Nineteen years before Walt Brooke as "Mr. McGuire" . . .
. . . said "Just one word: Plastics" to Dustin Hoffman as "Ben" in THE GRADUATE, the nefarious Ditsy Mega Corporation already was introducing this pernicious Doomsday substance into our American food chain in such films as THREE FOR BREAKFAST. The crux of this sad story is the perfidious Don Duck cooking up a pancake made entirely of rubber cement. This sorry saga concludes with said flapjack monstrosity literally keel-hauling the foul water bird savagely through his entire home, from its roof through both the second and ground level floors. With this go-ahead and perhaps investment support from Ditsy, the average American now suffers multitudinous maladies because 54% of their blood plasma is comprised of dissolved plastics. Today Ditsy stands well down the path to perdition, as they later pictured in their self-fulfilling WALL-E prophecy, totally eliminating human beings from Planet Earth.
I've heard tell that back in the late 1900's . . .
. . . the top tier quartet of American actors consisted of Sylvester Stallone, Nicolas Cage, Clint Eastwood and Tom Cruise. Three members of this famous foursome managed to churn out "blockbuster" pictures once or twice a year, even as they had to resort to pushing walkers, write dialog cues up their arms and tote oxygen tanks of some sort. However, the fourth face of this elite four--Mr. Cage--could only manage occasional voice-over work, for such box office flops as CRUDE'S 2 and the BADMINTON BEAR sequel. Fate finally took pity on this modern day Edsel, apparently as surprised as everyone else that Nick is alive and kicking this late into our Modern 21st Century. THE UNBEARABLE WEIGHT OF MASSIVE TALENT is a spoof on Tinsel Town "stars" in general and geriatric has-been's in particular. How ironic it would be if anyone should die laughing.
This film begins with a guardian preparing a nice . . .
. . . roast duck dinner for his three young wards. Why, then, is this picture titled SOUP'S ON? Could it be due to the fact that some sort of cover-up is being conducted? If so, what type of sordid crime merits such blatant obfuscation? Perhaps it lies in the fact that the quartet about to chow down on water fowl are feathered amphibians themselves. Among humans, such an in-house dietary choice is denoted by the C-word. While DINING ON DUCK might be a more apt descriptor for the events detailed here, it's likely such overt perversion would be squelched by the American League of Decency. However, because U. S. film censors were seldom able to stay alert or even awake during six or even eight minutes of tedious Ditsy film fare, covering up corrupt content with a misleadingly benign title became a hallmark of Ditsy's underhanded efforts to dilute the culture of our Homeland.
This brief film deserves high marks for proving . . .
. . . what a deplorable, devious, despicable, deranged character Don Duck was, is and always will be. THE TRIAL OF DONALD DUCK provides no voice credit for his sleazy defense lawyer, who surely was embarrassed to be associated with such a foul water wastrel. The credit for the court bailiff also is missing here, doubtless for a similar reason. Nor is the judge credited, because who would want to be mentioned on the same page as the pernicious Don Duck? Even Pierre, the proprietor of the cafe boasting a clearly posted five dollar cover charge, which the wrong-headed feathered fiend enters with just a nickel in his pockets, eschews receiving any notoriety for his voice acting here. Thus, Don stands guilty as charged.
Long before they hounded the former Ms. Spencer . . .
. . . to an early death, the deplorable British vermin were slaughtering the starving peasants of mainland Europe on a wholesale scale, as documented in A MAN THERE WAS. Realists know that there are two sides to every story, so a fair and balanced review of World War Two must consider what the benighted English people did to merit their rain of death and destruction during the so-called "Battle of Britain." Most of London was reduced to rubble by first waves of Prussian bombers, and then V.1 and V.2 rockets. Why did Divine Providence condemn these uncivilized isles to such a Fate? Viewers of A MAN THERE WAS will see that these defiled Anglo's deserved all they got during WWII, and more. France lost its famous cathedral for burning St. Joan, but the demented Brits instigated that bonfire, just as they incinerated that church full of Americans in THE PATRIOT. They had earlier pulled out Mr. Gibson's guts at the end of BRAVE-HEART. Don't be surprised if London gets nuked soon.
This is that infamous "Let's chuck our sweet . . . "
" . . . Bah-boo off the cliff" flick. Devised by devious Sons of Norway, THE OUTLAW AND HIS WIFE explicates that failed nation's credo, "When the law is closing in, fling your tykes off the nearest precipice." Life is cheap in Norway, which translates from the original European as "no way." Meaning "THIS is no way to live" or "There is no way that anyone else is as Evil as us!" OUTLAW is populated entirely by wrong-headed, anti-social sickos, who never see any options other than Doom and Gloom. When Kari tells his pillow mate of 18 years that "You are ugly; I've never realized how ugly you are until now; your face is like a dead horse's," this is considered a high mark of what passes for love poetry in Norway. Watching OUTLAW will likely warp many if not most viewers forever.
My personal experience is that pirate gals from the . . .
. . . Boston area, such as the title character of BUCCANEER'S GIRL, are among the most wicked wanton wenches this side of that Eden Garden. Like "Debbie McCoy" here, my trio of Real Life harlots always were too eager to trot, even though some were lacking in understanding the reproducing basics. Just as Debbie gets drawn into a wrestling match on the Ladies' Room floor, Real Life Bean Town Tarts are ever willing to get down and dirty. Debbie begins as a stowaway on a rich dude's vessel, another trait of Back Bay blight birds who seldom if ever pay their own way, let alone pick up a check. If a hussy targets you on the Boston Commons at nine, you can bet that she'll pick your pocket by ten. Surely Mr. Brady realized that "if you can't lick them, you better join them" when he deserted Boston to become a Buccaneer.
The Ditsy Mega Corporation has always specialized in . . .
. . . fleshing out wicked wanton wenches in its films, such as Daisy Duck in DONALD'S DILEMMA. In the 1900's there was SNOW WHITE and her seven gentlemen friends, the always-horizontal SLEEPING BEAUTY and PETER PAN's pied piper of lost boys, Wendy Darling. Don't even get me started on ALICE IN WONDERLAND, with her purse full of little blue pills. Which brings us to this animated brief. When Don Duck finally gets his big break, Daisy literally becomes the anvil around his neck, insisting upon dragging him back down to her pit of squalid anonymity. With girlfriends like Daisy, who needs epidemics?
. . . anyone could be named something like Clyde Roars, Chuck Growls or Carl Barks in Real Life. I mean, how could teachers keep a straight face when calling roll if their attendance list is populated with monikers such as these? If the school district were foolhardy enough to accept this facetious variety of student handles, where would the disruptive daily nonsense stop? It would probably just be a matter of time before a fresh face showed up during homeroom, claiming to go by the designation Curt Cut La Cheese.
Most races require entry fees and have entry forms . . .
. . . to be filled out. Contestants cannot simply stumble upon the starting line, and immediately be on equal footing with the registered participants, most if not all of whom have trained diligently during the several-year run-up to their Big Event. However, the Ditsy Gang always has been out of touch with Real Life, so they foist exactly this sort of "bandit" scenario on behalf of their Goof Doggy, pitting his brazen cheating against any American value favoring an even playing field, sportsmanship and the basic rules of the road. AQUA-MANIA obviously inspired the Rosie Ruiz debacle, involving a Real Life hoax-stir who thought she could ride the C Train to Boston Marathon immortality. Besides spending most of an oceanic water skiing competition dilly dallying on a landlocked roller-coaster, the Goof oaf gains an unfair advantage by exploiting an endangered octopus. Is it any wonder, then, that after this film was released, America became incapable of running a fair and balanced presidential election?
Not since Roman P.'s MACBETH has the expression . . .
" . . . Heads will roll" been disembodied more literally than in THE NORTH. MAN. Speaking of social pariahs, this flick certainly would have made Adolf tingle with excitement as the Valkyries ride once again. It's as if all the Confederate generals decided to conduct a "Last man standing" contest, beards and all. Certainly this film shows why trading Puerto Rico for Greenland is such a dumb idea: Iceland is the REAL prize of the North Atlantic. Based upon actual events, NORTH-MAN documents a sordid saga which began in the year 895. Well before she warbled at MOO-LAND ROUGE, the ageless Nicole K. Peppers My Three Sons with mixed signals. Nicole's queen character exercises admirable restraint by not baking any of her doomed boys into pies. Perhaps the TITUS A. Cookbook hadn't made it to Iceland yet.
This is one of my favorite films about Earth's . . .
. . . Spanish-speaking peoples. I just love hearing the American dude's reaction to the dame's ability to achieve simultaneous bliss along the lines of a major earthquake. Though the politics of this whole brouhaha have grown pretty murky at this late date, there is probably info on Wikipedia that can explain the current events of Yesteryear behind FOR WHOM THE BULLS TOLL. It's too bad that the wanton wench had her head shaved--this may have caused an uproar at that year's Oscars. Furthermore, it's a crying shame that that Yank got his leg broke, but it just goes to show that bad things can happen to good Americans foolhardy enough to leave a perfectly fine U. S. Homeland behind them.
Most everyone knows from playing Monopoly that . . .
. . . parking is supposed to be free. Yet, when the dog driving his hybrid son to the ocean reaches the beach, a sign clearly states "Parking, 25 cents" midway through FATHER'S WEEK-END. This is a deft illustration of the If You Give A Mouse A Cookie Principle. Not content to rake in a few odd quarters, most American cities now have graduated to all-digital credit card parking fees, often coupled with a scam about "Peak Timing" in which it is ALWAYS the highest premium rate except for 3:32 to 3:33 AM, local time. Because the weak American generation which came of age during Goofy & Biden's 1950's failed to nip unfair parking fees in the bud, Today's drivers are stuck with Highway Robbery!
It's come to my attention that this site blocks any and all . . .
. . . "user reviews" that dare to mention the Real World, even though many if not most of the so-called outside professional comments do this exact same thing. If you have the temerity to mention World War Two in conjunction with THE LONGEST DAY, you're History. Ditto for those foolhardy enough to couple the word "impeachment" with their two cents' worth about ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN. And Heaven Forbid that anyone dredges up the G-word when offering an opinion on BROKE-BACK MOUNTAIN. Which brings us to HOW TO SLEEP. If someone mentions that this single animated short contains 27 reasons to support this month's attack on Ditsy and Ditsy World by the Governor of Florida and His Legislature, you're out of here.
The Ditsy story writers are pretty much at sea . . .
. . . when they attempt to have the weasel character in HOW TO BE A DETECTIVE come up with as many slang terms for firearms as possible. Beyond the obvious G-word, I.e. G-a-t, plus the weak heater and odd rod, the Ditsy simpletons pretty much draw a blank. There's no mention of tossing over a blaster, boom stick, burner, cannon or chopper. Nor are fire sticks, fireballs, hammers, hardware or jammy's solicited. The word-short weasel also neglects to make any request for the mongrel Goof's load or Nina Ross. He cannot even bring himself to request a simple piece, let alone a pocket rocket or point blank. Far be it from him to place an order for a Roscoe, shooter or tool-lie. When it comes to having a way with words, Ditsy generally stands mute.
Few Ditsy films better exemplify why Florida's government . . .
. . . finally got off its duff and launched an all-out war against this nefarious rodent rabble of raunchy reprobates this week. FATHER'S DAY OFF does NOT qualify as "family fare" by any stretch of the imagination, portraying as it does the mom of a household as a wanton wench making out with any Tom, Dick or Harry happening across her threshold. This is exactly the sort of thing that's getting Ditsy in Dutch Today in this our Modern 21st Century, as these pernicious sleaze slinging scalawags try to cram all manner of monstrous malarkey down the throats of innocent Floridian Youth. No wonder the Sunshine State's courageous governor and crusading legislature have finally decided to shut up Ditsy once and for all, essentially plying the House of Mouse Horror with a poison pill sure to put Ditsy World belly-up, kaput and out-of-business within two years. Let the deluded Californians have a Ditsy theme park monopoly, and good riddance to the mini rats!
Many of the people appearing in this episode are not . . .
. . . given any credit, such as the ink & paint babe who redoes Donald after an anonymous sound effects dude sloshes a pail of water over him in front of a short bus load of Musketeers, half of whom are also working in complete anonymity. The bass fiddler, pianist and drummer backing Jimmie D. Are equally nameless, as is the studio security guard. And why is each member of the live action cast lucky enough to be given credit by name listed as "archival footage," when their appearances obviously are solely done as the "framing" device for this four-cartoon compilation?
This flick may not feature as many catchy tunes as . . .
. . . the Book of Norman, but it's clearly based upon the principles of the most rampant American-bred religion. The whole concept of multi verses originated with the self-styled saints, as the dioramas in their Salt Lake City visitors' center attest. Though EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE tones down the more outrageous aspects of the latter daze golden tablets, sorting top hats, magic underwear and multiple spouses by substituting worlds of hot dog fingers, talking boulders, bagel idols and gargantuan sects toys--perhaps to avoid being sued for copyright infringement--the spirit of "One man, one solar system" is omnipresent. Though it's always problematic to drag religion into U. S. multiplexes, EVERYTHING seems far less controversial or potentially offensive than FATHER STU.
I hope that it is not revealing too much to mention that . . .
. . . this "bonus feature" reveals that Disney characters in general and Goofy in particular have a series of people "voicing" them in the animated realm, and that when one such vocal specialist kicks the bucket or otherwise retires, auditions are held and an entirely new person is slotted into the void. Common sense would seem to suggest that if Crawford, Bogart, Davis, Gable, Stewart, Durante, Weissmuller, Garland, Douglas, Streisand, Fonda, Barrymore, Hepburn, Astaire, Rogers, Kelly, Tracy, Cagney, Raft, Flynn, Lancaster, Garfield, Wayne or Chaney expire, you do not simply put out a casting call for look-a-likes, and callously pick up where they left off. However, this is apparently the way business is done in D-Town.
Don't you find those reviewers kind of mean- . . .
. . . spirited who keep calling this film "The Passion of the Mark E. Mark"? Just because it was released on Good Friday should not be enough to make it the object of cynical ridicule. Though placed in movie theaters by the only formerly major American film studio corrupted by new foreign ownership, this is not a sufficient cause to disrespect FATHER STU's message. Nor are the personal business dealings of the title character's avatar. Knowing someone who had their only vehicle in one of his auto shops for six months while the so-called "mechanics" pursued hundreds of false leads has little to do with STU. Let's not even divert to the subject of his hamburgers. After all, it's still Lent, so only fish are relevant to True Believers.
. . . horrid harridan with no redeeming qualities or attributes whatsoever. This shrill harpy surely is violating local noise ordinances as she shrieks her displeasure at the males of her species in general and ones who look like Don Duck in particular. Depicted as a fickle floozy, the shallow Daisy cannot even distinguish between an English gentle duck and the angry common fowl she's been hooking up with for some years. Any corporate blob Hell-bent upon releasing DVD collections referring to Don and Daisy as being "Best Pals Forever" should have destroyed every copy of DONALD'S DOUBLE TROUBLE first.
. . . zither music to do Mr. Welles proud. Shootouts in the sewers of Berlin? Check. Scarce medicine profiteers? Check. A cemetery scene? Check. Swarming German cops? Check. A sad ending for a chunky guy? Check. An ambiguous finale overall? Check. But Chopin's Nocturne in C Minor is no substitute for that catchy zither strumming, alas. THE THIRD MAN probably is a more notable flick than THE CONTRACTOR, but it is filmed in the antiquated Black & White of the 1900's, meaning modern viewers (film buffs under 90) may prefer the remake.
Anyone who's ever seen a film covering the Pacific Front . . .
. . . during World War Two will be surprised that there are not MORE cursed characters peopling this flick. An early exposition passage asserts that 10,000 cursed people die or disappear annually in Japan. Viewers familiar with this nefarious island chain's position on the Axis of Evil will be shocked that this figure is so low. The crimes of the current generation's grand parents and great-grand parents were so pernicious that they're bound to haunt their descendants for at least one or two dozen generations to come. The rapacious fiends who overran most of Asia in the mid-1900's made what's happening in the Ukraine today look like a Sunday School picnic. If there was any True Karma and Justice in the world, half the inhabitants of these cursed isles would disappear every year.
Wives are a nuisance that should be replaced by . . .
. . . robotic cooks, UNACCUSTOMED AS WE ARE reports. Though Mrs. Hardy allegedly has some culinary skill, the only talent Mrs. Kennedy is shown here to possess is an inept arsonist's ability to set herself on fire. Even if we accept Mr. Hardy's assertion to his friend Stan that his spouse is a passable chef, flighty Barbara H. Still appears to be far more trouble than some edible grub is worth. Constantly yelling at her browbeaten husband, hen-pecking harridan Barb risks a noise citation for "disturbing the peace" every time she flaps her pie hole. With wives like her, who needs Eminems?
Just as basketball jumped the shark in the mid-1900's . . .
. . . when The Authorities got railroaded into adding a shadowy element to America's game, the other unique major contribution of the U. S. to World Culture--movies and movie awards--came in for the shark's splashdown this week in a gross cheapening which began with the MOONLIGHT debacle a few years back. When the sport of basketball ducked into the shadows, the gentlemanly Forces of the Light found themselves punched brazenly in their faces, whether receiving broken jaws on the court, having coaches punched out in the handshake line or having shadow thugs charging into the stands to beat up the paying customers. Music jumped the shark the same time as basketball, of course. No one thought Bing and Frank would shoot each other in Real Life, but that's exactly what happened to Music's most ballyhooed Next Generation pair when the spotlight shifted into the shadows. Then comes the Oscars, with it's slug fest of fisticuffs and tirade of lip-read F-bombs eliminating this program from any rational family's viewing list forever. Let's hope no one starts hash-tagging "Curling so White," ruining the last Refuge of Light left.