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| Zseni reviews: Proof, with Goonuth Paltrops and Jakes Gygenpenis by Zseni! 05/21/2007, 7:45pm PDT | ||||
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| One of my UPS bosses has remained a friend despite the fact that I am a miserable faggot. I made her watch Eregon, a movie the Weaponsmith inflicted on me; in return, she made an arbitrary Chick Flick call on the next movie night. Let's call her: Ms. Navy! She is a six-foot-one redhead with considerably more work ethic than imagination, a situation she is aware of and totally comfortable with. The thing I like best about her is this complete awareness and acceptance. (The second best thing yes is the lesbian fantasies.)
In deference to my total inability to relate to normal human emotions and dramas, she brought "Proof" and "Ever After". Of this dismal selection I decided on Even After, and I was promptly overruled. Proof it was! I was profoundly touched by the sensitivity of this selection. I could write a whole essay on how moved I was to find that somehow, Miz had found a movie about a Chicagoan mathematical genius, locked up in caring for her decrepit parent, shifted from her beloved home (totes ancien regime) and stuck on the fringes of a field where nobody has the least faith in her intelligence. It doesn't matter that the movie was (spoiler!) awful or that people other than Miz made it: that she, Miz, chose it for me on Chick Flick Night meant that she, Miz, had spent considerably more time listening to me than almost anyone else in my life. For this I am deeply grateful. She makes me watch Survivor, too. I made her chicken pot pies from scratch. I would post the recipe, but the last time I posted a recipe, SB deleted all the fucking forums. ANYWAY, the movie totally sucked. Anthony Hopkins was wasted on it. Gooner Puulllleze studied at the school of All Geniuses Are Unbearable Fucktards. The play that the movie was based on won all kinds of awards, but I can't imagine why, because it's a movie about how a less interesting and more brittle (! I too was shocked) version of me stumbles ineloquently through travails which, in my actual real life family, would be considered trivial and unworthy of comment. How could that play win awards when IRL nobody can stand to talk to me for more than two minutes?! Jake Butterfuckenhall was UNSPEAKABLY BLAND, a crime I permit in no acquaintance, and certainly nobody I would sleep with. He was the blandest thing I've ever seen in a movie. And my crazy genius father is a physicist, stalkers. But he did go to U of C, and he does buy me champagne for my birthday. It was really boring. I only remember so much of it because all the coincidences were so eerie. The math was awful and every attempt to depict it made me blush with anger. Prime numbers?!?!??? The biggest deal ever????!?!?!?!?? I do not recommend this movie to anyone. The only good thing about it was the subsequent discussion my brother and I had about how to depict The Wisdom in films. Faust, he said, has this problem. How to show an audience that Great Genius has been assigned to a character? Because a lot of people aren't geniuses. They need some signals which indicate genius. I had nothing particularly brilliant to say on this point, just that being irritable and writing like one's father were insufficiently indicative character traits. Penetrating overlong stares, maybe? Rapidly shifting emotions? Bro volunteered that it had to do completely with the actor, and otherwise had nothing to add. We were practically mute on how to convince an audience that a given actor was portraying a genius. Caltrops, how do you think it should be done? |
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