Ninety degrees both days of the weekend. It might as well be 12 below, but I forced myself out in it just the same. As my recovery from Inflated Head Syndrome seems to have stalled — yes, mom, still taking the antibiotic, and hoping for a miracle — I thought a slow bike ride might be in order. Very strange, riding a bicycle with one’s head hovering about 10 feet above the action, but there you are. It felt like a balloon on a very long string. And so, when I turned, the bike would go a few feet before YANK the string would correct the course of the balloon, and the balloon would bob along until YANK the next turn and is it really this hot? Because if 2012 is going to be another summer of 2011, it will be a long one.
But I got my banking done. So there’s that.
Also saw “Prometheus” with the fam, in 3D ‘n’ ev’rythang. It was a sprawling, beautiful hunk o’ disappointment. Very nice to look at, with a story that made no sense. I don’t think I’m spoiling anything here, because I’m only going with the first-act material: Cave paintings from around the ancient world all seem to suggest an alien visitation, so off our brave explorers go in their entertaining mix of ethnicities and attitudes in the year 2093, to find this extraterrestrial culture. They’re aided by a robot played by Michael Fassbender, who was the greatest thing about the movie, because, duh, Michael Fassbender.
This is tied to the original “Alien,” of course, and if you’re wondering where you saw these scenes before, of an entertainingly mixed crew waking from cryo-sleep and eating a grumpy breakfast together, well, that’s where. It just seemed so much…better the first time around. “Alien” was the first movie that made me consider what a deep-space work vessel would look like, and what sort of crew such a space truck might have. Of course, “Alien” is 30 years old now, and millions of young moviegoers haven’t seen it.
And I don’t care what anyone says. The big gross-out scene in “Prometheus” isn’t fit to touch the hem of John Hurt’s garment in the original chest-burster scene from “Alien.” I think they actually had to peel me off the ceiling of the theater after that one.
That, in the end, might be the biggest single flaw with “Prometheus” — everything’s an homage, a callback, and update of and to something that was truly original. Which made it disappointing.
(Was “Alien” really original? Film critics always point out it’s not a sci-fi movie, it’s a haunted-house movie. Granted. But it was an original sci-fi/haunted-house mashup, at least.)
So, bloggage? Sure:
Some of you may have noticed Cooze has been a bit testy of late. He has an excuse — Balto’s been missing. But the story has a happy ending, told as only he can. (Why does Verlyn Klinkenborg bore the shit out of us in the pages of the New York Times with his dispatches from yonder, while Cooze has only a blog? I ASK YOU.)
Here’s something very strange — a near-novella-length post by a gay Mormon, coming out of the closet on the occasion of his 10-year wedding anniversary, and yes, he’s married to a woman. He calls himself a unicorn. I refer to one of Nance’s Truths, i.e., there is no mystery in life deeper and more inexplicable than the human heart. I’m sure this will be jumped on by the anti-gay marriage crowd. I don’t really care what they do. I hope his wife is content, and she certainly states that she is, multiple times. (The violent smiles in the photos have an air of creepiness to them, I have to say.) Just something to read.
And so the week begins. Fingers crossed for full health by its end.