Myth becomes legend…
Legend becomes crap
Went to see "Alexander" yesterday. You know, Alexander the Great, only gay in the village, mmmh, right, isn’t it? The man who reigned over an empire where the sun never set and who makes Julius Caesar look like the village fool.
It turned out to be the longest, most agonizing three hours of my existence.
First of all, Alexander was played by Colin Farrell. Now, I like Colin. He used to live in Sandymount, just a few miles down the road. He was born and raised in the shadows of Dublin’s Twin Towers, the exhausts of Dublin’s incinerator, who belch char-grilled Irish waste into the sky with the clockwise precision I would like to see in Dublin’s public transport. Little Colin was lucky to be born with ten toes and ten fingers. Others in his neighbourhood might not have been that lucky. Only thing is that he has a more then healthy appetite for the female species. That should hardly be a cause for mockery, rather than for envy. Dublin’s bravest is rumoured to have mounted more women than horses on the set of the film…
Anyway, back to the movie. The perfect cure for insomnia. Less is more, monsieur Stone. If you can get your point across in two sentences, why use thirty-eight? I love Anthony Hopkins, but you turned him in to an old nagging bore (which he indubitably is). Angelina Jolie also played herself (the crazy bitch), but she could hide her overacting behind the wardrobe she got to wear –actually she couldn’t hide a whole lot behind that wardrobe, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more.
There were two big battle-scenes which looked like a schoolyard fight compared to the battle for Minas Tirith. Only thing monsieur Stone achieved was to assure John Heinz Kerry a wealthy retirement: I’ve never seen so much ketchup being spilled. I was waiting for Colin to start eating French fries of the Barbarian carcasses.
And I feel very sorry for the gay community. This guy was the biggest queer in history. No fag ever had so many subjects bow down to him (not sure if protocol allowed them to turn their back to their emperor…). I thought gay people expressed their love physically, just like the rest of us. No way, Jose! Gay people only hug and look funny at each other. If, however, they try to conceive an heir, all of a sudden there’s tits all over the screen. Not that I mind, or that I wanted to see a frontal of Alex’s purple wand and his furry bag of magic, but still… If you’re making a biographical movie, be historically correct rather than politically, monsieur Stone. Just because you wouldn’t make any money in the Southern states if we saw some Greek loving. He’s the reason it’s called like that!
Want to know about Alexander? He’s two years old, lives in Ghent and will turn out to be the best Belgian soccer player of all times, urged on by his fame-crazed father and his Nobel-prize winning sister Emma. End of story!
Legend becomes crap
Went to see "Alexander" yesterday. You know, Alexander the Great, only gay in the village, mmmh, right, isn’t it? The man who reigned over an empire where the sun never set and who makes Julius Caesar look like the village fool.
It turned out to be the longest, most agonizing three hours of my existence.
First of all, Alexander was played by Colin Farrell. Now, I like Colin. He used to live in Sandymount, just a few miles down the road. He was born and raised in the shadows of Dublin’s Twin Towers, the exhausts of Dublin’s incinerator, who belch char-grilled Irish waste into the sky with the clockwise precision I would like to see in Dublin’s public transport. Little Colin was lucky to be born with ten toes and ten fingers. Others in his neighbourhood might not have been that lucky. Only thing is that he has a more then healthy appetite for the female species. That should hardly be a cause for mockery, rather than for envy. Dublin’s bravest is rumoured to have mounted more women than horses on the set of the film…
Anyway, back to the movie. The perfect cure for insomnia. Less is more, monsieur Stone. If you can get your point across in two sentences, why use thirty-eight? I love Anthony Hopkins, but you turned him in to an old nagging bore (which he indubitably is). Angelina Jolie also played herself (the crazy bitch), but she could hide her overacting behind the wardrobe she got to wear –actually she couldn’t hide a whole lot behind that wardrobe, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more.
There were two big battle-scenes which looked like a schoolyard fight compared to the battle for Minas Tirith. Only thing monsieur Stone achieved was to assure John Heinz Kerry a wealthy retirement: I’ve never seen so much ketchup being spilled. I was waiting for Colin to start eating French fries of the Barbarian carcasses.
And I feel very sorry for the gay community. This guy was the biggest queer in history. No fag ever had so many subjects bow down to him (not sure if protocol allowed them to turn their back to their emperor…). I thought gay people expressed their love physically, just like the rest of us. No way, Jose! Gay people only hug and look funny at each other. If, however, they try to conceive an heir, all of a sudden there’s tits all over the screen. Not that I mind, or that I wanted to see a frontal of Alex’s purple wand and his furry bag of magic, but still… If you’re making a biographical movie, be historically correct rather than politically, monsieur Stone. Just because you wouldn’t make any money in the Southern states if we saw some Greek loving. He’s the reason it’s called like that!
Want to know about Alexander? He’s two years old, lives in Ghent and will turn out to be the best Belgian soccer player of all times, urged on by his fame-crazed father and his Nobel-prize winning sister Emma. End of story!
