Thursday, March 29, 2012

More Slapdash Reviews

Busting. Elliott Gould and Robert Blake mugging it up, with Allen Garfield a breath of fresh air. Takes place in 1974, when making fun of fags was funny.

The Choirboys. More fag hilarity, but at least Burt Young has some compassion: "Kid, how long have you had this problem?" In spite of the broad, sophomoric, unfunny humor, there is an almost redeeming wafting scent of dread and disaster, like the pervasive smell of farts and vomit at one of the choir practices.

Red Riding Hood Trilogy: Part One: 1974. Most colons ever in a movie title? "Based" on an actual serial killing, the hero wears tighty-whities, smokes filtered cigarettes (unlike a real man), gets beat up a lot, and mumbles so badly I had to turn on the subtitles. Ugly stuff, and not in a good way.

Cry Danger. Wisecracking ex-con and Jim Reeves look-a-like Dick Powell goes gunning for the mugs who sent him up the river on a bum rap. Directed by Robert Parrish and photogged by Joe Biroc. With Rhonda Fleming, and boy, what I'd like to do to her.

Machete Maidens Unleashed. The documentary that makes me want to see every movie made in the Philippines from 1968 to 1974. Except for Beyond Atlantis. However, they left the most important question unanswered: why is Philippines spelled with a "P", but Filapino is spelled with an "F"?

The Geisha Boy. From the first shot, we know we're in Frank Tashlin territory: an overhead shot that looks right down Marie McDonald's cleavage as she exits a plane. Lots of funny stuff, plenty of tit gags, and Jerry's pretty much kept in control, so that he almost seems like a real person. But the final third is so cloying that I have to believe it came from Lewis's brain. Is there anything else like it in movies Tashlin directed without Lewis? I wonder if Tashlin originally conceived it as an American/Japanese romance, and Lewis added the horribly sentimental stuff with the kid. I'd prefer blaming Jer, not Tash.    

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Needles In My Eyeballs.

No. that's not the subtitle to Saw XII; it's what happened to me during my last happy visit to the opthomologist.

There I was, traipsing along to the Eye Clinic, with only one or two cares in the world: slightly blurry vision, and wondering if I should buy the new Laurel and Hardy Collection or wait for the bluray release. So when I sat in the big blue chair in front of the eye chart, I wasn't particularly concerned. Then,  after I attempted reading the chart and the doctor asked, "Do you drive?", I knew something was up.

More tests, drops, and pics of my peepers, and my doctor determined I had macular edema. Macular edema, she explained, was swelling in the retina due to leakage from blood vessels. She recommended  each eye be injected with Avastin, which she claimed was a new wonder drug.

I had three options: do nothing, but my vision wouldn't improve, and there was the possibility I could go blind; laser surgery, which would stop the leaking blood vessels, but wouldn't reduce the swelling or improve my vision; or the injections, which could likely stop the leakage, reduce the swelling, and improve my vision, provided I didn't contract an infection and go blind.  Small chance, my doctor assured me, one in two thousand get infections, but still a risk.

So, being a decisive fellow, with Resolute my middle name (I much prefer it to "Lewis"), I opted for the injections, tout suite. The doc assured me, after a local anesthetic, I'd feel almost nothing. Well, she got that one wrong. It was the most excruciating pain I ever felt. Apparently, the anesthetic didn't take, and I felt the needle entering my left eye full-strength. Oy. All I can say is I never want to go through that again.

In a month, I have two more injections.

Better Living Through Google

I can't say I have more than a cursory understanding of Google's new privacy policy, mostly because whatever happens, it seems that the complete taking over of our private lives is just inevitable, so why worry? But at least Google appears to be fairly transparent about it, in effect saying, "We're tracking all your movements for the purpose of specifically targeting you with ads, making loads of money off you, and storing all this information forever."

Which is fine and dandy with me. If this can alert me to new John Wayne CD releases, groovy. However, when I agreed to add advertisements to my blog, Google insisted that I not ask my readers to click on my ads. I thought this was somewhat, shall we say, inconsistent. But I'm a go along/get along kinda guy, so I'll do as I'm told.

Never mind that my mortgage may go unpaid, the kiddies may need shoes, and I'm a little peckish right now with nothing in the pantry. But if you were thinking about taking those DeVry classes or buying that John Wayne CD anyway.....