"W"TF?
Duct tape is amazing stuff. The “Mythbusters” crew has manufactured a working cannon, a passable suspension bridge, and a seaworthy sailboat out of it. Until last week, it was used to repair the worn-out armrests of my high-mileage wheelchair.
I finally had to break down and order replacement armrests for the chair. It was either that, or re-upholster the old ones with more duct tape. You see, two Sundays ago I had an emergency that required me to rip the duct tape off my armrests and wind it around my head to keep it from exploding. Subsequently, it took the better part of last week to stem the flow of blood leaking from my eyeballs.
No, I wasn’t physically injured. I willingly subjected myself to what I knew would be a harrowing, unpleasant ordeal, and to pay the price for my foolishness.
I watched Oliver Stone’s movie “W.” for the first and last time.
I doubt I will ever watch another Oliver Stone movie.
As a writer, producer, and director, Oliver Stone has created some outstanding works. His screenplays for “Salvador”, “Talk Radio”, “Scarface”, “Year of the Dragon” and even “Conan the Barbarian” are excellent. “Platoon” and “Wall Street” are regarded as minor masterpieces. “World Trade Center”, “The Doors” and “Nixon” were honest enough looks at history. The man has an impressive résumé, and is capable of consistently producing entertaining, thought-provoking movies.
Oliver Stone is also capable of producing bombs like “JFK” and “Alexander” and pornographic trash like “Natural Born Killers.” He’s nothing if not eclectic in his movie-making.
(Yes, I said “Natural Born Killers” is pornographic trash. Portrayals of graphic violence in the context of telling a story on film is acceptable; Sam Peckinpah was a master at this. Stringing together endless vignettes of random, senseless bloodshed, and then justifying it by saying it’s a commentary on the glorification of mindless violence in our culture, is akin to saying that skin flicks by John Holmes, Linda Lovelace, and Marilyn Chambers are commentaries on love, affection and morality.)
I thought Stone had scraped the bottom of the barrel in 1994 with “Killers”, but I was wrong. “W.” is the scum that leaks through and collects on the underside of the barrel’s bottom. If ever there was a movie that didn’t need to be made, this was it. At least in “Nixon” Stone had the decency to portray that unlikable president as a man with a tortured, conflicted soul. I know that Stone is an unabashed liberal given to some wild-eyed ideological leanings, and this spills over into his movies. Most of Hollyweird has a left-leaning bias, and discerning moviegoers who don’t agree with it simply take it in stride and ignore the source. James Cameron’s anti-capitalist, anti-military themes in “Avatar” didn’t detract from his entertaining—if derivative—story. Even unrepentant, unforgiven “Hanoi Jane” Fonda has made some good movies. When talented moviemakers exploit their celebrity and make clueless personal remarks about politics, it is normally to be transcended. Sometimes, as with Alec Baldwin and Meryl Streep, they learn to shut up and go back to doing what they’re good at.
I knew from word-of-mouth and other sources that I would not enjoy watching “W.” I knew the movie was coming out of left field, so to speak, and was a partisan ideological screed. Like a looky-Lou at a horrifying traffic accident, I also knew I had to see this. (The fact that “W.” and 2007’s “Lions for Lambs” have turned up on Encore™ so quickly speaks ill of their box office success. Most Americans don’t want to pony up their hard-earned dollars for crap, unless it’s mindlessly entertaining crap like “Iron Man II” or those “Twilight” turkeys. Liberals dismiss the reticence of average Americans to pay good money to see their country trashed as further proof that the general public is too ignorant to accept the intellectual “truths” of their boring movies.)
What I wasn’t prepared for when I sat down to watch “W.” was the outright character assassination of our 43rd president. I visited liberal blogs and saw countless other outrageous examples of the hatred progressives had for George W. Bush, including the thinly-veiled calls for his assassination, but I let it slide as freedom of speech and clueless idiocy. I’m certainly not shy about trashing our current president, who I just referred to in a previous post as “an inept dipshit.” However, I don’t present my opinions as anything more than what they are, and I don’t particularly care if my two dozen or so readers agree with me. I don’t run ads on this blog, and I don’t charge admission. I just say whatever sparks to life in what’s left of my mind, without the expectation of influencing anyone or convincing them that my interpretations of reality are so profound they should be accepted as some modern-day gospel.
Oliver Stone portrayed George W. Bush as a nose-picking, drunken, megalomaniacal buffoon who couldn’t find his dog when it was standing at his feet. In the world according to Stone, Bush was a failure at everything in life, and only achieved the presidency because of his family’s wealth and influence. Yes, George W. had a drinking problem. So what? The last time I counted, I have nine DUI convictions on my record. Yes, George W. floundered about in his formative years, searching for a sense of purpose, and failed at some of his youthful enterprises. Haven’t we all done that? Stone interprets Bush’s fundamental spiritual faith as some kind of hillbilly delusion that God is speaking to him from the burning tumbleweed. I talk to God every day, but I don’t handle snakes or roll on the floor babbling in tongues when I do so. My table manners at home aren’t the best, but I chew my food with my mouth closed and only pick my nose when no one is around. Stone’s “W” chews and picks simultaneously in one scene, with chunks of a sandwich dribbling out of the corner of his mouth while he speaks and wipes boogers on the tablecloth. (Supposedly approving the Patriot Act with Dick Cheney at the same time.) And I always know where my Ninja terrier is at any given moment…most of the time.
There were two things I appreciated in “W.” Josh Brolin looks amazingly like George Bush in some scenes, and Richard Dreyfuss bears a disturbing resemblance to Dick Cheney. Veteran actor James Cromwell doesn’t look anything like George H.W. Bush, but he has the only good line in the movie. I paraphrase: “Junior, you got another DUI, and now you’ve got this girl knocked up. This is unacceptable! Who do you think we are, Kennedys?”
About fifteen minutes into the movie, the pressure inside my skull reached a crisis point, and I had to scavenge the duct tape off the armrests of my wheelchair to keep my head from exploding. That containment made the blood run out of my eyeballs. I used to have the bad habit of hanging up on aggravating phone callers, and when they called back, I’d apologize and tell them my bullshit sensor had overloaded and kicked me out of service. Thus it was with “W.” My BS meter spiked, and several gaskets blew a leak.
Thank God for duct tape!
(P.S. While I am currently convinced I’ll never watch another Oliver Stone movie, I see from my research at the IMDB—Internet Movie Data Base—that Stone is currently working on a movie titled “Travis McGee.” I am a great fan of the late John D. McDonald, and read every one of the “McGee” thrillers as fast as he wrote them. I may have to rethink a total boycott of Stone movies. If he can come up with something entertaining that is true to the title character, Stone may find a measure of redemption in my book. However, the very concept of redemption is totally alien to Stone, as he so vividly asserted in “W.” I’ll have to cogitate on this a while.)
I finally had to break down and order replacement armrests for the chair. It was either that, or re-upholster the old ones with more duct tape. You see, two Sundays ago I had an emergency that required me to rip the duct tape off my armrests and wind it around my head to keep it from exploding. Subsequently, it took the better part of last week to stem the flow of blood leaking from my eyeballs.
No, I wasn’t physically injured. I willingly subjected myself to what I knew would be a harrowing, unpleasant ordeal, and to pay the price for my foolishness.
I watched Oliver Stone’s movie “W.” for the first and last time.
I doubt I will ever watch another Oliver Stone movie.
As a writer, producer, and director, Oliver Stone has created some outstanding works. His screenplays for “Salvador”, “Talk Radio”, “Scarface”, “Year of the Dragon” and even “Conan the Barbarian” are excellent. “Platoon” and “Wall Street” are regarded as minor masterpieces. “World Trade Center”, “The Doors” and “Nixon” were honest enough looks at history. The man has an impressive résumé, and is capable of consistently producing entertaining, thought-provoking movies.
Oliver Stone is also capable of producing bombs like “JFK” and “Alexander” and pornographic trash like “Natural Born Killers.” He’s nothing if not eclectic in his movie-making.
(Yes, I said “Natural Born Killers” is pornographic trash. Portrayals of graphic violence in the context of telling a story on film is acceptable; Sam Peckinpah was a master at this. Stringing together endless vignettes of random, senseless bloodshed, and then justifying it by saying it’s a commentary on the glorification of mindless violence in our culture, is akin to saying that skin flicks by John Holmes, Linda Lovelace, and Marilyn Chambers are commentaries on love, affection and morality.)
I thought Stone had scraped the bottom of the barrel in 1994 with “Killers”, but I was wrong. “W.” is the scum that leaks through and collects on the underside of the barrel’s bottom. If ever there was a movie that didn’t need to be made, this was it. At least in “Nixon” Stone had the decency to portray that unlikable president as a man with a tortured, conflicted soul. I know that Stone is an unabashed liberal given to some wild-eyed ideological leanings, and this spills over into his movies. Most of Hollyweird has a left-leaning bias, and discerning moviegoers who don’t agree with it simply take it in stride and ignore the source. James Cameron’s anti-capitalist, anti-military themes in “Avatar” didn’t detract from his entertaining—if derivative—story. Even unrepentant, unforgiven “Hanoi Jane” Fonda has made some good movies. When talented moviemakers exploit their celebrity and make clueless personal remarks about politics, it is normally to be transcended. Sometimes, as with Alec Baldwin and Meryl Streep, they learn to shut up and go back to doing what they’re good at.
I knew from word-of-mouth and other sources that I would not enjoy watching “W.” I knew the movie was coming out of left field, so to speak, and was a partisan ideological screed. Like a looky-Lou at a horrifying traffic accident, I also knew I had to see this. (The fact that “W.” and 2007’s “Lions for Lambs” have turned up on Encore™ so quickly speaks ill of their box office success. Most Americans don’t want to pony up their hard-earned dollars for crap, unless it’s mindlessly entertaining crap like “Iron Man II” or those “Twilight” turkeys. Liberals dismiss the reticence of average Americans to pay good money to see their country trashed as further proof that the general public is too ignorant to accept the intellectual “truths” of their boring movies.)
What I wasn’t prepared for when I sat down to watch “W.” was the outright character assassination of our 43rd president. I visited liberal blogs and saw countless other outrageous examples of the hatred progressives had for George W. Bush, including the thinly-veiled calls for his assassination, but I let it slide as freedom of speech and clueless idiocy. I’m certainly not shy about trashing our current president, who I just referred to in a previous post as “an inept dipshit.” However, I don’t present my opinions as anything more than what they are, and I don’t particularly care if my two dozen or so readers agree with me. I don’t run ads on this blog, and I don’t charge admission. I just say whatever sparks to life in what’s left of my mind, without the expectation of influencing anyone or convincing them that my interpretations of reality are so profound they should be accepted as some modern-day gospel.
Oliver Stone portrayed George W. Bush as a nose-picking, drunken, megalomaniacal buffoon who couldn’t find his dog when it was standing at his feet. In the world according to Stone, Bush was a failure at everything in life, and only achieved the presidency because of his family’s wealth and influence. Yes, George W. had a drinking problem. So what? The last time I counted, I have nine DUI convictions on my record. Yes, George W. floundered about in his formative years, searching for a sense of purpose, and failed at some of his youthful enterprises. Haven’t we all done that? Stone interprets Bush’s fundamental spiritual faith as some kind of hillbilly delusion that God is speaking to him from the burning tumbleweed. I talk to God every day, but I don’t handle snakes or roll on the floor babbling in tongues when I do so. My table manners at home aren’t the best, but I chew my food with my mouth closed and only pick my nose when no one is around. Stone’s “W” chews and picks simultaneously in one scene, with chunks of a sandwich dribbling out of the corner of his mouth while he speaks and wipes boogers on the tablecloth. (Supposedly approving the Patriot Act with Dick Cheney at the same time.) And I always know where my Ninja terrier is at any given moment…most of the time.
There were two things I appreciated in “W.” Josh Brolin looks amazingly like George Bush in some scenes, and Richard Dreyfuss bears a disturbing resemblance to Dick Cheney. Veteran actor James Cromwell doesn’t look anything like George H.W. Bush, but he has the only good line in the movie. I paraphrase: “Junior, you got another DUI, and now you’ve got this girl knocked up. This is unacceptable! Who do you think we are, Kennedys?”
About fifteen minutes into the movie, the pressure inside my skull reached a crisis point, and I had to scavenge the duct tape off the armrests of my wheelchair to keep my head from exploding. That containment made the blood run out of my eyeballs. I used to have the bad habit of hanging up on aggravating phone callers, and when they called back, I’d apologize and tell them my bullshit sensor had overloaded and kicked me out of service. Thus it was with “W.” My BS meter spiked, and several gaskets blew a leak.
Thank God for duct tape!
(P.S. While I am currently convinced I’ll never watch another Oliver Stone movie, I see from my research at the IMDB—Internet Movie Data Base—that Stone is currently working on a movie titled “Travis McGee.” I am a great fan of the late John D. McDonald, and read every one of the “McGee” thrillers as fast as he wrote them. I may have to rethink a total boycott of Stone movies. If he can come up with something entertaining that is true to the title character, Stone may find a measure of redemption in my book. However, the very concept of redemption is totally alien to Stone, as he so vividly asserted in “W.” I’ll have to cogitate on this a while.)
posted by Robert at 4:05 AM
6 Comments:
Hey Possum,
"I had to scavenge the duct tape off the armrests of my wheelchair to keep my head from exploding. That containment made the blood run out of my eyeballs."
"I just say whatever sparks to life in what’s left of my mind..."
Great lines. I really like your writing style. Keep up the good work.
(:D) Best regards...
I thought Stone had scraped the bottom of the barrel in 1994 with “Killers”, but I was wrong. “W.” is the scum that leaks through and collects on the underside of the barrel’s bottom.
Nice simile, that last...
P.S.-- Meant to add that I saw the last half hour or so of "W." with my wife. That was enough for me. "Who wrote this crap?!? This is terrible!", my wife kept saying. When the credits came up and Oliver Stone's name appeared, she said: "Well that figures."
Stone is very creatice with his psychedelic visual stylings, and can tell a good story when he sets his warped mind to it.
"Salvador" has a lot of personal meaning to me. I could swear Stone was down there looking over my shoulder. Check it out, if you haven't seen it.
There are very few directors who I consider to have never made a bad movie. They include John Ford, Sam Peckinpah, Stanley Kubrick, Clint Eastwood, and Ridley Scott.
There ya go: two conservatives, two Brits, and a wild-eyed anarchist with traditional values (Peckinpah).
I also have to give Roland Emmerich credit, because he loves America, and always uplifts us in his cinematic endeavors.
Thank you for watching it so I do not have to.
Really appreciated your comments. Your writing skills have been honed over the years to the keenest edge...It's always a pleasure to visit and read your latest comments.
I have never enjoyed an Oliver Stone movie...actually only wasted my time on one or two...and that was not of my choosing.
I am, however, looking forward to his "Travis McGee" effort, if it approaches John D. McDonald's standards. I, too, have read every McGee novel...Almost named my first child 'The Busted Flush', but my ex-wife wouldn't go along with that idea at all.
In any case, keep up the great writing. I look forward to each and every chapter.
KC
Post a Comment
<< Home