badass doing it. That movie made over $400 million dollars and earned Tarantino his second Oscar for Best Original Screenplay.

Another good example is Avatar. That is an anti-colonialist, anti-imperalist, very pro-environmentalist-to-the-point-of-worshipping-nature-itself themed film. It’s very “woke,” technically speaking. One might even say anti-Western and anti-American. It’s made almost $3 billion. Conservatives and liberals all went to go see it and both came away loving it.

Point is, nobody really hates “woke” shit. What they really hate is weak, pandering shit that tries to do this halfway in, halfway out deal to please everyone. If your goal is to make a racially conscious Star Wars film, then fucking commit to that hard. Don’t just sprinkle in a bunch of minority actors as tokens of some half-baked rainbow messaging scheme, and then go around pattting yourself on the back. Don’t try to make the movie equivalent of that stupid We are the World singalong from the ’80s, or more recently, that ultra cringe Imagine singalong all those actors did during the Covid lockdown.

Moviegoers are thinking, conscious beings. They respect movies that STAND for things, even if they may disagree with the messaging. Even if the world is alien and strange and runs counter to their own natural experiences. Think about it. Imagine if these movies were like people. Does anyone like the guy with no identity who goes around desperately trying to get everyone to like him? No, everybody hates that guy because he’s a fraud. Don’t be that guy. Be yourself.

2.) ‘Star Wars’ is in Desperate Need of Butt Sex

In an interview, Leslye Headland, the lesbian showrunner for The Acolyte crowed (kind of jokingly, to be fair) about the show being the “gayest Star Wars ever.” I’d link the original interview but I couldn’t find it due to there being a million YouTube videos of crybabies talking about it that I had to wade through.

Headland is now sort of passively walking back her statement, saying:

I don’t believe I’ve created queer, with a capital Q, content.

The Acolyte apparently has lesbian space witches who are able to summon the force somehow, or whatever. Again, I pick up most info about Star Wars these days through osmosis, as one hears about the latest sordid engagements of the pass-around slut in high school. I’m not watching any of this shit myself, as I have a life and things to do.

I will say, however, that I’m going to call Headland’s bluff here. She says it’s the “gayest” Star Wars ever? Well, I went back to watch the trailer, and I don’t see anything gay in it whatsover. No kissing between a same sex couple. No hand holding. Certainly no butt sex, either.

Again, what’s with all this half-ass compromise? You don’t run a race to come in second, to paraphrase the Apostle Paul. And I’m pretty sure Paul would also say that you don’t set out to make “queer content” unless you’re planning on earning that capital letter “Q.” So here’s my solution: Full-on close-up anal intercourse and lesbian grinding (I believe it’s called “scissoring”). That’s it, that’s the show. Just close-up shots of penis in ass and vaginas rubbing against other vaginas. Maybe you have a small part of the background just off to the side of a butt cheek or waist. That could be part of a compelling mystery every week. What planet are we on? Tatooine? Naboo? Vulcan? More importantly, who’s banging who? Then maybe at the end of each episode the camera finally pulls back and reveals who’s been fucking the whole time. Obi-Wan and Darth Maul? Or maybe it’s Yoda being a surprise power bottom to a vigorously thrusting Boba Fett. Maybe Leia had a lesbian phase in space college, and spent nights getting it on with Ahsoka. The possibilites are endless. Think of the viral memes when fans discover Lando liked to take a deep dicking from Greedo. Now we’ll know for sure who shot first.

A budget for a show like this I could see easily being $600 million or so for eight episodes. That’s money well spent. You might say it’s risky to show explicit raw gay sex in a franchise meant for the whole family, but you want to get people talking don’t you? I guarantee you that’ll happen when millions click on Disney+ and see Vice-Admiral Hodo butt fucking Jabba the Hut.

The underlying point here, is don’t misrepresent your show. Don’t do it to score some virtue signal points. Don’t do it because you’re just trying to impress your stupid woke friends in the office. Don’t do it, period. Not every piece of entertainment needs to be some activist content. You don’t get to go around saying how gay-friendly you are because you stuck some random same-sex couple in the blurry background kissing each other, or because your showrunner happens to be gay. What the fuck does that have to do with anything? What does you liking the same sex have to do with the character on screen swinging around a glowing plasma sword? If the answer is, “Well, nothing, I guess,” then kindly shut the fuck up. You don’t need to fill the air with a bunch of superfluous details about your sexual preferences. No one is looking at you like you’re some civil rights hero. You’re not being interned in a prison camp. You’re not self-immolating in front of the UN. You’re making a stage play about space wizards. For Christ’s sake, get over yourself.

3.) Dig Deep into Rey’s Sex Life

Rey Skywalker? More like Rey Sexworker.

I never saw the final installment in the last trilogy of films. I don’t even remember what it was called. The Force Wakes Up Again? Palpatine Has Somehow Returned? Oh, yes. The Rise of Skywalker. That’s it. Ugh. What a boring, predictable title.

I remember even less about the plot, except for a lot of people on the internet complaining about the mixedupedness of the romance. First Rey was with Kylo, obviously turned on by that sweaty shirtless moment with him in Last Jedi. Then they’re fighting for some reason. Then they’re back together again.

All the while Finn is trying or not trying to get Rey’s attention because he may or may not have a crush on her. And what ever happened with the thing between him and that Asian chick Rose? Or maybe Finn and Poe were supposed to be banging all along. Talk about a missed opportunity for a hot gay romance.

You see how frustratingly annoying and wishy-washy all that is? What a load of weak sauce bullshit. This is like the worst high school romance YA book ever written.

All of these people are grown adults fighting a fucking war. You think there aren’t times they don’t get lonely and desperate? You think they wouldn’t want some action on the side? Let’s be frank here. Rey’s hot. She’s young. She’s nubile. She’s got a cute British accent. The girl’s got it going on. You think she wouldn’t have a boyfriend or at least some admirers orbiting around her on Jakku? You think when Rey was a slave she never had to give her master Unkar Plutt a blowjob in exchange for a slightly less severe beating that day? Because I guarantee you she did. You don’t even want to know what happened between Leia and Jabba the Hutt when the camera wasn’t looking. You think Ms. Organa choked the like out of the fat slug just because he licked her once? Nah, look at her face when she kills him. That’s the look of a woman who got fucked in the ass raw, no lube. Sorry to break it to you.

What is with these big Disney spectacle films where every character must be utterly chaste and sexless and romanceless? Why must every character be as untouched and pure as an unboxed collectible Star Wars toy? Why must every potential romantic interaction be juvenilized and made a big joke? Star Wars and Marvel films are meant to be modern day versions of Greek myths. Remember how the Greeks and Trojans fought an entire war because some dude wanted to bang an uber hottie named Helen? Remember how those hot naked Sirens lured men off Odysseus’ ship with songs of sex and pleasure?

Some of the biggest films ever have had major romances at their cores. Titanic being a great example. It has a steamy sex scene and it still beat Star Wars in the all-time box office gross back in 1998! But even in other more family-friendly “four-quadrant” films passions have run high. Superman gives up his powers to bang Lois Lane in Superman II. In The Lion King Simba and Nala actually get it on. In an animated kid’s film, no less. The Justice League cartoon from the early 2000s had a number of romance subplots. Yet somehow a science fiction/fantasy war epic featuring battle-hardened adult warriors with magical powers can’t handle personal relationships beyond what you’d see at an awkward middle-school dance party. That’s just plain pathetic and weird.

I’m not saying you’ve got to have romance injected in every relationship. But these Star Wars characters feel like they were written by robots. They’re so sanitized. They lack warmth and humanity because the characters themselves are denied an entire component of human nature. You can call it the Game of Thrones-ification of Star Wars if you want. I call it writing as if actual adults are in your story and not pacifier-sucking toddlers in grown-up clothes.

4.) Make the New ‘Star Wars’ Movie a Bait and Switch Infomercial

This is honestly such a cynically crass but also brilliant idea I can’t believe Disney hasn’t done it yet. It’s distilling decades of relentless Star Wars marketing into its purest form, while deceiving fans into thinking they’re getting a worthwhile adventure. So, what Disney has done the last ten years, basically.

First, you create the most exciting and epic trailer of all time for the next Star Wars movie. When I saw epic, I mean fucking EPIC. You hire A-listers. You steal all those CGI computers they’re using for Avatar and use them for the most mind-bending special effects ever made. You hire John Williams and Hans Zimmer to co-write the most unbelievable new score ever written. You spend $1 billion, if necessary.

Second, you hype the absolute shit out of this trailer. You buy every ad space possible. You send every actor onto every show to do nothing but talk about it. You stage viral moments. You show people fainting and having to be rushed to the hospital after watching it. You kidnap Mr. Beast and make him do a whole video just about the new Star Wars trailer. You buy TikTok if you have to and only allow Star Wars-themed videos in order to totally capture Gen Z. Then, when you’ve got every person on the planet foaming at the mouth, you’re ready for the final step.

Step three, you premier the “movie,” only for it to just be a ten-hour long infomercial with some old lady in a blue sweater pitching Star Wars merch with a 1–800 number for people to call in and order. Star Wars Episode X: QVC. That’s it, that’s the movie. You could sell replica light sabers, original movie props, costumes, autographed portraits, and hey, maybe even Jar Jar Binks fishing poles, too.

If you’re going to commercialize your show up the ying-yang, then you might as well commit 100% to the bit. Just go all out. Stop pretending like you care more about crafting a good story than shoving the next pile of toys and dolls down our throats. There’d be more dignity in it. I’d have way more respect for Disney if during the next opening Star Wars crawl it just said, “Buy our shit or get out, suckers.” Rather than a bunch of silly exposition about the Empire still being a threat somehow.

Besides, you know at least every senior citizen in the country would sit for the whole ten hours of the infomercial “movie.” Oldsters go gaga for that QVC shit. You’d probably make a decent profit in the end.

—

Anyway, I hope these suggestions have helped, or at least shined a light on some of the B.S. plaguing what is stupidly but evidently the most popular epic saga in American cinema history. I’ll never understand why that is. But I get it. Sort of.

If none of this has helped, then oh well. I don’t give a shit either way. Fuck Star Wars.

‘Dragged Across Concrete’ Dragged Me Across Concrete

On March 25, 2023October 16, 2023 By Dean BrooksLeave a comment

An underrated gory gem now enjoying a resurrection on Netflix.

How in hell did I miss this one? Dragged Across Concrete was largely forgotten, or lumped in with the rest of Mel Gibson’s many “geezer teasers” when it premiered in 2018.

The infamous, multiple Oscar-winning, somewhat professionally redeemed, devout Roman Catholic, and notorious anti-Semite Mel Gibson strikes pay dirt with a hard-hitting neo-noir grisly thriller. If you liked Gibson’s 1999 cigarette smoke-tinted Payback, with its clever tagline, “Get ready to root for the bad guy,” you’ll probably like this modernized pulpy drama actioner that Netflix just released on its platform.

Dragged Across Concrete hit number one on the streaming giant. And it’s not hard to see why. It’s dark, frightful, twisty, and solidly albeit unusually structured. It’s oddball narrative fits the type of style Netflix pioneered in such features as the flashback-heavy, side-character-packed Orange is the New Black, and the fast-forward-reverse of 2018’s The Perfection.

Crime thrillers are a genre that seem to excel at experimental wonky plot lines, seen most famously in Pulp Fiction. But also seen way back in Stanley Kubrick’s 1956 thriller The Killing.

Dragged Across Concrete centers on two detectives, Brett (Gibson), and Anthony (Vince Vaughn) in the fictional city of Bulwark, who get suspended when they’re recorded committing police brutality on a suspect. Faced with money woes, Brett calls upon a retired crime lord he knows, for the inside scoop on the whereabouts of any deep-pocketed drug dealers currently in town. His plan — rob the motherfucker, and use the cash to get his family out of the ghetto. Brett gets his mark, only to discover his supposedly small-time dealer target is actually part of a much bigger and deadlier heist. Dragging his partner Anthony along with him, the two dirty cops soon find themselves in over their heads against a gang of ruthless psychopathic bank robbers.

At the same time, we’re introduced to Henry Johns (Tory Kittles), who’s just been released from prison, and is looking for a side hustle himself. An associate of his, Biscuit (Michael Jai White), sets him up with a gig as the muscle for a couple of — wouldn’t you know it — bank robbers.

The two character sets converge in a propulsive and deadly third act. All the while, we’re shown the cold brutality of the bank robbers, as one of them scrounges up the money to buy an armored car by blasting away a cashier and two petty drug dealers. As well as a touching scene with a new mother trying to overcome social anxiety and return to work at her bank. A character we’re led to think will have some significance, only for her to…well, not quite fit into the robbery scheme as we expect.

“Nigger.” “Likewise.” Gibson and Kittles in a colorful exchange. Courtesy: Summit Entertainment

Dragged Across Concrete defies your standard thriller fare. It takes its time. It’s not a Point A to Point B crime knock-around, like Taken. It’s not your sophomoric dude-bro douchbag film, like Boondock Saints. There are no good guys. Its main character is racist and glibly unconcerned with the fact that his career on the streets has basically broken him as a man. Its supposed “hero” is cruely clever. Noble only in the comparative sense. Like the least offensive-smelling Dobermann turd amongst a pile of them in a junkyard. Refreshingly, it’s not afraid to depict Black city youths as menacing mongrels out to target Whitey. As opposed to merely misunderstood minors, like the media’s misrepresentations of Black police shooting “victims” like Travyon Martin and Michael Brown. Brett’s teen daughter gets splashed by orange soda by a gang of Black thugs on her way home from school early on, providing more impetus for the detective to get his family out of Dodge.

It’s also sickeningly gory in some spots. There’s one scene in particular, involving, shall we say, a crude surgical procedure, that would have been too excessive even in a slasher film.

The film is also disturbingly prescient and relevant, predating by two years the recording of Derek Chauvin’s kneeling on George Floyd until the suspect’s demise, which sparked nationwide riots in the summer of 2020.

Dragged Across Concrete is written and directed by S. Craig Zahler, who’s known for other gritty and grisly crime fare like Brawl in Cell Block 99, and the ultra violent Bone Tomahawk. Definitely worth a watch if you like smart, masculine crime films that pull no punches.