Oh Hi Everybody!

The last line in The Room is:
I fed up with the Wuurrrrld. God...forgive me.
This is suicide mumbo-jumbo in typical fashion
But is this movie really about a suicide?
Is it really about anything?
In Tommy's mind, yes.
That's why it's resonated as the worst ever, because of the gravity of realness that the movie envelopes paired with every aspect of it being strictly awful.
But in Tommy's mind.
But in Tommy's mind.
I've often thought who is Wiseau?

1) Is he just an idiot savant...a fool we use for entertainment and leave it at that?

2) Is he that rare order of artist duping us all through genius (and/or Time Travel)?

3) Is he an alien occupying a (sort of) human-looking body?

I think I know now that 3 is rulled out.  I've watched the Room enough times to know it wasn't made by someone that grew up under a completely alien set of environmental conditions.  I also feel inclined to rule out 1, for Tommy may be the actor in the roll, but he's no idiot.  I long thought that these 3 options would suffice as options but now I found myself left with only 2 and it does not define Wiseau.  He's sure duping us but not intentionally.  He's not an idiot, but he is extraordinarily odd and I believe that he has made a conscious decision to commit societal suicide, by embracing his true self.  Problem is that his "True Self" bears most resemblance to the "Idiot Savant" or "Autistic Savant" that has been evolving in meaning through time.  How does someone who has touched such a core with humanity and brought them together the way he did completely on his own get slapped with such labels?  Think about it fans.  "I fed up with the Wuurrrrld. God...forgive me."  What is real to Wiseau?  His suicide is to be stuck in this roll that we view him in.  Most of us will never even begin to see something more than an idiot savant being laughed at while we join in.  But a few of us will know that he has committed societal suicide, in other words his roll in society is not his own but one all of us have given him and he's found a way to embrace that.  I think most people just go crazy (Whatever that means), but Tommy has decided to relate to people but in the roll of the odd idiot that keeps us entertained.  He's more than that, just like all people are more than what they appear.  Remember that fans.

A Scanner Darkly meets Aaron Sorkin

HMFMH

Hai Shower Darkly with Glory Humane...

Moving at Light-speed is a pun on existence... 

Figuring shit out must be endless.

Moving at Light-speed is a pun on existence.

Hai Shower Darkly with Glory Humane.

Moving Phototroupism: The Best Worst Movies to Enjoy

Today's Entry...
Battlefield Earth
Year: 2000
Director: Roger Christian
Writer: Corey Mandell & J.D. Shapiro (Screenplay), L. Ron Hubbard (Novel (?))
Notable Stars: John Travolta, Barry Pepper, Forest Whitaker, Kim Coates (Find Them! Kill Them! Now!)
6 Degrees of The Apple: (*This one’s a 3-way connection because it’s simply too awesome) The Apple was directed by Menahem Golan who also directed Over the Top starring Sylvester Stalone who directed Staying Alive starring John Travolta and also Finola Hughes who got her start as a dancer in The Apple.
Shit Stain Status: 100% Shitty (Ubiquitously soiled through by the bane of humanity…2 Kardashians & Chet Stetman’s Cup)
Description: Constantly referenced as the worst movie ever, Battlefield Earth is certainly in the mix due to its rare combination of project scale, critical panning, and entertaining laughability.  The debate is useless as there are too many movies of varying production value and accessibility out there that were all made by complete dildos.  What isn’t useless is Battlefield Earth itself, which resonates properly among lovers of unfathomable shit as a classic bad movie.  Complete with a 9ft-tall John Travolta Alien speaking 18th-Century English, diarrhea-colored jail slop coming out of giant vacuum tubes, “lowly Clinko language slave” learning computers, flight simulator CGI that is reminiscent of NeoGeo graphics, and lines such as “Crap lousy ceiling! I thought I told you to get some man-animals in here to fix this!,” this movie has everything you could ever want when attempting to answer the time old question: Were these guys serious?...High?...Or Aliens?

Mattershed

Time travel in stasis.

The slowest way to live.

The slowest way to die.

Slow retard on the misunderstood rise.

If society were right.

Crippled world

on a 2D day

there's a Perception watching 3D fly by

Time slog

Reaching around

feeling the sound

material melt

along the cosmic song

What is a raging mute?

Where does the mule ride free?

The slowest way to live.

The slowest way to die.

Time travel in stasis.

Realities nest

on a 2D day

sees a method for technology fall from the sky

Time voyage

Rebuffed rights

failing the others

at light speed in the room

What is a raging mute?

Where does the mule ride free?

The slowest way to love.

The slowest way to hate.

Time travel in stasis.

Spirit watershed 

all around

Better than Sideways says a lot

Citizen Ruth (1996)
Directed By: Alexander Payne
Written By: Alexander Payne
Rating: 5 out of 5 Stars

Artists are on the pulse of what is true.  The vehicle they use may not always ride alongside Carl Sagan in the scientific literacy-mobile that cruises the neighborhood of Vega, but they always understand what is altruistically on display with the presence of Love.

In Citizen Ruth, Alexander Payne, long before satirically mesmerizing us with Election, About Schmidt and Sideways, displays with little error, the tantamount failure of the "American experiment".  As Laura Dern's character walks, free and silent, on 1 side of a fence, the opposite side is toiling in a timeless racewar over her...beautifully symbolizing the devolution of humanity, and with this final scene, Payne not only ties up one of the singular films of the 90's, but swiftly evicts the American Political landscape from the roundtable discussion, aloft and lost in the cosmic range...endlessly searching for another corruptible intelligence.

We start Citizen Ruth with a familiar guttural feeling.  With the gritty reality of the gen-x burnout culture on full display, he has our unpleasant attention, but instead of holding our dorky 1983 heads in the toilet with repeated flushing, he fantastically removes our heads and places them in the owl's eye, whom eternally presides on higher ground with a calm gaze over the American countryside.  What we see is a miracle...Ourselves and our bullshit put on display as we culturally act in one perceived reality, while we timelessly act in a radically different one (The first: The Left & The Right THINK they are helping humanity, The Second: The Left & The Right actually ARE hurting humanity).  We see the members of both sides do not care about Laura Dern or Laura Dern's unborn child, nor have they ever.  In each character, with the acception of Dern (and possibly the verteren Harlan), where some level of compassion may have existed, it was only replaced in time by the lie of Political Affiliation...the misappropriated value set of the American individual on full display.  Whether it be Religion, Politics, Cultural Heritage, Race, Gender is not  more important this corruptible will of the individual extant in Society.  Payne uses the Abortion issue as a very appropriate and smart vehicle to tell his 1997 story, but it easily could've been swapped for another.

He tells us that we make up our own minds, independently of all others, including parents, wives, husbands, priests, god, little talking heads trapped in our lamps, etc.  We are lucky to have the help of artists like Payne, who take what we know (even for a split second) to be true and articulate it.  We are lucky that he is able to articulate through the use of comedy.  And we are lucky that Laura Dern's character has what this reviewer believes to be the only possible outcome with her child: that child becoming miscarried through a proven motive (thank you Stu Silver)...a Mother addicted to "Huffing" and bent on self-destruction.  Thankfully she is saved in this fairy tale satire by the masses that killed her child by not saving her first.  A more than slight existential angle, but irrelevant in a satirical fantasy...we see the problem continuing to exist and it's up to us to fix it.

Payne's most relevant and witty overall work.  The fact that it's his first film only validates his further success.  To date, with the acception of The Descendants, he is a person consistently able to tell us something about ourselves complete with the visionary talents he shares with other great Directors.

Thoughtless Ecological Placebos

Ted C-Toe-D was a Sawman.  Through and through Ted tried tiresomely, at least, and thumblessly at times to stop deforestation by taking a saw to the scrots or vajayjays of any people that still sat on maple while scribing on lined sheets of processed oak and even those who Sammy Sosa’d Baseballs over the Center Field fence with wooden bats.  To call him a “Treehugger” was a graphical error.  The parabolas of his human life weren’t traceable by other known living beings.  It was not hyperbole to say he was a Hyperbrachycephalic…his cephalic index soared to new heights where he put it to lovely use.

Sawmen were like any post-apocalyptic/dystopian renegade black market Capitalists, only they were as real as 39-cent tacos.  Like Mic Jagger dressed in leather, they were Bonejackers, but seeking rogue “Trees” instead of rogue “Emilio Estevez’s.”  They needed to locate the remaining trees, and beat the moribund philistines to the punch, saving the trees, but preserving air and promoting the causes for evolution, rather than interplanetary cannibalistic terraforming and half-wit romanticism of Lucullan bliss.  1977 Kenny Loggins contributions of yachting and casual coke usage were considered ubiquitously campy by the year 2143, and to boot, Mike Judge WAS a future traveler and the “Idiocracy” he bore witness to was never once lavish, even in its heyday.

Ted was classically free.  He gave into the fancy of the night with a v-shaped monocular chest inscription and in one failed (Cheryl) Swoop, summed up what the sexually explicit, wampum jewelry adorned, Ecologists could not in 400 years of popular advocacy: charting alien inhabitance in all living matter, endlessly craving air...a vampiric life force with no beginning and no end.

In other words, he knew better than most that the Universe was expanding and he was beginning to grasp dark matter's enigmatic role.  Oxygen was nothing more than an artifact of a single form of life under a certain set of conditions, whereas air remained a constant…a constant ever expanding mess heap of useful and useless gasses and non-gasses, beneficial and non-beneficial where respiration existed and where it was replaced in anaerobic scenarios.  Society dubbed it a Atmospheric Maelstrom.

Threatening to humanity and all its pseudo-intelligence like never before, it was more or less a Galactic Succubus which Scientists had determined benign until it began gaining power…and like Mega Maid never did it went from Suck! To Suck Harder!  No replenishing of the destroyed Ozone layer through the planting of saplings could save the reality hominids of Earth and the predictions of few quietly set in to the subconscious stubbornness of the masses.

Everyone knew it by the time air was, rationally, rationed…including all the stirrups in the Fudge manufacturing plant…as their burnt-aubergine superintendent told ‘Shit Storm Weekly’ in a recent interview; “Not just 6 minutes ago, we knew collectively that solving the atmospheric maelstrom caused by centuries of deforestation was not as simple as planting trees and we have since pulled the plug on all support of the Twix Corp’s ‘2 For You and Me’ tree planting campaign.”  This was an astounding statement considering these were the same Stirrups whom once believed that a sought after Sawman sewed seaweed sleds silently solo somewhere south of Ted’s home.  In other verbosity, it was tough for them to accept the failure of Zeitgeist Ecology efforts (such as the Twix Corp and other benevolent non-profits), because a good Sawman was difficult to come by in the years following the raging conflagrations between foreskin consuming Ecologists and embryonic Yak Splicers (later known as Sawmen). 

The forests of Earth had been largely depleted and Twix Corp…had even cut an album with the hologram-clone of a 1996 Shaquille O’neal, entitled “Gotta Be Twixsm For Life!”  It did little to stop the maelstrom which had already sucked up the entire shoe collection of the island state of Palau and the entire population of castrated Western Chorus Frogs not to mention all extant hair extensions south of Olympic BLVD in the Greater Metropolitan Region of Los Angeles and 49% of the rice farmer’s pitchforks in the Guangdong Provence of China.  Thank god the extinct hair extensions were safe in the landfills of Simi Valley and most Frogs of Earth still croaked when that mightly ‘ol sun pales the azure sky upon Gaia’s routine pirouette.

It was high time for Tim to either become fabled hero or sap his soul for the hope of another in the name of Love. His story is largely untold.

When all your heros turn to former enemies.

I Shook Tom Waits Hand and Took Tom Waits, Man!

The Attached Amoeba that Ate Itself Up from the Outside In.

mind splats by Genezoial

Tim ‘Tri-City’ Beckfordshire was always faking out Shemale Order Caroline with toasty braggadocio and comments such as:  “Wrecked is cocked!  Wrecked is loaded!  And wreckage cums along!”

“The loose cannons of a decorative mind are forever cheese grating on an open plain” Caroline fired back at Beckfordshire’s studiously glib bravado.

She claimed womanhood without out ever claiming to claim a thing. 

There were Discoverers. Travelers.  Explorers.  Seekers.  Adventures.  Pathfinders.  Experimenters. Trailblazer…ers… but Wandering Charlatan! …Hot she holla’! 

And lost me in a gaze of erotic love.   Mammalian Checkmate! The Good Lord was It and The Pronoun was All Around. God was all around in the format of sub-substance and the combat of self-destruction.

Future Tim spoke of a truth. 

Future Tim could not travel back in time. 

Future Time was Future Beckfordshire.

Tim…Beckfordshire from Tri-Cities, Washington.

Tim ‘Tri-City’ Beckordshire was like any other boy believed to have lived in a time the Social Workers like to call the "Societies of Dawnation."  His kind was a benevolence amoeba that ate itself up from the outside in, typical of the Pre-Earthunification epochs.  He knew this about himself at the time but could never admit it vocationally.  Like many souls, his strength was governed by perception of his environment...the automobile and its collector set compadres: washing machines, throwing spears, float orbators and, of course the iStare pads, a popular artifact for menstruating females after nearly 80% of them became infertile due to rising misinterpretation pandemics brought on by certain obesity or emaciation. Interested by governmental law he became insanely stagnant. Until one day he met ‘Caroline the Charlatan’ or Shemale Order Caroline. Shemale was a woman. There was no dicing up the philosophical lay of her 4D primordial ooze…No crazed contest of circular discourse, searching for a wormhole.  

Time would melt for Tim. 

He would loose himself in Shemale.

Ahead to the past and back to the present.

Physical form rendering less than ever before.

He was just another 1 in a Zillion.

Poor little Attached Amoeba that ate itself up from the outside in.