grrgoyl

Blessedly nothing happened of note this weekend in the kennels. Unless you count my day co-workers, who are dumber than a box of rocks, who stuck Bogart, the min-pin who is notorious for pooping in his cage (NEVER outside) and dancing in it, in a lower kennel with a slatted mat, so all the poop got good and packed down between the slats and yours truly got to spend 20 minutes trying to coax it out. I guess they tried to help by putting a puppy pee pad in with him; forgetting that a dog that can't be taught the whole great outside world is suitable for his business probably isn't going to understand the significance of this diaper-sized piece of paper.

Besides Bogart I only had Bailey, the medical director's smooth-coated collie. Bailey is a nice enough dog, but as I discovered when I tried to give her the freedom normally afforded Beowulf, she lacks a single scrap of individual motivation. This is probably how the doctor likes her, but I got tired of her constantly shadowing me ("What are we doing now? How about now? How about now? Whatcha doing now?") in about four minutes, so back into her kennel she went. I prefer animals like cats and ferrets and Beowulf, who check in on me occasionally and then go off to do their own thing. I'm often busy entertaining myself, I can't be responsible for the amusement of another creature too.

~*~

Now, a shitload of movie reviews.

Repo! The Genetic Opera: Wow, what a disappointment. I was first notified of this by

lizzieloudotcom, who knew I'd want to see my old flame, Anthony Stewart Head. Normally I'd be swooning repeatedly, because his part is quite large (heh), practically a starring role, and nothing but singing to boot. But....well, let me back up.

Repo! is from one of the co-creators of the Saw franchise, which I loved so this isn't a check in the minus column. It's a musical about a dystopian future where organ transplants become as common as haircuts. Brand-name guts are as vogue as Prada and Gucci are now. Which isn't a problem unless you fall behind on your payments, when the Repo Man (ASH) Nathan comes to take back the merchandise.

Geneco, the company who manufactures the organs, is owned by the Largo family: Father Rotti (Paul Sorvino) and three equally revolting children, bad-tempered and violent Luigi ( Bill Moseley, who looks like the creepy uncle of the director who was given the part as a favor. His acting is cringe-worthy, which is saying a lot when the entire movie is pretty guilty of the same), Pavi (Ogre from Skinny Puppy, who spends the whole movie with someone else's face tacked over his own a la Hannibal Lecter, and the only one of the family with an actual Italian accent), and Amber Sweet (Paris Hilton, who ironically is perfect for this role since the siblings are all supposed to be repulsive spoiled little brats squabbling over their father's empire).

There's a disappointingly small side plot involving Grave Robber (Terrance Zdunich), who is the only really interesting and attractive character -- he (what else) robs graves to extract the ingredients for the black market drug Zydrate (a surgical anesthetic) from corpses, and is wickedly gleeful about it.

Nathan's daughter, Shilo, has some blood disease that prevents her from ever going outside (but she sneaks out anyway), and Sarah Brightman is Blind Mag, the opera diva who is on the verge of having her eyes repo'ed just so Amber can take her place on stage. You'd think Ms. Brightman's involvement would lend some class to the production, but really, not nearly enough.

I can't say if this was inspired by Sweeney Todd or not. It seems to be trying harder to be the next Rocky Horror (and succeeding by some accounts in other major cities that aren't Denver). It certainly made it easy to picture ASH in his West End performance as Frank-N-Furter. It has the same wall-to-wall songs, which I'm fine with. Except, I know lyrics don't ALWAYS have to rhyme, but it would be nice if they did once in awhile. You know, just throw me a couplet in every third song or so. They didn't, and so what we have is a bunch of rambling sung dialogue, with not especially catchy tunes, that's more like someone had written a screenplay and THEN set it to music, not vice versa. Pretty bloody awful (no pun intended. In fact, the movie isn't particularly gory apart from the occasional disembowling. Much less than I expected from a Saw producer).

There's a disproportionate amount of time spent telling the back stories of Shilo and Nathan, and what they have to do with Rotti Largo. There's a tiny bit of tension over when Shilo is going to discover that her father is the dreaded Repo Man (but really, she has to be pretty self-absorbed to not wonder what he does for a living).

It all comes together in a grand theatrical finale worthy of Moulin Rouge, if Moulin Rouge was a much, much worse movie. However, you didn't get to see Paris' face slide off her skull as she gets booed off the stage in Moulin Rouge (more's the pity).

I was supposed to see this with

dopshoppe, but trust me, Alicia, you would never have forgiven me.

Tery and I finally finished Six Feet Under. I thought Nate's death was sad (see previous post). NOTHING compared to the finale, or specifically, the final six minutes of the finale. I stopped caring if Tery would laugh at me and just sobbed my fool head off, openly and loudly (normally I clamp down until the tears are squeezing painfully out of my squinched-up eyes). It turned out she was crying too (though not as much as at the previously mentioned episode). I declared it the best series finale I've ever seen, and I defy anyone to argue with me.

The problem of course being that the episode on its own wouldn't pack nearly the punch without watching the entire series, and you simply can't recommend a five-season series to someone to watch. What a time commitment! I can barely get my friends to listen to a song I like.

However, if you find yourself laid up in bed for some reason and need a good series to sink your teeth into, one with consistently excellent writing, a realistic look at death in all its aspects, brutal and tender, and honest, flawed characters that you are guaranteed to fall in love with, well, you could do a lot worse than Six Feet Under. 8 out of 5.

To keep up the funereal theme, next up in our queue is Pushing Daisies. On Blu-ray!

Zack and Miri Make a Porno: Is it my imagination or did Kevin Smith finally attend some dialogue writing classes? His characters don't indulge in long-winded, utterly unrealistic ~~rants~~ monologues anymore. This movie was actually believable, despite pairing doughy Seth Rogen up YET AGAIN with a gorgeous blond supermodel wannabe. Speaking of, is it my imagination or did Seth Rogen finally take some acting lessons? Because I completely bought that he was able to give Elizabeth Banks an apparently mindblowing orgasm. He must have attended with Jason Mewes, who wasn't nearly as vacant and obnoxious as he normally is.

He also explained the meaning of the term "Dutch rudder" (the relatively less filthy version). If nothing else, Smith's films can be counted on to teach you new sex terminology.

Another highlight was Justin Long as Brandon Routh's hot, metrosexual boyfriend. "I will be your sherpa up the mountain of gayness."

Loved it. Incidentally, Justin is the spitting image of Tery's gay little brother in this clip. HOT.

Probably one of my favorite Kevin Smith movies that doesn't have Rickman in it. A surprising 4 out of 5!

I thought there were a lot more, but I guess not.

This entry feels unnaturally short to me. Which might be a relief to some of my friends.