March 30, 2005
Hollywood's First Vlogger?
So I'm watching the Once Upon a Time in Mexico DVD from Netflix (which is a great value if you've got more time than money), and it's kind of a mess, but it looks cool and Johnny Depp is fun to watch and there's some Salma Hayek waist/hip ratio wonderment going on. Things blow up. You know, not a bad way to spend 90 minutes. And then all the DVD extras are about how Robert Rodriguez shot it on digital video as cheaply as possible, did everything he could manage to do by himself working from home (editing, scoring, adjusting the text on the damn DVD menu, etc.), and apparently shot the script he wrote with minimal interference from anybody else. He also gives out recipes.
So he's basically a blogger, right? With all the benefits and drawbacks thereof. Passionate, discursive, adamant about maintaining control, using the latest technology to get his point of view out to the world very quickly with a minimum of filters, self-indulgent... I guess his movies make money because he does away with all the extraneous stuff, but it would've been nice if he'd had somebody else there to tell him "No" sometimes. Just like bloggers! Except he actually makes money and people know who he is.
You think? Well, it was something to muse over instead of worrying about the plot, at least.
P.S. Sin City looks to be very pretty and very, very dumb. In other words, a perfect translation of the comic. I think one reviewer said it's not so much adapted as uploaded.
Posted by Jim Treacher at March 30, 2005 09:26 AM
I kinda got the same feeling watching "Supersize Me", but couldn't go any further once I saw Morgan puking up his breakfast on day 3 or whatever. (shudders)
I really like him...he's so damn enthusiastic and always seems to have a "what the fuck, might as well try it" attitude.
Robert Rodriguez gets a pass for making three Spy Kids movies that my kids love and for giving the world that spectacular Salma Hayek. She and Gong Li and Catherine Zeta Jones and that hot Indian actress are four women that are able to simply numb the brain with their beauty. And Jessica Alba, too.
After last night's Veronica Mars, I'd put Kristen Bell on that list too. That girl is just ridiculous.
Salma Hayek dancing on the table in FROM DUSK TILL DAWN is the hottest thing captured on film ever! OOF! Rodriquez made her put on weight so she would look like a Frazetta girl. Even the sight of Tarantino's swollen melon can't ruin that wonderful chunk o' celluloid.
For that scene alone, Rodriquez should win a 12-foot-tall Oscar©, filled with jellybeans and heroin.
I'm already practicing my cringing for when I hear Frank Miller's dialogue out loud, instead of just reading it.
Let's see, he directed a movie where Salma Hayek did a strip tease, and a movie where Jessica Alba is a stripper. I'd say he's a goddamn hero.
I like SIN CITY, Frank Miller, and Frank Miller dialogue.
"I like SIN CITY, Frank Miller, and Frank Miller dialogue", Sean whined.
Punk, I was going to have to teach him a lesson.
"Why you looking so antsy, Jim?"
Better not say. 'Uh, 'cause it's my time of month?'. I edge closer.
"You really need to lay off the caffine", Sean croaks in that nasally whine he calls a voice. He seems oblivious.
'So didya like it? Sin City, I mean,' I say. Anything until I can wring his scrawny neck.
I'm almost there. The asshole doesn't even notice, just drones on about his heroes.
"And what's with that damned Veronica anyway? Is she getting her perio..." Treach says, then stops, eyeing me suspiciously.
"Say, whatchya doing Jim?", Treacher asks. Fuck.
'Listening to Sean's theory! It's fascinating!' I say unconvincingly, not taking my eyes off Sean. He's still fucking droning on about Miller and pulp comics and 30's cops, getting the timeframe wrong by two whole decades.
Treacher doesn't buy it, I can tell. Why would he? Everyone wants to wring his neck. "I like pizza!", Sean exclaims, apropos of nothing. That's nice.
Just a little closer.
For a minute I think Treach is going to intervene. I might have to kill him too. "I have to go update the blog or something else that will take me out of the room", he says quickly, and then waddles away in a hurry.
I begin sweating. Sean is bound to notice something's wrong. Treacher never updates. Everyone knows that.
But it's too late.
"Hey, did I tell you back at the Outbreak I... *gawk*!" and I'm on him, beating him with the Ikea table leg rythmically, blood spurting everywhere. The only good an Ikea part ever did.
"Kill him! Kill him!" Kevin shouts in a high girly voice. "Oh Christ, that sounds like scripted dialogue, doesn't it?".
I keep hitting him on the head and chest, but he won't fucking die. Sean's surprisingly hard to kill for a scrawny little blogger.
Hubris just stood in the corner until I hit brain matter. "Fuck this, I'm out of here. Don't tell no cops I was here, got it?", and he bolts. Fucking can't believe he calls himself Hubris.
"Tell Salma Hayek...I love her..." Sean gasps as he breathes his last.
"Hey, that was supposed to be my line", says COOP.
See, not true to life at all. In reality, I sound like Froggy from the Little Rascals.
Fuck, James, it's like you were there when that...thing happened at the...place in Kentucky. I mean, that fictional thing. I mean, I wasn't even there.
In that fictional made-up thing, that is.