As I
alluded to last time I am not a big fan of the movie Skyfall though I do adore some things about it like Roger Deakins’s
gorgeous cinematography, Adele’s instantly iconic theme song, Javier Bardem’s
performance (if not necessarily his character) and certain charming scenes –
such as the casino scene in Shanghai – which reference so well the many decades
of rich Bond history amongst an overall dreary storyline without much payoff
beyond a more promising follow-up. But
therein lays the rub as the inner city kids like to say. It’s amazing how more contextualization and
follow-ups can improve one’s feelings of the preceding work. Storylines come to fruition and make more
sense, character beats which once seemed random are now more acceptable and the
simple fact that this formerly disappointing thing is no longer the final
statement of the mythology makes it seem all the better. A great recent example is I can now happily
watch Terminator Salvation and view it as the underrated masterpiece it truly
is! Or can I? The answers make shock you to the core.
Another
movie I’m looking forward to with great relish and sauerkraut is Crimson Peak directed by Guillermo Del
Toro. If it’s awesome maybe I’ll be able
to watch Pacific Rim without weeping
uncontrollably over my disappointment (another example of the phenomenon I just
mentioned!). Maybe I’m just disappointed
that he never (to date) made Hellboy 3. But that’s just yet another example of a
wannabe hack like yours truly trying to force his selfish and asinine desires
onto true artists.
For several
nights in row now I’ve watched Kathryn Bigelow’s 1995 feature film Strange Days starring Ralph Fiennes,
Angela Bassett, Juliette Lewis, Michael Wincott (swoon) and Tom Sizemore. For several weeks now I’ve also been watching
David Lynch’s 1997 film Lost Highway
at least twice on a nightly basis. Those
who know me best know I am a notoriously large (physically and metaphorically)
Lynch fan and for countless years I’ve debated with myself over which is my
favorite feature film of his. Ultimately
I feel I would pick Mulholland Drive
but I’ll damned if Lost Highway isn’t
perfect in just about every way. Even its
imperfections are perfect! Such is the
nature of wisdom.
I must
admit, my fond feelings of Lost Highway
may stem from my original memory of seeing it in an old dollar theatre back in
that sweltering summer of 97’. I was
dating a Mexican waitress named Yolanda at the time though I affectionately
called her Yolis. We met one morning
after I began frequenting Richard’s Diner which was a greasy spoon near the
bridge as it approaches the southern district.
She would serve me damn good cups of piping hot coffee as well as plates
of artery clogging bacon, undercooked eggs and flat cakes lathered in syrup and
butter.
Greater
than Richard’s food however was the generousness of Yolis’s hips. I used to order extra helpings of cholesterol
laden food and scalding bitter coffee just so I could catch her radiant smile and
the oceanic sway of her mammoth buttocks which were always crammed deliciously
into a pair of stretched-to-the-max black pants (with white pin stripes which
had the appearance of latitude lines on a hemisphere as they rounded her
gargantuan rump). When she spoke her
accent was thick and captivating and she would frequently laugh at my terrible
jokes and place a loving hand on my shoulder.
It was not long before I was completely under her spell and we began a
courtship.
To my
delight I found that on the days she was not wearing the pants she opted
instead for a classy black skirt which clung ever lovingly to her massive
derriere as well as black reinforced heel-and-toe pantyhose with simple black leather
high heels. At the end of a long day
catering to the slobbering masses she would return to her small but elegantly
decorated apartment and find me eagerly waiting like a dog. She would promptly demand a foot massage and
order me on my knees while she relaxed in a posh chair she’d purchased years
ago from a now retired craftsman.
She would
slowly remove her leather high heels, letting one teeter in a rather precarious
and exciting fashion at the end of her pantyhose clad toes before it fell to
the floor with an audible thud. In
between moments of my loving massage she would use my face as her personal
footrest while laughing and berating me, telling me in Spanish how pathetic and
useless I was. The combination of the
greasy fumes of Richard’s Diner combined with the natural pheromones ever
present in the sweat and oils of her wonderful feet and those two rich
ingredients mixed with the denier and material composition of the hosiery
resulted in a glorious aromatic delight; perfume of the gods and it made my
body run hot with desire as it destroyed my mind and shattered my senses. I was a willing slave.
Subsequent
to the massage we would engage in several dominant practices for her relaxation
and my degradation. It was often
difficult for me to respond during these as many times I could scarcely breathe
due to the glorious pressure being applied to my chest, neck and face. Instead I would listen intently while she
would regale me with sordid tales from her previous life in Mexico as well as
her aspirations for the future. It was
specifically during these times she recounted to me her great love of German
director Wim Wenders as well as her love for Lynch – specifically the films Eraserhead, Blue Velvet and Wild at Heart. When we saw the trailer for Lost Highway we knew we could not
survive without viewing it on the big screen.
Sitting
in a the steamy theatre with Yolis and viewing Lynch’s surreal masterpiece in a
lovely 35mm print is one of my fondest memories. The film would forever haunt and enthrall us
and I know we’ve both watched it countless times since then on VHS and then digital
video disc. We walked the town afterward
and went for alcoholic drinks, discussing the film, the nature of reality and
what it truly means to be human. She’d
worn fishnet stockings and eventually used them to gag me while subjecting me
to all manner of sweet humiliating punishment.
I cry simply thinking about these wonderful times. Yolis eventually returned to Mexico as that
was where her heart truly resided though we have remained close friends since
and frequently engage in telephonic and computer based communication.
I
recently purchased martial arts master Donnie Yen’s latest film Kung Fu Killer and put it on the ol’ blu
ray player while eating some leftover sushi and drinking a bottle of mineral
water. I fell asleep soon after but it
was not the movie’s fault as it seemed quite interesting. I was simply very tired. Being a miserable failure really takes it out
of a guy.
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