I love Father's Day. When else does a guy so
many gifts for doing nothing? My parents sent me this bottle opener
that says Coors in gold inlay, and Mrs. Filthy's folks sent me
this sheet you're supposed to put under your car so it doesn't
seep oil onto the street, but it also makes a stylish poncho.
Best of all, though, was my yearly bottle of cheap rye from the
City of Arvada.
that free shit plus nice thank you cards, all for not being a
father. Makes you feel sorry for the suckers that sire a kid just
for the Aqua Velva they get each year. I'm thinking, though, that
if the City sends me a bottle of hooch out of gratitude, what
would they give me if I dropped them a note: "Thanks, but I'm
thinking that unless I can get drunk a lot more I might just go
ahead and have a kid or two."
told me they used to send him bottles and he got so bitter about
it that he knocked up a couple of high school kids just to spite
them. Now he never sees the kids because of some court order,
and the city doesn't comp him any more booze. I guess the moral
is; everyone does lose when kids are born out of wedlock.
not really thinking about having kids. But do you think if I pressed
the issue Arvada would let me off the hook on my community service
requirements, or give me a few tubes of model glue? I think so.
For the record, then, I'm gonna fill up Mrs. Filthy's belly with
been thinking about kids a lot lately, actually. I went to a matinee
of the latest animated Pixar movie Cars this past week,
and the God damn kids were crawling everywhere and making noise
like it was their birthday. Apparently, according to one very
rude mother, it was her son's. Look, lady, I was only asking an
innocent offer to help control your children, and if you wouldn't
get so hung up on the words "fucking", "brats", "shove" and "cakeholes"
you'd see that. Don't be so fucking defensive.
understand that a movie like Cars appeals to kids, and
I certainly believe that youngsters should go to the movies. I
believe, though, that parents should do it at the appropriate
time. I don't like having a bunch of screaming kids in the theater,
because all their noise prevents strangers from hearing my witty
commentary and snide remarks. Besides, you can barely hear your
damn cellphone ring when some teething six-month old is bawling
her eyes out. If you insist on taking your three-year-old to the
movies, take them at the same time the other responsible parents
do: 11 p.m. on a Friday night. And like the other adults, take
them to the really loud, shitty, gory ones, so their crying will
at least blend in with the yelps or terror onscreen. I mean, for
Christ's sake, if I can't get some peace and quiet during a kids'
movie weekend matinee, when can I get it?
think I caught the gist of Cars between tantrums and hissyfits
at the Olde Town Cinema (whose sign currently just lights up "Olde
... Cinemas"). Owen Wilson plays a hotshot young race car who
must get to California for a duel to determine the best stocker
in the country. He suffers from a common movie malady. That is,
hubris. The same God damn hubris that Michael J Fox had in Doc
Hollywood. He thinks he's such a fabulous racer that he doesn't
need anyone's help. Then, whammo, he finds himself stranded in
the dying town of Radiator Springs along the blue highway of Route
66. I'm guessing this is supposed to be somewhere around Peach
Springs or Grand Canyon Caverns in Arizona, but it really looks
more like the windswept sandstone of Southern Utah, where there
is no Route 66. Regardless, the trip to small town America humbles
Wilson's race car, just as it has humbled a thousand movie characters
before him. And in exactly the same way: through hard work, learning
to operate as a team, finding that the common man is important
too and that guys with only a couple teeth spew wisdom, and that
he ain't so great as he thinks.
course, along the way he discovers love with a Porsche voiced
by Bonnie Hunt, and finds that the town's doddering old coot (Paul
Newman) is actually a former champion racer who has a lot more
to teach Wilson than he thinks.
story of Cars is easily the most formulaic and uninspired
that Pixar has made. Wilson's journey from hubris to humility
is about as overused as the knocker on the Harelip's apartment.
It'd be a pretty shitty movie if it were cranked out with the
same carelessness as the rest of Hollywood's turds. It wasn't,
though, and that's the really strange thing. Although it's as
easy to predict what'll happen in Cars as it is when someone
drops a quarter at the Tavern, the movie is filled with so much
affection and detail I found it hard to dislike.
than cram a heartwarming story down our throats like a ham sandwich
into Mama Cass, Pixar fills Cars with authentic detail
that doesn't need to be there just to sell tickets. It's as though--get
this--they give a shit about the story. Fuck, I wish that didn't
feel like such a novelty. It does, though.
movie doesn't just have cars in it, it actually gives a shit about
getting those cars right. All sorts of vehicles that--like the
route the movie pays tribute to--are often forgotten and left
to rot on the back 40 of some farmer's lot. The retired, curmudgeonly
race car is a 1951 Hudson Hornet. In fact the early 50s Hornets
are legendary for their brief reign as the kings of stock car
racing. The detailed neon and rotting architecture in Radiator
Springs suggests that someone really did drive Route 66 and saw
the awesome motel signs in Flagstaff, Gallup and Kingman, or the
expanse of dry nothingness across the southwest.
important is that the movie is about something more than the cornball
plot. It is a bittersweet homage to the blue highways and to all
that goes unseen when you keep to the interstate. It's not a new
sentiment and I'd guess there are are 50 good books and a 1000
really shitty ones about this exact subject. But, it's expressed
with sincerity in a medium where it's unexpected.
I can make a comparison without sounding like one of those insanely
annoying fuckwads who worship everything Pixar does and like to
write me tedious e-mails filled with minutiae that make it abundantly
clear how lonely they are. If Dreamworks were to make a movie
called Cars, it would have nothing to do with cars or highways,
and a lot to do with Will Smith talking sassy. Pixar's movie Cars
resonates much more about real cars and a real car culture than
it does about its plot.
have no idea how many kids are going to ask for stuffed Hudson
Hornets to sleep with, or neon motel sign nightlights, but I'm
damn glad the makers didn't give a shit about that when they made
Cars. Three fingers.
Want to tell Filthy Something?