2015-01-28 magnanimous

                 2015-01-28  magnanimous   

              ‘The heavyweight champion of the world’, (y)our man the heavyweight champion of the world Jack Johnson (?) said it better, of the necessity and relative difficulty of / the same, ‘can afford to be / magnanimous’, being magnanimous is all / we gots, only problem is that precious few of us have been the heavyweight champion of / the world, and so can afford to be / the same.

              Behold / the wage-worm.  He riseth up early in the morning, 7:00 AM being early after your man the wage-worm has been after tossing and turning all night, despite his early beddy-by time the previous / evening - 10:00 PM being early / enough for (y)our man ©in the humble(d) narrator of (t)his Take This Thing Back to Baltime-moi®es and magnanimous, and who’s been known to burn the midnight oil before during and after the hal©yon p®e-®egime ze®o days and nights and decades - and to burn the candle at both ends - ‘the candle that burns half as long’ Rutger Hauer’s replicant Roy’s maker Elron Tyrell, played by Joe Turkell, who also played of course (y)our man Lloyd the bartender in Kubrick’s take on your The Shining, innit Mr. King says it better to Roy in Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, ‘burns twice as brightly, and you have burned’ his maker magnanimously condescends to his creation Roy,  before during and after (y)our man Tyrell has his head crushed / by same, for this very condescension, only your creator, like the aforementioned heavyweight champion of the world, can afford to be / magnaminous, ‘so very very brightly, Roy’, crushed / by same is all / we gots.

Finally the old-fashioned flip-top alarm goes off at 7:30 A.M. and your man the wage-worm bolts upright, Regan McNeil from The Exorcist-style, after 30 minutes of wishing and pretending that he’s somewhere / someone / some time else, perhaps the heavyweight champion of the world, and can afford to be  / magnanimous, mighty are / his preparations.

              Course during the course of the mo(u)rning’s (hooker please, -id.) mighty preparations, (y)our man ©in knocks over the coffee mug, spilling the beloved java.  He performs burial rites for the latest jumper fish from the cinquarium – ‘ when the sea will rise again’ he always ends / his eulogies, wrapping (y)our )wo)man the jumper fish in a coffee-machine filter and laying it to rest as we do, and mangling surely a line he videed in a movie, still and all it’s a good / line, ‘to reclaim / her dead’ – and watches two and a quarter episodes of The Simpsons on-line before during and exiting the ©indominium, stage-right, of a WTFednesday mo(u)rning (that’s enough, -id.), stage-left of course being / the balcony, and Himself no longer / a jumper, ‘it seemed unfair’ the Australian novelist he read about wrote it better of one of her characters cintemplating / the same but then thinking better / of it, ‘to those left / behind’, the sea rising / again to claim her dead is all / we gots. 

              Before during and after the videeing of one of which said episodes (y)our man ©in was after udeeing the tune ‘Memories’ (from ‘Cats’ / the musical, innit Magi©al Miste® Mestophiles.) for the first of two times today, the first being hummed by (y)our (wo)man the ©at Lady character in The Simpsons briefly before during and after she goes coo-coo for coa-coa puffs as we do, and the second being before during and after videeing this movie (t)his WTFednesday movie review edition of this Take This Thing Back to Baltime-moires and magnanimous.  ‘This is the life we want’, one of the afflicted characters in the movie says it better, ‘doing / drugs’, magnanimous is all / we gots.

              What it is is that the Portugese director directed a trilogy of films – placed strategically in a DVD boxed-set all together, and therefore irresistible as part of a bout of ®ental the®apy up in here or rather at the video store last week – whose subject matter(s) is (are) the denizens of a Lisbon barrio of some kind, ‘I got’, the 90s tune of the same name blasts itself better over a boombox in the barrio in part II of the trilogy, ‘the power’. 

This movie may in fact or may not be part II of the trilogy, after videeing part I, (y)our man ©in lost track, so grim are the prognoses of / the characters, but these new characters are still alive, which surely can’t be the case in part III, the way they’re carrying on.  Like the denizens of the ©ubi©ombs this after, swigging hooch in the lunch-time sun on the street amongst themselves right out / the bottle, the denizens of this movie sit inside and outside their apartments, coughing their lungs out for minutes at a time and comparing / notes for long stretches of time. 

Having characters cough out their lungs repeatedly during the course of a movie is a guaranteed thumbs-down from this reviewer – ‘you only’ Pacino’s Scarface says it better in the immor(t)al Brian de Palma movie of the same name, of the necessity or rather futility of repeating and showing and telling both every single thing again and again and again in a film, ‘have to tell me / once’ – but this trilogy is so relentlessly grim that you have to admire / its tenacity over the course of three entire feature-length films, ‘I’m laughing’ one of the denizens says it better between hacks, ‘but only because I’m / in withdrawal.’

              Course it’s not all withdrawal / and laughs, the deus ex machina (hooker please –id.) of the films appears to be the front-end loader – the biggest line-item in the trilogy’s production budget, and this by a wide margin, unless Christ comes home in part III, innit Electrified JC – that’s slowly, and he does mean slowly, as we watch knocking down the various walls that are still standing ‘in’ – (y)our man Elvis the Pelvis Presley ®IP sings it better in the white p®ivilege song of the same name from back in the 20^th - ‘the ghetto.’

              Like reading this Take This Thing Back to Baltime-moires and magnanimous surely sometimes, videeing these films is like viddeeing a train wreck, a car crash, you can’t keep your eyes / off it, except of course for the fact that of the 99% of the time that (y)our man ©in is after hulk-smashing away at the smae, when he does / just that.  Course after all of the pneumatic hammering of the front-end loader and the hacking and coughing of the denizens of the movie have served / their dramatic purpose, out comes / the classical (‘long-haired’ (y)our man their uncle K calls it better) Europudding music, rather incongruously (hooker please –id.) given what’s come / before as soundtrack, and to serve as book-end to this part if the trilogy, ©incongruously is all / we gots.

              Pedro Costa is your man, and here comes part ii or iii of his trilogy after a brief / cintermission, during the course of which (y)our man ©in called out to (y)our man and his faithful ©indominium flatmate Scratchy the cat ‘you little / monster’ as we do.  Immediately in this film your woman comes up coughing out / her lungs in Act 1 , scene 1, and there’s the sounds of the jack-hammer again immediately after.  There are other threads of course in the drama – half of the characters live in spacious bourgeois homes and travel / by bus - but of course these characters are about as interesting as watching paint / dry, ‘happy families are all alike’ (y)our man Teodo® Dostoyevsky wrote it better, ‘unhappy families all different’ or words to that / extent, and doesn’t (y)our man the director Costa seem to agree here, returning again and again like the ubiquitous jack-hammer to the barrio and its ever-shrinking / population, one of whom just brought a baby home from the hospital and proceeded to open the valve on a canister of compressed gas of some kind, and left it / hissing in the living room, as (y)our man their grandpa Noslou© used to do with his air tank, innit Itt, and with the TV volume WAY UP and the size of the television set even then and back in the 20^th, we used to call it the Drive-In.

              Finally your man the p®otagonist of (t)his film has had enough, waking up after spending the night in the aforementioned apartment - where he  had returned to find the compresser compressing, the woman and the baby asleep / near-death on the sofa, and then went to sleep himself in the bedroom, only to be dragged unconscious back into the living room by the now-awake woman, presumably the mother of / the child, all of whom are now awake and alive, that five-lettered wo®dle (that’s enough –id.) – and walking down the street now, trying / to escape.

              Finally Lisbon the city makes an appearance, a nice-looking town for its 30 second ©ameo in the trilogy, once you leave the rubble behind.  Course (y)our man the p®otagonist has taken el pequino from the apartment as a prop, ‘a little something’ he akses it better of the burgher Lisbon housewives downtown, cradling / the child, ‘for the baby?’  And damned if it doesn’t work, though (y)our man the p®otagonist is after guzzling the profits soon enough and ending up back in another hospital as we do, tackled by security, tackled by security is all / we gots.     

              ‘I said it was bad milk’ the good Samaritan nurse says it better of what she told hospital / admitting, and before during after finding the father and child in the alley, ‘she’ll / be fine’.  It’s easy for the heavyweight champion of the world to be / magnanimous.

              Thank you for reading (t)his Take This Thing Back to Balti-memoi®es and magnanimous.