Netflix

Here's some more flix I watched lately and forgot to mention:



At last the arthouse crowd has their Showgirls--scratch that; compared to The Dreamers, Showgirls is La Dolce Vita. What a turd! I hated The Last Tango in Paris, but this might be worse. At least in Tango we had the pleasure of witnessing a beached sea lion named Marlon Brando sodomize a teenager using a stick of butter for lube. Talk about a silly, narcissistic, masturbatory fantasy! Bertolucci should give up and just make an elegantly filmed porno--dispense with "plot," dispense with "character," dispense with the desire to be an auteur. The only thing this flick's got going for it--well, the only things--are Michael Pitt's cock (he was Tommy Gnosis in the Hedwig movie), and the most amazing cinematic boobage since Uma burst onto the scene in Dangerous Liaisons. Ms. Green--those are spectacular. There's lots of surprisingly intimate behavior between these actors, but big fucking deal. I can download MPEGs of hot people actually fucking if I so desire; why should I sit through a pointless 2-hour-plus riff to see hot people fake it? I must admit though that the scene where Green peels a Polaroid photo off Pitt's semi-erect unit is pretty damn erotic. His character had tried to hide the photo in his undies to use later, with unintended sexy results.



I think Ben Kingsley is a fine actor. I find his ability to mimic accents truly astonishing. But when his accent is the only interesting thing about a flick? Fuck it. I don't care if he can scream "No!" one billion times in a harsh Cockney. I don't care if he looks tough while doing so. I'm sick to death of the new breed of slick caper flix; they're just as bland and predictable as the old slick caper flix. Fuck this movie.