Death-by-ma©hete

 

            Death-by-ma©hete  

 

              'Everything' (y)our man ©in said it better to your man Itchy the Cat just now, ' is a rom / com', this after, before during and after videeing All Is Bright but before during and after videeing Bang Bang Club, the former starring a couple of Americans playing Quebecois guys selling Christmas trees in Brooklyn, the latter starring Ryan Phillipe playing a South African war photographer. 

 

              Phillipe is not the young actor who played the CIA spook in that movie Breach or the twat / twit who had menage-a-troises with his step-sisters (hooker please –id.) morning noon and night in Cruel Intentions Parts I to III, but a grown man now, taking pictures of what the locals call 'Mandela's boys' in this film.  Any film daring to bad-mouth Nelson Mandela 'may not be long' - the coroner in Michael Apted's film take on Martin Cruz Smith’s Gorky Park says it better to William Hurt's Chief Inspector Renko when Renko starts digging / too deep - 'for this world', and so despite the death-by-ma©hete videed in this film both by Ryan's photographer and by this horroreviewer, his attention may begin to wander, it is after all the Christmas season and bi®thday, innit Electrified J©, 'my readers may have a hard time seeing these', the editor of the South African newspaper says it better in this movie befiore during and after videeing the pictures of the J-Burg hostel massacres, 'over / their cornflakes', death-by-ma©hete is all / we gots.

 

              Soon enough the photographer is after making the beast with two ba©ks with (y)our (wo)man the photo editor morning noon and night be©ause Hollywood, and driving around his 1980's car throughout J-Burg's shanty towns taking photographs of every massacre around.  Local types with spears and shields and more machetes try to warn the pack of white photographers away but guess what, no one / listens.  God love these war photographers and war correspondents - their preferred nomeclature, not Cin's, to Cin everything is preceded by 'war', the 'war' / is superfluous – innit God, but they must keep the ambassadors in these countries awake / at night, about to be beheaded by ISIS they are, or sure enough in this movie shot as collatoral damage by the South African military in their armored vehicles, white as lilies these Africaaners soldiers are, to / a man, 'civil war' the poster on the wall of the bar where the photographers go to get rat-arsed after their days playing big boy shutterbugs announces it better, 'is not very / civil.'

 

              'School's out' the grizzled vet reporter drops the line inevitably to the young photographer played by Philippe as every white swinging di©k and white war groupie in J-Burg gets arse-holed in the local watering hole morning noon and night.  Film goes South early, leaving the locals to their tribal wars to concentrate instead on the white photographers and their slick abundance, innit It, 'I don't date' the female photo editor protests it better too much to Phillipe's journo, before doing just that, 'photographers.  You stay up all night, drink too much, and you're / crazy.  And then' she drops the punch line almost as fast as they both drop /  trow, 'there's the bad / stuff.'

 

h            Course (y)our man ©in the humble(d) narrator of this Take This Thing Back to Baltimore me-moirs and death-by-ma©hete gets the adrenaline junkie angle - he used to get out more in the hal©yon p®e-®egime ze®o days and decades - but not the bit about going into the hearts of darkness without armed guards, soldiers of fortune, ambassadors and attaches, and plenty / of them, 'send lawyers, guns, and money' Warren Zevon ®IP sings it better in his song of the same name, 'the shit has hit / the fan.'  Finally a Zulu gets about as much hoo©h as this humble / humbled / humiliated horroreviewer is allowed to videe and ©insume under horroregime zero, when another local in the film pours the cintents of a bottle of booze over him after his gang beat hell out of the Zulu (that's enough -id.), and then sets him / alight, lawyers, guns, and money is all / we gots.

 

              As punishment for taking this photograph, the Phillipe character’s photographer wins / the Pulitze® prize - you can't make up most of the plot twists and surprises that Cin videes in these films in the course of writing these horroreviews - 'there's no bang bang' Phillipe's photographer says it better after returning to J-Burg from New York baby for the ceremony, despite some concerns that he might / not, 'over there', but it's not all bang-bang for Greg even after winning that prize, 'I had to tell him' a jealous arse-holed fellow-photographer at the bar in the film says it better of Greg's Pulitze®, 'what / it was', New York baby is all / we gots.

 

              Good times, Abdul the photographer from Israel shows up at the next Bang Bang ©lub morning meeting and off they all go to get some more war porn, and 'early morning' the Marine in the Press Corps in Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket says it better to his reporters when he assigns them the task of covering Ann Margaret's visit to Saigon, 'dew', the Bang Bang ©lub  is all / we gots.

 

To be fair, Greg brings   along his editor / leg-over when she akses, for the inevitable visit to the townships when he takes his post-Pulitzer P®ize (that's enough -id.) photos of the suffering South Africans.  Both of them are by the laws of Hollywood and of nature evidently more accustomed to being in front of the camera than behind it, but they try to be empathetic to the suffering they say all around them, for the sake of the camera that's in front / of them.

 

              'New York Times called' Greg name-drops the second time now, 'the spectre of Africa starving' the TV announcer says it better before during and after videeing the picture of the Sudanese child being given the once-over by the vulture taken by Greg's colleague wins the second Pulitzer of the movie in as many hours, 'has attracted the world's attention.'  This photograph ©in actually remembers in what passes for his off-screen life, how much of the rest of this is fa©tion - like most of what passes for fa©tion in this Take This Thing Back to Baltimore me-moirs and death-by-ma©hete - is hard / to discern, certainly war photographers are nowhere near as dreamy as the ones depicted in / this film, attracting the world's attention is all / we gots.

 

              'One day' Robert Duvall's U.S. Army Major Kilgore (?) says it better in Coppola's Apocalypse Now, 'this war's gonna / end', and the last act of this film concerns itself with what these dreamy big boy shutterbugs are 'asupposed to do after the latest conflict is over.  'Do you know what happened' a nosey parker journalista dares to aks Greg's colleague, apropos the subject of the photo he captured with the vulture giving her the greasy eye, 'to the little girl?'  Greg's colleague, given a ©inexplicable back story of being a junkie in the film, doesn't know how to How Does It Feel about the question, and for all this horroreviewer knows the question leads him back to his heroine / habit.

 

              Course the photographers proceed to get knocked around, kidnapped or beheaded one by one - for d®ama - the first by the always-fe©kless UN blue helmets who shoot at anything / that moves, the second before during and after messing around with an Africaaner rugby player (yay ®ugge®s !) in the bar and then head-butted, leading to the one and only chuckle out (y)our man ©in the humble / humbled / humiliated horroreviewer during the course of videeing this movie, needless to say everyone in this film as in most films is arseholed 80 % of the time, or maybe that's horroregime zero talking - no it's not, Cin is going to his third office party in as many weeks tomorrow, this one to be held right in the office, where an exception has been made for the first time in 20 years that everone can bring their own booze into the office and get stinking / drunk, and where (y)our man ©in will get to sit there for the third time in as many weeks and pretend to have fun, hatched-faced and declining drink after drink after drink be©ause ®egime ze®o,  you have to be a hound of punishment to submit to horroregime zero, but enough / is enough, and the third time might be / the charm, he is of half of what's left of his mind that four-lettered word to call in / si©k for the occasion - until only your man Greg is left, looking for his next / fix, yay ®ugge®s ! is all / we gots.

 

              'You're alive' Cin says it better now to your man Scratchy the Cat, to book-end this WTFednesday edition of this Take This Thing Back to Baltimore me-moirs and death-by-ma©hete and movie horroreview, 'innit, Puss.'  Like his roommate (y)our man ©in, when Scratchy is lying on the floor asleep it is hard not to mistake him without looking closely as being anything other than / dead that four-lettered word.  Yet like Lazarus innit Electrified JC the three of us will all awake of a Thirstday morning, and somehow manage to do it all / again, puss that four-lettered word is all / we gots.

 

              Thanks for reading this Take This Thing Back to Baltimore me-moirs and death-by-ma©hete.