When Life gives you coconuts, it's probably best to try to make some . . .
. . . cocoa, BLACK PANTHERS reveals. Some foreign lady decided to take a trip to the USA to try out her new camera. Having major budget constraints, this peripatetic dame guessed that she could get the most bang for her few bucks in the Oakland (California--not the more expensive one in Michigan!). She asked someone there for directions to the local zoo. However, not being fully fluent in American, this reckless trekker grew confused and ended up far off the beaten path. Instead of lions, tigers and bears, she was forced to record BLACK PANTHERS.
Just as no one would go to a Land Rover dealership to buy a violin . . .
. . . only an ignorant sap would consider consuming a "gangster flick" put out by the Mostly Gold & Myrrh Studio. One example of such a movie miscarriage is MANHATTAN MELODRAMA. Viewers are presented with a wan thin man and a chipper riverboat gambler masquerading as East Side Toughs. When one of them grows up and decides to fry his foster brother, this hot squat is merely hinted at by the dimming of the hoosegow hallway's lights. This MELODRAMA rings false from its flaming opening to the bitter end, with bogus conflicts over dames and silly, clumsily-executed murders by alleged criminal masterminds who could not think themselves out of Chinese handcuffs. If you want to wash MELODRAMA's cloying distaste out of your brain, why not patronize Warner Bros. ANGELS WITH DIRTY FACES? The Warner cast stars REAL gangsters for whom looking and acting like thugs comes naturally, rather than the House of the Groaning Fat Cat's choir boys. Plus Warner is smart enough to realize that when it comes to the electric chair, someone has to shoot the picture!
"What those two had in the War, no one can touch . . . "
. . . an older gossip informs a younger lady new to the scene of THE CRIMSON KIMONO. Strippers are being gunned down in the middle of marching bands, and all anyone can think about is a duet of brothers. Dames get passed around the table of contents like so many side dishes, masks are mandatory for martial artists and paint dries up but not the bourbon. The twisted plot here is enough to drive any viewer wiggy, but whose heart gets buried at Manzanar?
Nurse Joan remembered the post cards, giving this flick . . .
. . . five bonus rating points for knotting up loose ends. Inmate Max Henry is the most sympathetic character of EXPERIMENT ALCATRAZ, giving Dr. Ross Williams his prized Post Card of Doom. More fatal than any gloomy Tarot rectangle, said picture of Ethel's Death Cabin for Cutie was extracted from Maximum Hank via Ross' sacred pledge to keep the pictorial mail coming for this lonely, hankering con. After the mob behind the tip of Lost Eddie's iceberg lettuce ($250,000, or about $10 million, adjusted for inflation) rubs out the concussion-prone doc, Nurse Joan consoles herself that continuing to be able to kiss her brother beats any possible matrimonial tie, physician or not. But a more heartless wench would never fulfill the late Dr. William's hallowed vow to Post Card Max. I guess it takes all kinds.
This animation lacks virtually any creative spark . . .
. . . as it seems to have a goal of being as redundant, repetitious, formulaic, grating, repeat-prone, blathering, dull, boring, mundane, blase, vacuous, empty-headed, presumptuous, condescending, demeaning, insulting, hackneyed, trite, over-done, derivative, phoned-in, run-of-the-mill, meaningless, dithering, banal, off-hand and nullified as possible. It is not hard to see why America's preeminent House of Golden Age Animation traded the director of THE FARM OF TOMORROW for one ink pot and a couple of erasers.
A few years back I used to dine frequently with the 26th . . .
. . . "Keeper of the A," as alluded to by THE SCARLET LETTER's Custom House prologue, the most important part of Nat's book (but too sensitive to be referred to in any fashion during this 1926 film adaptation). Like all the Keepers (including #14, referenced by Hawthorne), David was a peerless gourmand, maintaining an encyclopedic memory of virtually every meal partaken during his lifetime. This included our meals, amounting to several annual repasts highlighting each of my trips to Boston. Whether it was a lobster cruise in the Harbor or surplus tropical fish at the Aquarium, these feedings were almost as unforgettable for me as they were for David. We'd probably enjoyed a dozen of these nourishing outings before Dave let slip that he was the current Keeper of the A. Since American literature is one of my specialties, he actually let me hold this hallowed monogram once, and the chills it evoked nearly quickened my pulse as much as the heartbeat of the ill-fated Reverend Art. Sadly, Dave has since passed on, but it's reassuring to know that the Keepers will continue their sacred duty in perpetuity.
. . TORMENTED documents. Singer Vi has the misfortune of loving a future serial killer. Her chagrin is probably monumental (but no doubt less epic than that of the first few gals who spooned in the back of the hay wagon with the future Fuhrer prior to World War One). Of course, someone always has to be a domino killer's initial victim, no matter how arch a fiend may become. Because soon-to-be prolific murderer Tom fancies atonal, aimless "modern" music, Vi's poignant ballads swiftly induce him to toss her off the top floor of an abandoned light house onto the rocky surf below. Taking to murder like a Pachyderm Political Party Prowler beginning to practice Capitol Pillaging, Tom quickly knocks off the local boatman. Next this homicidal maniac decides that the only way to "top himself" would be in slaying his rich fiancee's eight-year-old kid sister Sandy. However, the ghost of valiant Vi has had enough, and she sacrifices her Eternal Rest to give light house killer Tom a taste of his own bleach.
Rich People have nothing better to do than to practice for . . .
. . . the Synchronized Soup Slurping event in the quadrennial Gluttonous Gourmet Games. These malingering miscreant money hoarders and fat cat feather-wetters would be best served carved up and doled out like peacock under glass, THE PATSY suggests. Such lazy do-nothings deserve to be evicted, after which their mansions and castles should be fumigated and divvied up as safe havens for the homeless, THE PATSY adds. This film argues that these loathsome Blue Book leeches damage our USA Homeland more than 400 obese rats overrunning a city dump. As pictured here, the worthless wealthy stomp around on the dance floor like a herd of drunken elephants, and infest the public waterways as a pollution of bullheads wallowing in the bottom muck. THE PATSY's snooty snobs are way too stupid to avoid Great Depressions, World Wars, Perilous Pandemics and Global Warming. As the Good Book says, "The accumulation of Wealth is the Root of All Evil." THE PATSY voices the urgent need to "fix" the Rich otherwise capable of reproducing, so they cannot foist off their inhumane anti-social genetic mutations upon subsequent generations.
This old time movie title is rather notorious in our circle of friends . . .
. . . because of what happened once to Herbert. For whatever strange reason, this was one of Herbert's all-time favorite movies. Perhaps he saw it on one of those Sunday morning movie matinee channels that they used to have on old-fashioned network TV at just the right age to be most susceptible to its wiles and charms (if any). Perhaps Herb was enamored with the lame, puerile mindless title song. Perhaps the villainess here (Valerie) reminded him of his mom. (I have a cousin Valerie, but that fact does not add so much as a single point to my rating score for this film.) At any rate, Herb was driving up a Midwestern interstate highway soon after sunset one wintry night, and he saw a flashing neon sign with the name of this movie favorite of his. He assumed that the upcoming exit might be for the actress playing Valerie's hometown, that this had been her favorite film role, and that someone had set up some sort of an exhibit or museum with a gift shop and extended holiday hours. To make a brief story shorter, Herb swerved at the last possible moment on up the exit ramp with the intention of buying himself an early Yule gift (think the "leg lamp" in CHRISTMAS STORY) and pulled into the small parking lot for this particular roadside attraction. He soon found out that this business had absolutely NOTHING to do with the 1948 movie sharing its name, but while he was in the midst of questioning a strangely accommodating young lady "clerk" Herb was apprehended by the local vice squad and his wife had to drive four hours to bail him out!
You do not need to be Cotton Mather to realize . . .
. . . that this blatant allegory involves far more than a few alleged demons and witches residing in Eastern Massachusetts during the 1900's. This newest CONJURING flick emanates from the always eponymous Warner Bros., and warns Americans of the half dozen High Court Roman sects cultists currently curbing the USA's Liberty, Freedom and very Survival. In fact, the prophetic prognosticators of Warner cast the main trio of satanic fiends as dead ringers for the three S. C. O. T. U. S. appointees made by Lucifer's top lieutenant "Mad Dog" Putin and his Oval Office puppet between 2017 and 2020. Furthermore, each time characters such as David, Arne and Ida begin to distort themselves to demonstrate demonic possession, they duplicate the positions of the human-shaped cockroaches we all watched (with cinematic horror!) climbing the walls of the U. S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021. So ignore the incipient sects police at your own peril, Warner warns, for when the bell tolls, it may be tolling for you!
Whether it's the sins of the fathers, moms, brothers or the third cousins . . .
. . . NAZI AGENT makes the case that the Good Book has it Right: They ALL must go. Especially in light of Science's recent detection of the "Core Supporter" gene (which makes carriers subject to Demonic Possession), We Loyal Patriotic True Blue Normal Average Union Label Progressive Working Stiffs cannot be too squeamish in deporting or otherwise nullifying the 100 to 132 million supremacists and insurrectionists currently infesting all 50 states (and usurping total control of many). Milquetoast, lukewarm "humane" measures will not cut it in our Existential Battle for the Soul of America. Just as Otto sees the need to self-deport at the end of this story, the 132 million--including many prominent resource hoarders--must be forced to liquidate their ill-gotten wealth and weapons (under the RICO and Civil Forfeiture Acts, which will pay off the National Debt THEY instigated) and take up residence in the Southern Hemisphere (with up to three changes of WalMart-style clothing). Failing to comply with the demands of Human Decency will cause a grave problem, as many of the National Socialists learn here.
Up until the release of this "Crime Pays" fright fest . . .
. . . Americans were buried in accordance with the Biblical Commandment, six feet under within the Good Earth (add another 6.6 inches for incorrigible sinners). This allowed famous people, such as Beethoven and Washington, to be dug up each generation or so to enable Science to further pinpoint their actual cause of death. However, the crime lords running the Many Greedy Mobsters movie studio soon realized that the Forensics Sleuths of the Far Future would surely be able (eventually) to discover clues as to why so many "stars" were dying mysteriously when contract talks broke down under their insidious "studio system" IF these luminaries' mortal remains were subject to continual exhumations. Therefore, these Money-Grubbing Miscreants produced PATROLLING THE ETHER to terrify the entire U. S. Public into believing that Uncle Sam's hallowed cemeteries were actually hollowed out vipers' nests full of enemy spy bunkers! This led to the cremation rate for ALL Americans (not just for "cinema stars") to skyrocket from 2.6% to the current ungodly 60.66% tally!
. . . always has been the prime objective of this infernal franchise. In comparison to the Godzilla of ALL MONSTERS ATTACK, Barney the Purple Dinosaur is an invincible hulking beast of ultimate doom. ALL MONSTERS ATTACK is a crude early version of POKEMON (literal translation, "pocket monsters," as in "Got to have 'em all," referring to cheap 99-cent dolls capable of fitting in a five-year-old's pocket). The latest Diagnostic Service Manual of American shrinks defines anyone of legal age with more than a passing interest toward Pokemon, Godzilla and their ilk as being victims of infantile paralysis. There is no cure.
Unlike their cousins the toads, the French are a blight . . .
. . . upon the Planet, and must be eradicated at all costs, FAT GIRL argues. Take the crime family pictured here. Mom litters out her car window, and weaves all over the highway. Big sister Elena runs a jewel theft con game, seducing foreign traveling gents and stealing their family jewels (doubtless giving them dire cases of V. Dee in the process). Little sis Anais is less discriminating than a starving canine, wolfing down any fatty food within reach of her pudgy paws. All the edibles spotlit here seem to be cold processed imitation grub, lacking even the warmth and nutritional value of a so-called "French fry." These low-life pikers trying to pose as people are not worth saving. Rather, the best, most merciful course of action involves axes to faces, garrots to necks and swords to scabbards, FAT GIRL suggests.
It turns out that by some Divine Coincidence . . .
. . . each of Israel's eleven "Lost Tribes" was serially shipwrecked on the tiny volcanic isle of Atlantis. Stranger still, each band of newcomer brothers arrived equipped with the fixings for ever larger Golden Calves. ATLANTIS, THE LOST CONTINENT, documents that by the time the Boys of Benjamin set up shop, the weight of their final bovine idol tipped the scales from a reading of Placid Peace to Chaotic Carnage. Though a Confederacy of Dunces tried to conduct Business as Usual, rising sea levels forced the Atlantans to throw out the baby with the bathyscaphe.
There's one nefarious nest of nattering nabobs . . .
. . . which has bedeviled America since 1492, and it emanates from Italy. THE BROTHERS RICO document how these Italian Murder Hornets have horned in upon our American Homeland, contaminating everything that they touch. Italy is known primarily for its earthquakes, volcano-ravaged cities, political assassinations, low-life "friends" (such as The Fuhrer), pernicious poisonings and a godless narrow-minded sects cult which tries to lord it over the rest of the planet with mindless superstitious malarkey masquerading as "religion." These losers have always glorified and ritualized mass use of the "Death Penalty" (the more cruel and unusual the better), as THE BROTHERS RICO reveal. Nowadays no one can seriously argue that the USA is "better off" because of Chris Columbus, Al Capone or Lucky Luciano, and others of their ilk. "Operatic" screeching about forced marriages and demon barbers, nude paintings and sculptures or leaning towers and crumbling coliseums do NOT constitute "contributions" to Civilization!
"I was an informer--the (National Socialists) even paid me . . . "
" . . . And I ate it (the food payments). There were six widows, ten men dead, and I went on eating," explains the U. S. Army Captain, describing a beta version of THE ART OF THE DEAL. As the official propaganda arm of America's Pachyderm Political Party, the Many Greedy Mobsters studio always goes out of its way to portray the Band of Brothers from America's Greatest Generation as "losers and suckers," in the words of their Game-Show-Host-in-Chief. ACT OF VIOLENCE is carefully crafted to encourage the USA's corrupt corporate business class to hire doctors who will invent bone spurs to keep their sons from being shipped overseas to defend our Constitution in the first place. Otherwise, future Chamber of Commerce Convention goers may end up in P. O. W. Camps like Captain E., unable to resist the temptation to trade the lives of a dozen U. S. working class G. I.'s for a couple spoonfuls of caviar.
. . . pursued by masked, anonymous vigilante Death Squads and executed without trial, argues THE SECRET 6. In keeping with the finest traditions of Carry A. Nation, every bar, pub and night club must be hacked to bits with battle axes and picks, as the contents of each bottle, jug and can is dumped down sewer drains. No more wine, whether red or white. Good riddance to beer, lager and pale ale. When it comes to bourbon, burn, baby, burn! Make Vodka vanish, Scotch scram, tequila take a dive and drum out rum. Let he who's without sin stone gin. Since THE SECRET 6 commandments came out, The Johnny Hopkins dashboard documents that Big Alcohol has murdered 329,611,427 U. S. Citizens through drunk driving, cirrhosis of the liver, heart disease, fetal booze syndrome, strokes, dementia, spouse abuse, fraternity hazings, date assaults, rush week keggers, avoidable accidents, inebriated shootings, bender suicides, wood sauce poisoning, barroom brawls, wino purges, bottle-cap ingestion, renal failure, shaken baby syndrome, buzzed arson and dozens of other nefarious fates too numerous to mention here. Bottoms up!
Rich people are a thieving ilk of demonic parasites . . .
. . . out to cheat, maim, exploit, cripple, defraud, injure, terrorize, insult, torture, demean and often slay every True Blue Loyal Patriotic Normal Average Progressive Union Label Working Stiff within the reach of their tiny grasping little paws. Bill "Stoker" Thompson is the American Hero abused here by a pack of wealthy money miser hoodlum jackals during THE SET-UP. All of the monied resource hoarders tormenting Bill were granted "4F" draft dodger status during the (then) recent Second World War on the basis of bogus "bone spurs." This gaggle of greedy cowards is able to corrupt the leeches feeding off Bill's exploits (such as his manager, trainer and corner man) through Pachyderm Political Party-style Payola. THE SET-UP suggests that insidious cash trash criminals have infiltrated and infested every nook and granny of American Life, and MUST be burned out with flame throwers like the cave men on Iwo Jima.
Whether you call it a "riot" or a "rebellion" or an . . .
. . . "insurrection," many Americans are curious about the ruckus instigated by Que. One need look no further than CASTLE ON THE HUDSON from the always eponymous Warner Bros, to ferret out an urgent warning and unravel the Riddle of Que. CASTLE's "Tommy" is an innocent man executed for the crime of another. Walking to the Death Chamber, Tom is as nonchalant as a condemned man passing out poems on the way to the gallows, guillotine, gas chamber or whatever can be. Of course the prophetic prognosticators of Warner had Tom's virtual namesake Tim in mind when they created this cautionary character. When Rome executed the Nazarene, it soon brought down their Empire. That's what happens when a Society murders an innocent man. When America failed to heed the warning of Tom and slew Tim, the latter came back as Que as surely as Satan made big red apples. No one can stuff the genii back in the lamp, cram toothpaste back in the tube or permanently evict Tim Q. Public from the U. S. Capitol.
"Don't forget to call before my eggs get rotten . . . "
. . . desperate 40-year-old virgin Rachel pleads with the first guy to pluck her flower. RACHEL, RACHAEL has been born and raised in a Red-State-type of town full of base core supporters. The prophetic prognosticators of the always eponymous Warner Bros. Use her story to warn perfidious Pachyderm Political Party pawns that they'll all eventually die and have to face their Final Reckoning. The Warner seers picture RACHEL, RACHEL as a Cassandra of Doom, always envisioning the Donald's, Mitch's and Lindsay's of this world laid out on embalming tables, getting pumped full of formaldehyde. These morbid thoughts frequently reduce RACHEL, RACHEL to hysterical laughter, knowing that the roaches scurrying around our Capitol Today will be roasting on spits Down Below Tomorrow.
America's Super Spreader Sects Cult will go to any length . . .
. . . to annihilate, rub out, liquidate, erase and assassinate ANYONE with "the goods" on their nefarious clandestine Crimes against Humanity, the sage seers of the USA's always eponymous Warner Bros. Warn our U. S. Homeland in THOSE WHO WISH ME DEAD. As any realist would anticipate, the proficient prophetic prognosticators of Warner expect their audience to exercise a modicum of thinking power in terms of reading between the lines, so there's naturally no unnecessary mention of Donald, Mitch, Lindsay or their Shadow Government Scourge which has slain upwards of a million Americans (and 10 million around the world) so far. But it's clearly suggested to Progressives in the know that these are the malicious miscreants trying to kill America's sweetheart, pregnant ladies of color, innocent kids and honest oath-keeping law enforcement personnel. THOSE WHO WISH ME DEAD also shows how to deal with the Pachyderm Political Party's murderous killers: Eliminate all of them with Extreme Prejudice.
"DID you ever notice the bigger the firm, the more they skimp on . . . "
" . . . Paper towels?" executive secretary Flo asks her new underling Bobby after a trip to the Ladies Room a few minutes into SATURDAY'S CHILDREN. As always, the prophetic prognosticators of the always eponymous Warner Bros. Use a film to warn America about its Corrupt Capitalist Corporate Communist Class, which begrudges Loyal Patriotic True Blue Normal Average Union Label Working Stiffs each tiny square of bath tissue they consume while slaving at work for a tiny pittance. SATURDAY'S CHILDREN also highlights the imminent danger to Filipino U. S. Citizens, who were just as American as Today's Puerto Ricans or Washingtonians, their pockets filled with their official currency of U. S. greenbacks, letters mailed with USA stamps and on pace to beat out BOTH Hawaii and Alaska to become America's 49th state. Then the Imperial Axis of Evil slaughtered more than a million of our fellow U. S. citizens after cowardly Pachyderm Political Party "General" Doug fled, forcing that racist cult to expel the surviving Filipino "losers and suckers" out of our nation in a crazed effort to minimize, cover-up and white wash the largest genocide facilitated by a single political party in U. S. history. So much for "Rims'" American Dream of making silk in the Philippines.
GENTLE ANNIE is a working class, salt-of-the-earth, progressive . . .
. . . give you the shirt off her back, nurturing, motherly, kind, neighborly, good-hearted type, so naturally her latest beneficiary (lawman Lloyd, posing as hobo Rich, since he operates as a lapdog to the monied robber barons running the fraudulent corrupt corporate railroad monopoly which was so brazen in committing inhuman outrages that the verb "railroaded" came to denote anyone who got the shaft from these murderous miscreants) is hell-bent to see her entire family gunned down. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you!
Even Babe Ruth sometimes had an off day, so it's no wonder that the . . .
. . . usually sagacious seers of the always eponymous Warner Bros. Sometimes did a less than stellar job of warning America of her upcoming calamities, catastrophes, cataclysms and Apocalypti. THE EMERGENCY CASE is one such misfire. Clearly meant to alert our USA Homeland of the danger posed by waiting for the Pachyderm Political Party's nonexistent health care plan, this depiction of a lying, self-serving businessman misusing U. S. law enforcement for his own benefit and then endangering the reproductive rights of a young female would ring terribly true, if only it were up to the normal Warner standard. Sadly, a thin normal dude is totally miscast as the future orange-haired bloated buffoon of "Drink some bleach" and "It's all going away like a miracle before any American dies" infamy.