Monday, May 3, 2010

The Canberry Juice II

I believe Marlon Brando's finest role was in Apocalypse Now. It's the one where he runs his own empire in the rain-forests of Vietnam during the war, drives Blanche Dubois to insanity, then gets assassinated in a mob hit whilst shopping for an interstellar crib to transport his son away from Krypton. This paves the way for Al Pacino to take over as head of the family. Then James Caan gets shot at a toll booth because he asked for a receipt.

Robert Duvall was there too!*

Then Rage comes on and you trip out from Styx's Domo Arigato film clip.

("Now, is it still your dream to have a robot for a best friend, Timmy?")

And then I turned to the Prime Minister and said...

Come to think of it, perhaps my memory is a little hazy from what occurred in our fair capital this weekend just gone. Apocalypse Now was definitely on at some point during the night. And the obligatory Rage-athon occurred sometime after 3.30am.

Canberra amigo #A5389 was giving fun facts about the movie, one of which was that the director blew the budget badly (true) and it totally ruined his career, resulting in him never making another movie (hmm). After doing some arduous research, Wikipedia told me that the director was Francis Ford Coppola, who has made many a film post-Apocalypse (dohoho, see what I did there?)

(Whether some of these films should have been made is a whole other kettle-o-fish)

Canberra amigo #A5389 must have got confused with Frances Ford Coppola, the younger sister of the legendary Francis. Like her older sibling, she did not mind the odd sequel. But, as is the case with most things in life, it is matter of degree, and alas, Frances was a bit of, and known universally as, a "sequel slut".

Case study: Casablanca 2 was her first feature. Here, Sam was still playing. But instead of piano, it was a significant role in the US civil rights movement.

'Blanca 2 bombed, but in fairness to the more feminine Ford Coppola, the seeds for a sequel were planted in the original:

"Play it, Sam".

"Orders from a white lady! Gah'damn, cracker! Your boy Rick 'as already gah'me posin' in dis'here white suite! What'chu playin' at girl?"

"What's next? Your boy Rick goin' Mister Bumble on me? Puttin' mah black ass up foe'sale onda side of d'road like a common slave?"

"(Sigh). Here's lookin' at you... gettin' yo pasty white ass stomped, Rick!"

Danger! Danger! Reference overload! Probability of this post passing the obscurity precipice: 78.34%!

Very well. Onto what I was in Canberra for- A dance festival named Wharehouse. My favorite song was the one that went "doof, doof, doof, doof", though the one that went "mmph, mmph, mmph, mmph" was good as well. To the writer's of "bow, bow, bow, bow, bow, bow, bow, bow": Far too predictable.

On the plane back to Melbourne, the attendant implored us to "keep our seat-belts on because the plane was still being refueled". I'll leave it to you to ponder the nexus between those variables.

("Stop you fool! Mr Takahashi of 23B just got up to go to the toilet")

*Man, this post is gonna suck if you haven't seen any of these films. Actually, you know what? If you haven't seen any of these films, you suck. Onus on the reader, dag nabit!

No comments:

Post a Comment