Terminator: Salvation * ½ (1.5 stars)
Things I liked about this movie:
- Moon Bloodgood. She is attractive.
- The new types of Terminators. They were clever.
- Sam Worthington. He’s Australian.
That’s about it.
The author of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Princess Bride, and countless other great films once wrote that the shooting of a movie should be the factory assembling the car; that all the parts should have been thought out, shaped and perfected long before production ever begins. The higher summer movie budgets grow, the more his words seem utterly ignored. A movie does not need to have every detail planned before it begins production, but it should at least know where it is going and what paths it will take to get there.
When a director is handed a blank check and the reigns to a movie he/she is not prepared to direct, disaster looms imminent. Prepared or not, in Hollywood, once production begins there is no turning back. Even when the whole cast can see that the project is derailing. Even when everyone involved knows that whatever plan first existed is now long gone. Even when the plot makes no sense, the actors stop trying and you’ve blown up so many things that explosions bore your test audience, production will never stop. The wheels of finance will keep pushing the project forward, no matter the train-wreck. So please, to all directors out there, if you are handed a script with dialogue worse than the kind you’d find in a Fast and the Furious sequel, walk away. We all understand the drive to make it big, to have a hit summer movie and an 80 million dollar opening weekend at the box office, but have more respect for your fans than this. Have more respect for your teachers and mentors than this. Hell, have more respect for people in general than this. If you don’t, you won’t be employed much longer.
Yes, McG: this is aimed at you. Because this was crap. Fast, loud, explosive, repetitive, illogical, inconsistent, boring crap. I was bored within 20 minutes. Also, if Christian Bale wouldn’t listen to you, you started that reality by choosing a name that makes you sound like an Irish rap cereal. Prince earned the right to a stupid name by being awesome. Your major directing achievement is Charlie’s Angels. Either make a movie worth watching or get a name that doesn’t make me think of the head counselor at a fat camp, then you can complain about having stars that don’t respect you.
Speaking of the actors, the blame can’t be set squarely upon the shoulders of the director. The actors are to blame too. Anyone who’s ever been in a poorly directed play knows that actors, if they band together and work, can save a poor production from disaster. It may never be good, but it can avoid disaster. Clearly nobody on this movie felt such work would be worth the effort. Christian Bale, who is known for completely immersing himself in his roles, played John Connor as Batman. He had the same gravely voice, the same strong mannerisms, the same loud emphases. The only real difference: for John Connor, Bale grew a scruffy goatee. Common performed as if being on set bored him endlessly. Helena Bonham Carter strolled through her performance with zero emotion, minimal expression and an almost apathetic approach to her significance in the storyline. Moon Bloodgood was attractive, but little else was asked of her. Anton Yelchin was fine, but was better in Star Trek just two weeks ago. Sam Worthington was the only performer on screen who held his own, and his efforts should be applauded. He isn’t great, but his performance stands up admirably. In a pile of explosive dung, his performance was the shiny new penny.
Perhaps sights should be set upon the writers instead. They are the ones who first craft the story, who arrogantly consider it complete and worthy of production and send it out to reap the rewards . . . but isn’t Hollywood supposed to be a land of forever failure? Isn’t LA the city that invented blacklisting? These writers, John D. Brancato and Michael Ferris, wrote Primeval. They wrote Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines. They even wrote Catwoman. How are people not punished for behavior like this? How are these people still employed?
The plot isn’t worth summarizing. It is tepid and illogical and it doesn’t make sense anyway, so I’m not going to bore you with yet more writing. A lot of things blow up. Pretty much everything in fact. Which does prompt the question of why everything is so explosive in the future, but even that isn’t a question much worth dwelling upon. Not when other things are blowing up. So many things. In fact, you get bored watching them.
For 100 minutes we waited, hoping through all of this that one final glimmer of hope would come right: that the ending wouldn’t be terrible too. A good ending can redeem a lot of boredom and irritation with a bad movie. It might even give one hope for a better script in the sequel. But no, this ending was awful. It made no sense, deflated an emotional peak and committed the penultimate film blasphemy: It set up a great plot twist, then threw it away.
Perhaps I’m just ranting. Perhaps I’m just angry that the Terminator movies, one of the only franchises in history to have a sequel as good as than the original, have become as bloated, illogical and soul-draining as the Leprechaun movies. Perhaps I’m just angry that Terminator: Salvation was actually less entertaining than Alien: Resurrection. Perhaps non-fans will enjoy this movie more than I did. Perhaps. But I doubt it.
Directed by McG
Written by John D. Brancato & Michael Ferris
Starring:
Christian Bale – John Connor
Sam Worthington – Marcus Wright
Moon Bloodgood – Blair Williams
Helena Bonham Carter – Dr. Serena Kogan
Anton Yelchin – Kyle Reese
Jadagrace – Star
Bryce Dallas Howard – Kate Connor
Common – Barnes
Jane Alexander – Virginia
Michael Ironside – General Ashdown
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Star Trek ***1/2 (3.5 stars)
Star Trek - *** ½ (3.5 stars out of 4)
Silence is a rare beast in the summer. If heard, it is often because some 14-year-old projectionist with the physique of a manatee let the reel slip and could not paw it properly back into place. But not this time. This is the silence of space before man, a silence of excitement and anticipation. It is a silence that makes you lean forward and breathe in slowly: a silence that precedes joy. More importantly, as all true fans are wondering, it is a silence of respect, a nod to a history beloved that here is not only paid homage, but given new and exciting life.
That doesn’t mean the film is perfect. If you are a die-hard Trekkie, there are parts of this movie that will bother you. Probably deeply. But there was no way you could win anyway, not with a series reboot, so please keep your complaints contained to your message boards and conventions. To the rest, and let this be emphasized: this is a good movie. A very good movie. Not just in terms of summer relativity, but in terms of actual quality. This is a well-written, well-directed, well-acted and brilliantly cast movie. Yes, there are moments that push the limits of suspended disbelief, even by science fiction standards, but they are only moments and they are easily forgivable.
Now that basics are done, let’s skip the predictable prattle about this movie going “warp-speed.” Every other critic in the world has said that already, so there’s no point. Especially since they’re wrong. This film does not go “warp-speed.” It isn’t that monotone. 130 minutes at warp-speed would be boring and leave you tired. This movie moves at a pace far more exciting: one that varies. It builds and ebbs, taking time to both develop characters anew and pay homage to classic moments and lines of Star Trek history. It feeds us numerous scenes of intense, exhilarating action and surrounds them with beautiful visuals, yet never presumes that such bursts of adrenaline–causing uproar would be enough. It respects the intelligence of its audience. These days, that counts for a lot.
The acting, as previously stated, is top notch. It is not an easy task to recreate a beloved character. Attempts usually result in ugly, miserable failure, ala Steve Martin’s lobotomized take on Inspector Clouseau, or the entire cast of Gus Van Sant’s Psycho. Such was the mass fear upon entering this movie. Hands clenched up and down the aisle as people prepared for the worst (how could you blame them after Wolverine?) but after a few minutes the grips relaxed. Heads leaned forward and eyes opened wider. Somehow these performances work. Somehow each of these actors found a way to pay homage to the portrayals that came before, yet still managed to make each character personal. In particular, former pretty-boy Chris Pine and Heroes arch-villain Zachary Quinto embody the roles of James T. Kirk and Spock with powerful confidence, bringing strength and excitement not seen in either character in twenty-seven years. By contrast though, why was Eric Bana in this movie? Yes, Bana is a talented actor, but he wasn’t needed. The role wasn’t complicated. It mostly involved just looking angry and yelling with tattoos on his face. No denying that he really needed to be part of a movie that was actually successful. Or good. But it just seems like a waste. Anyways.
Before, there was judgment. Now, there is none. J.J. Abrams is a talent. Whether or a fan of Lost or not, whether you hated or loved Alias, whether or not MI:3 made you want to kill cute things or just lean your head into traffic, the 33-year-old Abrams has a gift for creating stories worth watching and characters worth knowing. His mistakes are visible, but he learns from them and has the skill to not to make them twice. He has done the film world right and created a movie not only worth watching, but one worth watching twice. Few movies are worth that honor, especially during the summer. This one earns it. Thank you J.J. for reminding us how fun imagination can be. Thank you for showing us again that you don’t have to take everything so seriously to still be respectful. Thank you for bringing quality writing back to the world of Science Fiction. Above all though, thank you for making me actually be excited for a sequel. Outside of Batman (which I don’t count), that hasn’t happened in a decade.
Directed by J.J. Abrams
Written by Roberto Orci & Alex Kurtzman
Starring:
Chris Pine – James T. Kirk
Zachary Quinto – Spock
Leonard Nimoy – Spock Prime
Eric Bana – Nero
Bruce Greenwood – Capt. Christopher Pike
Karl Urban – Dr. Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy
Zoe Saldana – Nyota Uhura
Simon Pegg – Scotty
John Cho – Hikaru Sulu
Anton Yelchin – Pavel Chekov
Ben Cross – Sarek
Winona Ryder – Amanda Grayson
Chris Hemsworth – George Kirk
Jennifer Morrison – Winona Kirk
Rachel Nichols – Gaila
Faran Tahis – Captain Robau
Clifton Collins Jr. – Ayel
Antonio Elias – Officer Pitts
Silence is a rare beast in the summer. If heard, it is often because some 14-year-old projectionist with the physique of a manatee let the reel slip and could not paw it properly back into place. But not this time. This is the silence of space before man, a silence of excitement and anticipation. It is a silence that makes you lean forward and breathe in slowly: a silence that precedes joy. More importantly, as all true fans are wondering, it is a silence of respect, a nod to a history beloved that here is not only paid homage, but given new and exciting life.
That doesn’t mean the film is perfect. If you are a die-hard Trekkie, there are parts of this movie that will bother you. Probably deeply. But there was no way you could win anyway, not with a series reboot, so please keep your complaints contained to your message boards and conventions. To the rest, and let this be emphasized: this is a good movie. A very good movie. Not just in terms of summer relativity, but in terms of actual quality. This is a well-written, well-directed, well-acted and brilliantly cast movie. Yes, there are moments that push the limits of suspended disbelief, even by science fiction standards, but they are only moments and they are easily forgivable.
Now that basics are done, let’s skip the predictable prattle about this movie going “warp-speed.” Every other critic in the world has said that already, so there’s no point. Especially since they’re wrong. This film does not go “warp-speed.” It isn’t that monotone. 130 minutes at warp-speed would be boring and leave you tired. This movie moves at a pace far more exciting: one that varies. It builds and ebbs, taking time to both develop characters anew and pay homage to classic moments and lines of Star Trek history. It feeds us numerous scenes of intense, exhilarating action and surrounds them with beautiful visuals, yet never presumes that such bursts of adrenaline–causing uproar would be enough. It respects the intelligence of its audience. These days, that counts for a lot.
The acting, as previously stated, is top notch. It is not an easy task to recreate a beloved character. Attempts usually result in ugly, miserable failure, ala Steve Martin’s lobotomized take on Inspector Clouseau, or the entire cast of Gus Van Sant’s Psycho. Such was the mass fear upon entering this movie. Hands clenched up and down the aisle as people prepared for the worst (how could you blame them after Wolverine?) but after a few minutes the grips relaxed. Heads leaned forward and eyes opened wider. Somehow these performances work. Somehow each of these actors found a way to pay homage to the portrayals that came before, yet still managed to make each character personal. In particular, former pretty-boy Chris Pine and Heroes arch-villain Zachary Quinto embody the roles of James T. Kirk and Spock with powerful confidence, bringing strength and excitement not seen in either character in twenty-seven years. By contrast though, why was Eric Bana in this movie? Yes, Bana is a talented actor, but he wasn’t needed. The role wasn’t complicated. It mostly involved just looking angry and yelling with tattoos on his face. No denying that he really needed to be part of a movie that was actually successful. Or good. But it just seems like a waste. Anyways.
Before, there was judgment. Now, there is none. J.J. Abrams is a talent. Whether or a fan of Lost or not, whether you hated or loved Alias, whether or not MI:3 made you want to kill cute things or just lean your head into traffic, the 33-year-old Abrams has a gift for creating stories worth watching and characters worth knowing. His mistakes are visible, but he learns from them and has the skill to not to make them twice. He has done the film world right and created a movie not only worth watching, but one worth watching twice. Few movies are worth that honor, especially during the summer. This one earns it. Thank you J.J. for reminding us how fun imagination can be. Thank you for showing us again that you don’t have to take everything so seriously to still be respectful. Thank you for bringing quality writing back to the world of Science Fiction. Above all though, thank you for making me actually be excited for a sequel. Outside of Batman (which I don’t count), that hasn’t happened in a decade.
Directed by J.J. Abrams
Written by Roberto Orci & Alex Kurtzman
Starring:
Chris Pine – James T. Kirk
Zachary Quinto – Spock
Leonard Nimoy – Spock Prime
Eric Bana – Nero
Bruce Greenwood – Capt. Christopher Pike
Karl Urban – Dr. Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy
Zoe Saldana – Nyota Uhura
Simon Pegg – Scotty
John Cho – Hikaru Sulu
Anton Yelchin – Pavel Chekov
Ben Cross – Sarek
Winona Ryder – Amanda Grayson
Chris Hemsworth – George Kirk
Jennifer Morrison – Winona Kirk
Rachel Nichols – Gaila
Faran Tahis – Captain Robau
Clifton Collins Jr. – Ayel
Antonio Elias – Officer Pitts
Friday, May 1, 2009
Wolverine: Origins * (one star)
Origins: Wolverine *(one star)
If you’re going to scrap 30 years of carefully crafted history, at least have the courtesy to make the end result entertaining.
What an utter waste of talent. What a waste of potential. Worst of all, what a waste of time. Not just the audience’s time either, but the time of so many countless people who clearly worked very hard to make those trucks blow up, or that nuclear power plant fall down, and even those dozens of people who worked on the simple moments, like when Logan’s claws spark as they touch each other. Ah, what a great scene: straight out of Who Framed Roger Rabbit, both in the quality of the CGI and the laughability of the moment. The sad difference though, is that Roger Rabbit wanted to make us laugh.
How did no one ever stand up and shout out, “PEOPLE, DOES ANYBODY KNOW WHAT WE’RE DOING?” Someone had to wonder. A lot of people had to wonder. This movie cost close to two-hundred-million dollars to make. That’s a number with eight zeroes. That’s like winning the mega-millions lottery twice. When you play with that kind of money, shouldn’t someone demand that a script be written that wasn’t scrawled in the back of a limo during rides to the set? There were more groan-inducing lines in this butcher’s slop than in Spider-Man 3. And Spider-Man 3 was terrible. How did nobody demand a rewrite?
This script felt as if it had been coddled together from a series of web comics written by people who neither knew comic book history nor ever spoke to one another. There was no storyline, no emotional development, and no character arc, very little logic and the closest thing to range shown was behind the characters, when silence often was compared, then broken by sounds of massive explosions. Talented actors appeared and were wasted, characters who could have been major components or even carried films of their own were cast aside in five-lines or less. Entire centuries of history bearing limitless potential for multiple, independent Wolverine origin films were thrown aside during the opening credits alone. Talented people worked on this film. A lot of talented people. Award-winning people. How did nobody care that what they were making was garbage?
Normally, paragraph four is where the critic is supposed to describe the plot of the film so that the potential viewer reading sed review can decide whether the film is really the kind of story he/she might like. Well, as previously stated, the story is a half-coddled mess, so let me summarize in bullet point so as to save us all time.
a) Wolverine starts as a boy. He kills his first person.
b) Then he grows up. He is played by Hugh Jackman, who is fit, but looks old.
c) He kills a lot of people.
d) Then he grows tired of killing people and falls in love in Canada.
e) Creed, his brother, kills Wolverine’s girlfriend. He is played by Liev Schreiber.
f) Wolverine gets mad, then gets metal grafted to his bones. He kills a lot of people.
g) A lot of things blow up. Nothing is resolved.
That was fun. Much more efficient too. And wow, no details wasted. Back to the viscera.
To ignore so many years of talented, painstaking effort is more than just laziness: it is arrogance. It isn’t hard to adapt a comic book well. Comic books are storyboards already. Just take the dialogue and stories that have already been written and combine them in a linear fashion. If the film is done well, the original writers will be proud that their stories and words made it into such a well-done film. The only real way to mess this process up is to either have bad material to being with (not the case here), or to rush the work and assume that the audience will be dumb enough not to care if the story presented to them is boring, effects-driven tripe.
In the final moments of the film, during the rolling of the unending credits, came the hidden scene. This is after the great pay-off that made no sense and the burning of the digital world, of course . . .but there it was. It appeared suddenly out of that black-and-white Courier font simplicity and lasted only four lines, but was meant to whet our appetite for the obvious sequel. As the scene ended, a fellow audience member promptly shouted out “Are You Serious?!?!?” with both gusto and horror. Whoever you are, honest teenager, you put it perfectly. If only you’d been on set for this production as well.
Directed by Gavin Hood
Written by David Benioff and Skip Woods
Starring:
Hugh Jackman – Logan/Wolverine
Liev Schreiber – Victor Creed/Sabretooth
Danny Huston – William Stryker
Will.i.Am – John Wraith
Lynn Collins – Kayla Silverfox
Kevin Durand – Frederick J. Dukes/The Blob
Dominic Monaghan – Chris Bradley/Bolt
Taylor Kitsch – Remy LeBeau/Gambit
Daniel Henney – David North/Agent Zero
Ryan Reynolds – Wade Wilson/Deadpool
Scott Adkins – Weapon XI
Tim Pocock – Scott Summers
Julia Blake – Heather Hudson
Max Cullen – Travis Hudson
Troye Sivan – James
Michael-James Olsen – Dog (Young Creed)
Peter O’Brien – John Howlett
Aaron Jeffery – Thomas Logan
Alice Parkinson – Elizabeth Howlett
If you’re going to scrap 30 years of carefully crafted history, at least have the courtesy to make the end result entertaining.
What an utter waste of talent. What a waste of potential. Worst of all, what a waste of time. Not just the audience’s time either, but the time of so many countless people who clearly worked very hard to make those trucks blow up, or that nuclear power plant fall down, and even those dozens of people who worked on the simple moments, like when Logan’s claws spark as they touch each other. Ah, what a great scene: straight out of Who Framed Roger Rabbit, both in the quality of the CGI and the laughability of the moment. The sad difference though, is that Roger Rabbit wanted to make us laugh.
How did no one ever stand up and shout out, “PEOPLE, DOES ANYBODY KNOW WHAT WE’RE DOING?” Someone had to wonder. A lot of people had to wonder. This movie cost close to two-hundred-million dollars to make. That’s a number with eight zeroes. That’s like winning the mega-millions lottery twice. When you play with that kind of money, shouldn’t someone demand that a script be written that wasn’t scrawled in the back of a limo during rides to the set? There were more groan-inducing lines in this butcher’s slop than in Spider-Man 3. And Spider-Man 3 was terrible. How did nobody demand a rewrite?
This script felt as if it had been coddled together from a series of web comics written by people who neither knew comic book history nor ever spoke to one another. There was no storyline, no emotional development, and no character arc, very little logic and the closest thing to range shown was behind the characters, when silence often was compared, then broken by sounds of massive explosions. Talented actors appeared and were wasted, characters who could have been major components or even carried films of their own were cast aside in five-lines or less. Entire centuries of history bearing limitless potential for multiple, independent Wolverine origin films were thrown aside during the opening credits alone. Talented people worked on this film. A lot of talented people. Award-winning people. How did nobody care that what they were making was garbage?
Normally, paragraph four is where the critic is supposed to describe the plot of the film so that the potential viewer reading sed review can decide whether the film is really the kind of story he/she might like. Well, as previously stated, the story is a half-coddled mess, so let me summarize in bullet point so as to save us all time.
a) Wolverine starts as a boy. He kills his first person.
b) Then he grows up. He is played by Hugh Jackman, who is fit, but looks old.
c) He kills a lot of people.
d) Then he grows tired of killing people and falls in love in Canada.
e) Creed, his brother, kills Wolverine’s girlfriend. He is played by Liev Schreiber.
f) Wolverine gets mad, then gets metal grafted to his bones. He kills a lot of people.
g) A lot of things blow up. Nothing is resolved.
That was fun. Much more efficient too. And wow, no details wasted. Back to the viscera.
To ignore so many years of talented, painstaking effort is more than just laziness: it is arrogance. It isn’t hard to adapt a comic book well. Comic books are storyboards already. Just take the dialogue and stories that have already been written and combine them in a linear fashion. If the film is done well, the original writers will be proud that their stories and words made it into such a well-done film. The only real way to mess this process up is to either have bad material to being with (not the case here), or to rush the work and assume that the audience will be dumb enough not to care if the story presented to them is boring, effects-driven tripe.
In the final moments of the film, during the rolling of the unending credits, came the hidden scene. This is after the great pay-off that made no sense and the burning of the digital world, of course . . .but there it was. It appeared suddenly out of that black-and-white Courier font simplicity and lasted only four lines, but was meant to whet our appetite for the obvious sequel. As the scene ended, a fellow audience member promptly shouted out “Are You Serious?!?!?” with both gusto and horror. Whoever you are, honest teenager, you put it perfectly. If only you’d been on set for this production as well.
Directed by Gavin Hood
Written by David Benioff and Skip Woods
Starring:
Hugh Jackman – Logan/Wolverine
Liev Schreiber – Victor Creed/Sabretooth
Danny Huston – William Stryker
Will.i.Am – John Wraith
Lynn Collins – Kayla Silverfox
Kevin Durand – Frederick J. Dukes/The Blob
Dominic Monaghan – Chris Bradley/Bolt
Taylor Kitsch – Remy LeBeau/Gambit
Daniel Henney – David North/Agent Zero
Ryan Reynolds – Wade Wilson/Deadpool
Scott Adkins – Weapon XI
Tim Pocock – Scott Summers
Julia Blake – Heather Hudson
Max Cullen – Travis Hudson
Troye Sivan – James
Michael-James Olsen – Dog (Young Creed)
Peter O’Brien – John Howlett
Aaron Jeffery – Thomas Logan
Alice Parkinson – Elizabeth Howlett
Monday, March 30, 2009
The First Rant: The Fallacies of Freedom and Independence
9ish AM
I just watched Alex Gibney’s Gonzo documentary about Hunter S. Thompson. Thompson has been one of my true heroes since early high school and I felt I owed it to him to see the last – or at least the most recent – study of his life.
It showed me very little which I did not already know about the man, but one great revelation did come from that over-edited ether:
That in a culture of law and commerce,
it is impossible to be both independent and free.
Most see independence and being an independent as the same game, but they are wrong. Not as wrong as those who see the pairing between the independent and freedom, but both parties are heavily stupid.
The Simple Truth is: Independence is no more than the word itself implies – a lack of dependence on anyone else. An Independent should therefore be this concept personified, a Jeffersonian animal, totally self-sufficient. But this is not the case.
An independent, in today’s culture, is someone who holds fast to beliefs more than to people. Someone willing to stand for a thought or a cause against the winds of disapproval and hatred, even if he or she must stand alone.
I have great respect for educated Independents, but they seldom, if ever, have any idea of how the world works beyond the broad strokes. And this is a great tragedy, for these dedicated and simple few are often our best fighters, wasted on causes they died for without leaving any impact.
Now FREEDOM is another matter entirely. Colonial freedom, as Mel Gibson once cried for and millions still kill for, is not human freedom. The freedom of a people fought for does not create free people.
This may sound convoluted and overly-didactic, but bear with me, for I will have a point eventually.
A free people work together to make their tiny world as good as it can be. They fight for one another, create laws to protect their own and choose who will enforce those laws so that no one may break the community. A free people is a unit, a collection of souls united in the belief that, together, they can be something better than they are apart.
A free people is a force to be reckoned with.
Not so “The Free.”
People who claim to be “Free,” who do whatever the fuck they want, are the least free people alive.
“The Free” as I shall call them, who live life entirely for themselves and no one else are never free, not in the true definition of the word. To be free is to owe nothing to anyone and be at peace with one’s place in the world, a unity that gives a person the limitless potential of a mind unhindered. Therefore, The Free, who do as they please, can never be free, for to act without a thought for consequences mandates that there be someone else who foolishly cares enough to follow behind and clean up the mess.
The Free who never take responsibility for themselves, let alone their actions, spend their lives running full speed ahead, pausing only to look back and spit on the very people who keep them fed and in shoes. The Free do not understand that a life spent covering ground does not leave a mark, nor does it create memories, but rather guarantees that the runner will eventually end up somewhere dark and strange, alone and tired.
The jails are full of The Free whose loved ones cut them loose and walked away to better lives. And no one but The Free blame them for walking away.
Only a very lucky few of these Free, hedonistic fools escape this world unhated, unbroken, unburned and unraped and only then because someone in power thought them necessary.
And ten million people out of ten million and one aren’t necessary.
The rest just die repentant.
I believe in insanity.
I believe in mayhem and the lewd
and the shocking
and I support all these things
because I believe they make us better people.
But I am not so foolish as to believe that
If I live my life
Entirely for myself
that anyone else will be there
or miss me
When I die.
Independence and freedom are two of the most perfect ideals of the modern time, but those who attempt to personify them miss the point. Ideals are meant to apply to humanity as a whole, not to people individually.
People can and should stand for ideals, but no man, no woman, will ever be big enough to personify one.
Until people understand this, we will continue to be a generation of the lost, scratching at the past we don’t remember in search of an identity we pray generations gone left buried and waiting behind.
Still, what more can we expect when these days the only people brave enough to stand for an ideal are also those stupid and egomaniacal enough to proclaim a dedicated belief in a word without understanding the definition.
I just watched Alex Gibney’s Gonzo documentary about Hunter S. Thompson. Thompson has been one of my true heroes since early high school and I felt I owed it to him to see the last – or at least the most recent – study of his life.
It showed me very little which I did not already know about the man, but one great revelation did come from that over-edited ether:
That in a culture of law and commerce,
it is impossible to be both independent and free.
Most see independence and being an independent as the same game, but they are wrong. Not as wrong as those who see the pairing between the independent and freedom, but both parties are heavily stupid.
The Simple Truth is: Independence is no more than the word itself implies – a lack of dependence on anyone else. An Independent should therefore be this concept personified, a Jeffersonian animal, totally self-sufficient. But this is not the case.
An independent, in today’s culture, is someone who holds fast to beliefs more than to people. Someone willing to stand for a thought or a cause against the winds of disapproval and hatred, even if he or she must stand alone.
I have great respect for educated Independents, but they seldom, if ever, have any idea of how the world works beyond the broad strokes. And this is a great tragedy, for these dedicated and simple few are often our best fighters, wasted on causes they died for without leaving any impact.
Now FREEDOM is another matter entirely. Colonial freedom, as Mel Gibson once cried for and millions still kill for, is not human freedom. The freedom of a people fought for does not create free people.
This may sound convoluted and overly-didactic, but bear with me, for I will have a point eventually.
A free people work together to make their tiny world as good as it can be. They fight for one another, create laws to protect their own and choose who will enforce those laws so that no one may break the community. A free people is a unit, a collection of souls united in the belief that, together, they can be something better than they are apart.
A free people is a force to be reckoned with.
Not so “The Free.”
People who claim to be “Free,” who do whatever the fuck they want, are the least free people alive.
“The Free” as I shall call them, who live life entirely for themselves and no one else are never free, not in the true definition of the word. To be free is to owe nothing to anyone and be at peace with one’s place in the world, a unity that gives a person the limitless potential of a mind unhindered. Therefore, The Free, who do as they please, can never be free, for to act without a thought for consequences mandates that there be someone else who foolishly cares enough to follow behind and clean up the mess.
The Free who never take responsibility for themselves, let alone their actions, spend their lives running full speed ahead, pausing only to look back and spit on the very people who keep them fed and in shoes. The Free do not understand that a life spent covering ground does not leave a mark, nor does it create memories, but rather guarantees that the runner will eventually end up somewhere dark and strange, alone and tired.
The jails are full of The Free whose loved ones cut them loose and walked away to better lives. And no one but The Free blame them for walking away.
Only a very lucky few of these Free, hedonistic fools escape this world unhated, unbroken, unburned and unraped and only then because someone in power thought them necessary.
And ten million people out of ten million and one aren’t necessary.
The rest just die repentant.
I believe in insanity.
I believe in mayhem and the lewd
and the shocking
and I support all these things
because I believe they make us better people.
But I am not so foolish as to believe that
If I live my life
Entirely for myself
that anyone else will be there
or miss me
When I die.
Independence and freedom are two of the most perfect ideals of the modern time, but those who attempt to personify them miss the point. Ideals are meant to apply to humanity as a whole, not to people individually.
People can and should stand for ideals, but no man, no woman, will ever be big enough to personify one.
Until people understand this, we will continue to be a generation of the lost, scratching at the past we don’t remember in search of an identity we pray generations gone left buried and waiting behind.
Still, what more can we expect when these days the only people brave enough to stand for an ideal are also those stupid and egomaniacal enough to proclaim a dedicated belief in a word without understanding the definition.
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