don't fantasize about sex as much as I used to. Nowadays, most
of my fantasies are about getting self-righteously indignant.
When I was younger, I daydreamed about fucking anything that moved,
included escalators. But, you know, not skanky old, groady ones
with old gum and shit in the corrugated steps. These days a typical
fantasy might be getting cut off at a stoplight by a soccer mom.
In my dream I confront her and she says she was in a hurry, and
since my car is shitty she assumed I didn't need to be anywhere
important. That's when I blow my fucking cool and yell at her
until she's crying and humbled. When I do think about sex, a typical
fantasy is this: I get cut off at a stoplight by a soccer mom.
I confront her and she says she was in a hurry, and since my car
is shitty she assumed I didn't need to be anywhere important.
That's when I blow my fucking cool and yell at her until she's
crying and humbled. Then we have sex while I yell at her some
more. None of that has anything to do with Hellboy, but
I wonder if I'm getting old. Oh yeah, I write a lot of letters
to the editors, too.
sucks. It looks really fucking expensive, but. The makers spent
the money like an old lady who keeps buying Franklin Mint plates,
Hummels and pickaninny salt-and-pepper shakers to fill her emptiness.
"Maybe just one more Norman Rockwell calendar will end my misery.
Hmmmm, that didn't work, but here's a lovely porcelain figurine
of a kitten on a toilet." Hellboy is similarly empty and
pointless, and it just keeps stuffing its curio cabinet to cloak
movie, based on a comic book, is a twisted, convoluted mess, like
yarn in your shit. It throws in everything it can think of, including
Nazis, Rasputin (I shit you not), monsters, the Creature from
the Black Lagoon, robotics, Indiana Jones-style swashbuckling
and lots of visuals stolen from Alan Quartermain, without putting
much effort into making it make any sense.
movie is the result of a studio and director--scared shitless
by fanboys--adapting yet another comic book. See, anyone who wants
to adapt a comic book has to navigate the obstacle course created
by fat, greasy momma's boys who think they are the characters'
guardians, and only they know what's best for them. They're fucking
extortionists. Stupid ones who don't smelll so hot. They're more
dangerous and demanding than any Russian mobster or bookie owed
a bundle. They don't use guns or piano wire because they have
something far more deadly and terrifying: the grating, ceaseless
whine of their pissy complaining.
result is a Hellboy that is less of a coherent story than
a checklist for rabid, literal fanboys who will complain if any
element of their favorite comic book is not included. Maybe all
the baroque backstory and tedious plotting work in the comic books,
but they sure as hell don't work here. And with all that I saw,
there could have been a good movie made, if only someone had shown
some restraint, or at least ignored the ear-bleeding whine of
Perlman is Helboy, a literal devil brought forth from hell by
the Nazis and Rasputin. He's now in the employ of the FBI. He
has the requisite weaselly boss who doesn't trust him, the longing
for a girl who he fears doesn't love him because he's different,
and more lame, misfire one-liners than all of Sylvester Stallone's
movies put together. For reasons not explained, Rasputin and a
robotic Nazi return now (rather than in 1945, 1946, 1947...) to
wreak havoc on the world, arbitrarily unleash monsters and take
the story to locales that are equally unnecessary and arbitrary.
Perlman must defeat them, their monsters and overcome his only-mentioned-in-the-last-act
urge to be evil in order to save the world.
action is arbitrary. I never really could piece the plot together,
and I sure as fuck am not gonna go read the comic books to see
if it makes sense. Monsters seem to reproduce for no reason other
than the story wants them to. Bad guys avoid death conveniently,
and the story bounces around without ever gaining steam. For as
much crap and action as del Toro crams into it, it's as boring
as fuck. Why? Because I never got to know any characters beyond
a one-dimensional outline. Okay, Hellboy is smarmy. Ha ha. And
he likes junk food. Ha ha. But why is so much time dedicated to
showing how vigorously the FBI has tried to keep him a secret,
only to let him roam freely and interact with all sorts of people
throughout the story? Why does FBI Director (Jeff Tambor) let
Hellboy live in absolute luxury for 60 years only to decide now
that he's a menace? Why didn't the villains, who are apparently
pretty close to immortal decide to act long before now? It's not
like they were waiting for a comet to pass by or something.
a million more questions like this that come up throughout Hellboy.
There is loads of attention to detail and every single frame of
film is so crammed with shit that it felt like I was treading
precariously through my Aunt Clara's house addition where she
kept every fucking thing she ever saw, like Johnny's old stitches,
the cat's hairballs, cans of Bubble Up and old empty tuna cans.
But, in his effort to capture every visual detail, del Toro makes
the characters and the set up such a boring, undeveloped mish-mash
that I had to ask: who the fuck cares?
fanboys, that's who. I know this sounds like a tired stereotype,
but just go and lose your job so you can be an unemployed loser
like me for a week. Then go to a Friday afternoon matinee of a
just-released comic book movie. I sat in a theater half full of
the smelliest, dirtiest, most virginal fat fucks you'll ever see.
These are the sort of pigs who whistle through their nose when
they breathe, have filthy beards and use both hands to shovel
their jumbo popcorn into their greasy maws. And when the movie
was over, half of these very, very full-grown men stood outside
the theater waiting for their mommies to come pick them up. This
is who dictates what we see at the Cineplex, and it's time we
took back the movies.
do you think long comic books started getting called "graphic
novels." Who do you think thought that pretentious, overly-serious
name up? Fucking fanboys who wanted to be taken seriously. They
don't want to take the time to read novels, or raise their reading
to the level of normal people. They want the word novel dumbed
down until they can read one.
like Ron Perlman for no other reason than he was in City of
Lost Chidren and it opened my eyes to him, the same way Peter
Falk in Wings of Desire made me appreciate him. I realized
neither is just a lame old TV actor, that they had a desire to
do something deeper. But he's got little to do here except bark
out cheesy puns. Selma Blair plays his love interest with the
sort of self-serious mopey disinterest she has mastered.
is a pretty bad movie, but not for lack of trying or money. I
can't help but think of what could have been if the fanboys didn't
have Hollywood by the nuts. Two Fingers.
Filthy || Want to tell Filthy