Piranha 3D

In attending the moving-picture house, an upstanding gentleman must remember to dress himself and his wife in the most appropriate attire, lest they seem unfashionable or out-dated. Your humble author prefers a straw boater, a vest, my trusty whipping-cane and elegant sleeve garters. It seems it is fashionable in these current times to add another accoutrement to this list; peculiar eyewear apparently needed to see an elusive third dimension; eye-glasses I shall call Trifocals.
The newest picture, entitled 'Piranha 3D' unfortunately requires the application of the clumsy frames directly to the face, a notion which initially  I heartily resisted because they refused to fit comfortably over my monocle. However cold I was to the notion at first, I quickly warmed once I spoke to a learned professor, who helped me to understand the invention. Having a worldly background, I naturally understood, and as a service I shall now explain to you, the simple reader, how they work, thusly:
The theatre-goer affixes the glasses to their person and faces directly towards the screen, onto which an image (the picture-show) is projected. Through a complex process of alchemy,  each eye-lens is treated with a contrasting layer of colored film, allowing certain brightenesses and colours of light to pass thru. Then, during the course of the actual show, an indentured farmhand crouches beneath the stage and dangles several fish on a rod in front of the screen. The uniquely-treated trifocals filter out the images of the rod, the line, and the farmhand and thusly the illusion of free-floating piranha-fish is attained.
It is with regret that I must report the actual content of the picture was hardly as novel as the process thru which it was assembled. In my humble opinion, 'Piranha 3D' is nothing more than a boorish husk of mindless ichthyo-blabber disguised as a risque delight through liberal doses of blood and bare bosoms.
Regardless, as an author, it is my duty to respect all viewers and their opinions with the utmost, highest regard. Therefore, if you found this picture to be enjoyable I understand completely and merely humbly suggest you seek the appointment of a skilled physician immediately to prescribe medicine for your apparent brain-rot brought on no doubt thru rampant, untreated syphilis.

Judgment Being:

1 of 5 Top Hats

Salt

Russia- a wild land of serfs, furs, and potato liquor. But a world power? A threat to the liberties, apple pies and hearty ales of America? Poppycock. Why, this is a peoples who lack even the wherewithall to think of heating up their beet soup.  
The reason, then, that this picture proposes the portent of this placid populace perplexes me. What have we to fear from fluffy hats and nesting dolls?
Regardless, this picture show is entitled 'Salt', named for the main character and for the spice used to keep their herring fresh. Played adequately by a Ms. Angelina Jolie, Madame Salt works for the United States Government under our current president, William Howard Taft, whose sole connection to Russia is undoubtedly his fondness for vast amounts of Beef Stroganoff. 
Ms. Salt is accused thusly of being an agent of espionage for the aforementioned slavic country, and must either prove her innocence or thwart her captors. Through a serious of twists and turns in the plot we find the true nature of Ms. Salt, of which I shall not spoil for you, my faithful readers, herewith. Somewhat because myself as an author has utmost respect for the untarnished viewing experience, and partly because all this talk of Russian cuisine caused me to leave the picture-house early in search for a hearty Chicken Kiev.  

Judgement Being:

2 of 5 Top Hats

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

  

        Understand, dear reader, that picture shows are a new novelty, created primarily in order to sell molasses treats and soda water to those who humbly seek temporary refuge from- thusly- the heat, the cold, the rain, and the Irish. As being such a newly invented curiosity, there is a dire need for the puveyers  to develop and learn a way to teach prospective audiences about the picture, specifically of what to expect from the viewing experience; a type of marketing or advertising I shall now refer to as picture-hucking.

       For if it existed, as this author is in no doubt it soon will, picture-hucksters would ensure that the subject matter would be known ahead of time. For this picture is not, as one might understandably surmise by the title, the tale of a religious traveler seeking pilgrimage to America from Scott-land in Europe. Rather, it is some extremely frivolous trifle concerning a moppish young fop and his quest to bestow a good thrashing on several of the former suitors of some scarlet-coiffed strumpet.

   In the story,  the titular young master Pilgrim hails from the savage and barren lands of our neighbors to the north, 'Canada'. He lives in a small shack, has no apparent line of work, and is a member of a mistril show which lacks any perceivable talent. He has a hearty, healthy celibate relationship with a young oriental, but the plot is thusly complicated as he falls in lust with a young hussy of whom he has nightly visions.

     In order to win the hand of his harlot, he is told he must best seven young men in fisticuffs. The reason is unclear, but I believe it is a complicated methapor, where the seven suitors represent the seven diseases which plague gentlemen in this day and age; dropsy, impetago, vertigo, pox, ricketts, scurvey and the vapors.

    The creator of this picture show would do well to take a lesson in editing from Messrs. Eisenstein and  Lumiere, as the person in charge of piecing together the film in this case either suffers from an unfortunate case of blindness, or was raised in the wilds of Africa by a family of apes. Words, nonsensical diagrams and strange drawings appear on the screen throughout, thoroughly confusing the viewer and drawing undue attention to the fact that it was put together by someone who has never seen a picture-show before.

     Predictably the young pilgrim whines, fusses, gripes and groans his way through the skirmishes, besting scores of far superior pugilists, apparently despite the sheer detriment of his lackluster knickerbockery.

      Throughout his trials he is sure to have learned the power of love or friendship or somesuch other nonsense, but after seeing so many uninspired ruckuses, it inspired me to leave the picture house early to find a tavern and start a brawl of my own with an Irishman.

JUDGEMENT BEING:

4 of 5 top hats

A brief note on the author's glorious return

As an upstanding gentleman of the arts, it is sometimes unavoidable to be overtaken by the rigors of the vital work I provide to you, my fair readers. In such I am occasion'ly overwhelmed, and must take a brief period of rest, as may any author of noble lineage and fine breeding. 

After providing my most recent revue review in September last, I, your humble author, took it upon myself to rest my pipe and monocle and take a quick nap. I awoke recently, re-freshed, re-newed and re-vitalized, ready to return with gumption and vigor to my trusty ink and quill. 

Imagine, dear reader, my surprise upon learning of the outcry at my absence! I was gone but a short while. I submit a query: which of you has had time to see more than one picture show since September last? Do you fellows really attend the cinema-house that often? Do my readers demand of me my opinion more than once yearly?

Alas, it is so. And so I pledge to make a triumphant return. Once weekly I shall provide you, my simple readers, the pleasures of my quill, to be stopped not by rain nor hail the the absolute foulest of weather.

Unless of course, I feel another nap coming on.

Extract

Sincerest apologies for the lack of a revue review this previous week, your humble authour came down with a rather unfortunate case of dropsy-pox. Having recovered a bit and regained a hearty appetite, I am now ready to fulfil my duties in reviewing. In all likelihood, there weren't any quality films last week's-end anyway.
This week's picture, called "Extract", concerns an industrialist fellow named Joel (as play'd by Mr. Jason Bate-Man) who owns a whiz-bang foodstuffs-essence extractor machine plant. Rather than entering it in the world's faire, he fancies selling off his wondrous' facilities to John D. Rockefeller and achieving status as a true robber-baron.  However, being a hum'rous picture, situations thusly go awry; Joel's spouse (Kristen Wiig) neglects to sate his marital needs, a mysterious young crumpet (Mila Kunis) weaves her mischief at the plant, and lastly, a lamentable happenstance causes a laborer to lose a certain pair of consequential anotomical organs. The bindles to his stick, as it were.

With so many disastrous events  befalling him, our hero turns to a local bar-tender who happens to be his trusted friend and confidant (Benjamin Affleck) for assistance. Mr. Affleck in his ragged appearance and utter lack of grooming seems to be a shiftless hobo, but no mention is ever made of his position as such. Mayhaps the director chose to portrey him with an honorable position peddling booze to show that penniless winos can be reformed, but in my humble opinion, they cannot.   
Follies ensue, naturally, and in the end Joel finally learns the true meaning of wooden nickels and exploiting endenture servantude. Or something along those lines. 
A problem with this picture is that with the exception of Joel, none of the other players were very agreeable to my admittedly sensitive palate. We are sup'posed to enjoy the antics of a shiftless tramp, a eunuch slubberdoffer and a swindling trollop? I submit that we do not. What happened to simpler pictures concerning stand-up gentlemen and great train robbers? When the Lumiere brothers made a similar picture concerning a machine-plant (Workers Leaving the Lumiere Factory), it wasn't boggled down with plots about bollocks-disasters. 
If anything, I left this picture with a worse imbalance of the humours than when I entered it. If there were more characters on screen like Joel, I might have even been persuaded to stay for the end. 


Judgment Being:


 2 of 5 Top Hats

Inglourious Basterds

Once every blue-moon, a figure will enter upon the public consciousness and leave an indelible mark. If being from humble origins, said gentleman can then capture interest by embodying a prev'lent dream of success and elevation, shared by all white, land-owning Christian men.
The moving-picture business embodies such a philosophy in this day and age, and in-doubtably will live on markedly into the future along with such ageless inno-vations such as the Model T Ford, the steam engine,  and Radio programmes. The gentleman director of the picture "Inglourious Basterds" represents a fellow which embodies such a dream.
From common beginnings as a foto-graf shoppe attendant, Quentin Tarantino made his mark with "Gutter Hounds", concerning a madcap troupe of flim-flammers and a caper gone sadly awry.  Since then he has produced several pictures all to the acclaim of esteemed gentlemen of the noblest profession, your humble picture reviewer. With this "Inglourious Basterds" he has succeeded in the difficult challenge of both keenly impressing myself and deeply offending Misters Mirriam and Webster.
This is a war picture, attempting to recount several stories which run along side each oth'r and meet up in the end. The firstly tale to which we are introduced concerns a Jewess called "Shosanna". As a young lass she manages to evade an ambush on her French farm cottage by a hair's breadth. Fronted by German military officers of the second reich, they operated under the guide of the frighteningly fiendish, yet considerably charismatic Colonel Hans Landa. Being that her family is dispatched by the Germans, she escapes to Paris where she matures and comes to own a picture theatre due to the remarkable fact that women are allowed to own land in France.
Alternately, a second story unfolds concurrently. The picture's title being as it were, suggests the exploits of a group of American bred Hebrew gentlemen under the nome-de-plum of the 'Basterds'. Led by Bradley Von Pitt playing as "Aldo the Apache", these chaps mercilessly hunt, kill and scalp German military troupes in the manner of a barbaric injun, as his guise implies. The dyad tales weave together at such a point in which we learn that thru fortune and circumstance, both the Shosanna and Basterd parties gain the opportunity to bring about the demise of the unfortunately mustachio'd German military leader, the fictional "Adolf Hitler".
The pictures cuts betwixt the stories at varying paces, however from the very first scene to the explos've crescendo, Tarantino masterfully builds the tension. I can not recall having such a fit of anxiety since "Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat ".
The director is as well known for his signature dialogue and representations of bloodshed and brawling in picture shows, and this does not disappoint. Many players deliver performances of note, most commendably the German Christoph Waltz as Col. Landa. I submit that were there some sort of fancy accolade or recognition for acting ability in pictures, Herr Waltz would be in strict contention.
From its portrayal of a "what might be" scenario to its power-full fits of humour and horror, this picture gives to us an experience that is likely to haunt you well beyond it's viewing. Certainly a tad sluggish at times and incendiary at others, 'Basterds' fosters a world that feels intrinsic and fully formed, and yet executes clever breaks in form with stray flashes and indiscriminate narration. Men scheme and women con; Basterds butcher and Bear-Jews bludgeon; Victims die and kill and Murderers kill and die and in the end we all marvel at a master and his craft. Or, I imagine I would have if it's length had not run into my supper-time.



Judgment Being:

5 of 5 Top Hats

Avatar

Being a respected man of letters, I am oft afforded the opportun'ty to partake in special picture-show galas before yourself, the common reader. This very evening I was invited to attend the premeire of a much heralded picture called "Avatar" by James Cameron. It was promised to me to prompt jaw slacking in the "Three Dimensional Eye-Maximum" theatre; being called so, I learn'd, because it projects picture shows in three dimensions: up, down and side-ways.
It was quite refreshing to see a picture in length no longer than two shows at the local nickelodeon. As frequent readers might be aware, it is quite taxing for me to sit thru several hours at the theatre and I often find myself distracted by other pursuits.  I can quite astutely proclaim that Avatar is an ideal length for the gentleman on the go.
Being so short, the picture's director has quite a difficult job fitting in a satisfying story. It concerns Mister Jacob Sully, a chap sadly stricken with polio, who must travel on a space-aero-plane to the moon and make friends with the moon-men and moon-creatures that live there. Being that Mister Sully can not walk, he uses a marionette of a blue moon-man (or Ava-tar) to interact and make nice with the many moon-floozies.
Due to the costumes and other effeckts in this picture, it was amongst the most expensive ever produced, at nearly four-hundred and fifty American dollars. Being as it is so short, that seems to me as a waste. All of the newfangled gizmos and do-hickies on display were mildly impressive, but in an age that has given us Mr. Hoover's electric vacuum sucking machine, Dr. Scholl's foot products, the Victrola phonograph, and the paper-clip, I find that the truth is oft stranger and more stimulating than fiction.