August 25, 2008

The Dark Knight: The Attila Review

So, A the H and I saw The Dark Knight yesterday. This is a movie in which:

• We didn't get to see Heath Ledger without any makeup on. That was sad.

• I liked Heath Ledger despite my (doubtless somewhat Electral) crush on Jack Nicholson, and though I haven't read enough comic books to discuss fidelity to any of the original sources, I feel Ledger really nailed a certain type of psychopathic / sociopathic personality, here. So, yes: I'd still dig it, even if the film hadn't turned into his swan song.

• Christian Bale doesn't take his shirt off enough.

• Aaron Eckhart doesn't take his shirt off nearly enough.

• There is, in fact, a certain paucity of shirtless scenes.

• Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman both have that sort of timeless, Sean Connery-esque quality wherein one doesn't precisely want to do them (I'm not that Electral), but sort of sit at their feet and listen to them talk in Those Voices—all freakin' day long.

Not so much "may I give you a blowjob, Sir?" but more like "may I get you a drink? Some ice cream? Pictures of my younger sister naked? Candy? The dead bodies of my neighbors, stacked up in the corner with a light dusting of lime on 'em? Watermelon cubes? What's your pleasure?"

Whatever it would take for them to keep talking in those amazing, dulcet tones until they just went hoarse.

I'd be digging through my books, finding the poetry I thought was best-suited to each of them. "Here. Read this. Oh, and here are the deeds to my husband's, my brother's, and my mother's assets, since I don't have any of my own. Just keep talking."

You know how it is with those fucking older actors—including James Earl Jones, minus the Star Wars roles (because I'm not quite that kinky): the first few readings are free. After that, you have to pay. I'm just not clear yet on what the price is.

* * *

It could be that communicating with me is just as, um, refreshingly challenging with me as it is with my mother. Like doing a crossword puzzle without having to wear down your #2 pencil.

Joy: "I'm as amazed as everyone else by what Heath Ledger accomplished, but I also thought that whathisface did a great job as well."

A the H: "Christian Bale."

Joy: "And, you know, I'm always happy to see whatshisotherface in any movie; how many have they done together at this point?"

A the H: "Right: Michael Caine. Well, there was The Prestige, and Batman Begins. And this one, of course. I think it's only three."

Joy: "He hasn't changed at all since Sleuth."

A the H: "I'm not so sure about that."

Joy: "Oh, like we're a couple of spring chickens."

A the H: "Hm. Who was the first guy to play Batman?

Joy (startled, because she's not used to answering pop-culture questions that don't have to do with James Thurber, obscure poetry, or Franco Zefirelli's version of Romeo and Juliet.): "Okay. On the TV series with the great theme that my mom rarely let us watch, it was Adam West. Michael Keaton did it in a feature or two, a movie-series or two ago, and the pick was controversial because some people thought, for crying out loud, that he didn't have the right jaw for the part.

"And I believe Val Kilmer played Batman it at least once, and I sure hope they didn't complain about his jaw, since I don't think the whole thing fits into the state of California, at least from side to side—as I recall, they have to film Kilmer so his face is parallel to the ocean, or one side of his jawbone pokes into Nevada or Arizona."

A the H: "Not bad. I mean, the number of actors—not the overwrought metaphor."

Joy: "Even in my senility, I can occasionally crank out a factoid or two. But the best Val Kilmer movie was Heat. Agreed?"

A the H: "Oh, yeah. Best shootout ever."

Joy: "And bitchinest characterizations in a crime movie ever. Though remember that one little character discontinuity in Heat? Did I ever tell you about that one?"

A the H: "Countless times. Oh, please: don't start. Not tonight."

Joy: "So I'm right about that."

A the H: "No. Not even a little bit right. No."

So, there you have it: one never knows when I will or will not be able to recall proper nouns without a little help. And there was one small problematic characterization in Heat—something just tad inconsistent.

Remember? The history books are written by the victors.

And the victors are the ones who never give up.

There is one person who can get Mandy—and other terrier-types of dog—let go of a favorite toy or tennis ball. That person is me. I've never seen anyone else do it, unless they had a golf club and hit the dog over the head until he or she relinquished the toy. Not necessary. And not easy, anyway, give the pit bull's famous/infamous pain tolerance.

There's a trick. I know it. Mandy won't admit it, but I'm the Dominant Dog in the relationship. Sure: she's powerful, and if she's feeling frisky and threatening to break out on her own for a bit of a romp, I will give the leash to my mother, because that extra 80-100 pounds helps. One is, after all, up against the laws of physics, and in order to keep her in one place I have to have the right kind of leash and lie down on my tummy, which is not the right message to send to a teenaged pit bull.

But if i have the tennis ball and I want to keep it, the Jaws of Death don't stop me. She respects that.

Posted by Attila Girl at August 25, 2008 08:40 PM | TrackBack

In which case, we might as well hang up the white flag, because from where I'm standing the history books are written by the academics and God help you all, your academics are mostly left-leaning...

Plus, Batman is gay. And, Heath Ledger is dead. Necrophiliac.


/me offers valium-laced prime USDA-approved rump steak to dog.

There. Job done.

(Tilting at windmills? I'd send sappers in and blow the suckers sky high. Take that, Don Quixote!)

Posted by: Gregory at August 25, 2008 11:14 PM

Well, a woman might be able to pull that off. Mandy remains skeptical about men. She has to be reintroduced to my brother, my older nephew, and my husband every time she sees 'em.

Not my cousins (two generatoins of 'em) that she's known since she was a pup. But most full-grown men? She needs reminding. That is to say, good luck with your poisoned hamburger. The gamble is something like this: do you want to feed her hamburger? Or end up as same?

Choose carefully.

I actually love this. I'm still 30-40 minutes away from The Mom, but between Mandy, my old Chief's Special revolver (which my mom just STOLE from me), and my mother's iron-clad will, there's a lot less to worry about than with the average 71 year-old maternal unit.

Still trying to get her to move closer, though: wish me luck. The meds are keeping strokes and heart attacks at bay, and G-d knows her mom survived a number of both. But I worry, of course.

Still, it's nice to know that home intruders aren't on the list. Hell: when I go over, I talk to the nice doggie through the mailbox slot for a few minutes, to avoid confusion. "Hi, Sweetie-Girl. I'm a burglar. I'm here to steal everthing. Have you been a good girl?"

By the time I open the door she can barely contain her excitement, and I have to remind her that jumping on people is not Approved Behavior. So she wags her tail and goes to look for a dog toy she can express her happiness with by destroying it.

My mother once decided to test how intelligent Mandy was, so she threw a tennis ball out the window. The dog went in the other direction, of course, out the back door and into the yard—where, of course, the ball was, indeed, waiting for her.

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 26, 2008 01:02 AM

I take it you had Happy Hour? For several hours? And maybe it was Ladies' Night?


btw, you gonna do a post on Chris' bleg? Cause you probably have about 100x the number of readers I do...

Posted by: Gregory at August 26, 2008 01:44 AM

I thought I did. Do I have to rebuild this freakin' site again?

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 26, 2008 01:56 AM

Oh, man. I did one, and it's freakin' lost. It was brilliant. It was extraordinary. It had that quality that all blogposts have, once they've been eaten up by MT or one's browser: the hint that they could have, applied properly, truly brought the blogger immortality.

So I'll throw one up tomorrow, after I get a bit of sleep. Anyway, shouldn't you be nagging King Moron about this? I mean, he has a readership. I just have fans who like me for my verboseness and/or my breasts.

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 26, 2008 02:20 AM

Jeremy Irons. I would give up not one but BOTH my kidneys to hear him read the tax code. Twice.


Posted by: RightGirl at August 26, 2008 04:25 PM

Does Ace actually do DBD, though? If he did, maybe I'd say something about it...

Posted by: Gregory at August 26, 2008 04:44 PM

Tell him it's D&D, and see if he bites.

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 27, 2008 08:17 PM

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