Normally I would have a long and completely unnecessary introduction before I dive into one of my reviews. I do this for several reasons, as primarily it provides me with an opportunity to write about whatever I choose and then hopefully find a novel way of tying it to the movie I watched and am reviewing. I like to think of it as flexing my creative muscles, but Anna pretty much thinks it is me showing off.
The other reason I write my reviews this way is because I want to use a style that is different then anything else you might have read. My experiences tie heavily into how I view a film, and by providing you the reader with insight into them it is my hope that it present you with a unique opportunity to see just what makes my brain tick. Or maybe not. It isn’t much more then a theory at this point.
But Starcrash is an entirely different animal then most of the other films I have watched for this site. For one, it stars David Hasselhoff, a man who I am powerless to resist. His very presence turns even the worst film or television show into an irresistible elixir. I knew going in to this screening there was no way I could ever hate this film, but what I was not expecting to endure what I could only describe as an utterly transcendent experience.
It isn’t often that I struggle to think of an adequate and fitting intro for one of my reviews. I take a lot of pride in trying to find interesting, odd and hopefully unique ways of introducing a reader to the review I am writing. Now sure, sometime I will have the occasional beef with writer’s block but it has yet to result in anything more then a rather minor skirmish with frustration. Often times it even allows me to look at my review from a slightly altered perspective, and that is all that I need to connect with the proper delivery system. But as I write this review I am sitting here, humbly before you, with nothing to offer. Not even a single solitary rambling take that inexplicably turns into a bridge for my review.
Sure, I could tell you about how I went to watch The Strangers this evening, and rather then enjoying the film, I found the most entertaining moment of the entire 90 minutes was when I watched Derek Jeter making a drunken fool out of himself in the theater lobby. I could tell you about that, but since last week’s intro was about my less then eloquent brush with Eddie Izzard it would feel hopelessly like a retread of my previous intro. Kind of like how it felt watching The Strangers.
When I was growing up in Wisconsin I would often times kill time at my local video store. I would roam through the aisles, looking at the VHS boxes, searching for something interesting to watch. I was fascinated with genre mash-ups and Ralph Bakshi’s films and quickly immersed myself in them. But Waukesha wasn’t exactly stationed along the cutting edge of pop culture, so I had some rather sizable gaps in both my film knowledge and exposure.
It wasn’t until college that I began meeting people who were giving enough to introduce me to German Expressionism, Italian neorealism, and Turner Classic Movies. From then on I always have had great respect for people who introduce me to new and exciting things, especially when it comes to films.
Which brings me to my girlfriend, Anna. I found my first excuse to talk to her when she was reading Watership Down, which was one of my favorite books (as well as animated films) as a child. Much to my delight she had never read it before so it afforded me the perfect opportunity to lay down some serious knowledge, and from there we soon began introducing each other to all sorts of of new experiences. One interesting thing to note is she was far more open to trying out my recommendations early on then I was with hers. This is quite simply explained. She likes Bjork, Dogville, and Ayn Rand. I like cool crap.
It’s a story you thought only Alan Moore could think up, but here it is. H.G. Wells is forced to travel through time to 1979 in an effort to track down Jack the Ripper, whom he has unwittingly unleashed upon the modern age. Starring Caligula as H.G. Wells and the Master Control Program as Jack the Ripper. Co-starring McDonald’s jokes that Coming to America would inevitably rip-off.
Normally I would have a long and completely unnecessary introduction before I dive into one of my reviews. I do this for several reasons, as primarily it provides me with an opportunity to write about whatever I choose and then hopefully find a novel way of tying it to the movie I watched and am reviewing. I like to think of it as flexing my creative muscles, but Anna pretty much thinks it is me showing off.
It isn’t often that I struggle to think of an adequate and fitting intro for one of my reviews. I take a lot of pride in trying to find interesting, odd and hopefully unique ways of introducing a reader to the review I am writing. Now sure, sometime I will have the occasional beef with writer’s block but it has yet to result in anything more then a rather minor skirmish with frustration. Often times it even allows me to look at my review from a slightly altered perspective, and that is all that I need to connect with the proper delivery system. But as I write this review I am sitting here, humbly before you, with nothing to offer. Not even a single solitary rambling take that inexplicably turns into a bridge for my review.
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