Ingloruious Bastards is a typically trite Tarantino romp, this time across Nazi-Occupied France.
The only realistic scene is the opening Where Colonel Hand Landa interrogates Monsieur LaPedite. The film doesn’t really expose the real world violence of the Nazis.
Let’s be honest, the Communists weren’t much better with their Cheka and the Ukrainian Genocide and also let us not forget the Turkish Genocide of the Armenians.
The Nazis thus had two prime 20th Century examples from which to learn. And they learned well. If they got you, you were f@&ked. This wasn’t some Hollywood bullshit. They f@&ked you up.
They had ways of making you talk. And you did talk. And you died. You were not talking your way out of it. This was not Hogan’s Heroes.
But onto our topic. I love the Czechs. They are the refined, artistic, poetic, lyrical soul of the Slavs. The crown jewel of the Western Slavs is Praha.
Czechoslovakia, founded during a meeting in Pittsburgh of all places, back in 1918, was a tiny little country caught between giant powers for the umpteenth million time.
The Czech soul is at once fatalistic and hopeful. Contrast the Russians who are the hardened spiritual frontier, the Ukrainians the heartland, the Poles are the farmers and scientists, the Slovaks Old Central Europe torn between east and west. And then, the Czechs.
The writers epitomize the culture: Jaroslav Hasek – the Czech, Franz Kafka – the Jewish Bohemian. Who can forget the good soldier Sveik?
What a mystical place it is… beautiful cities, ancient overgrown cemeteries. Old libraries. Intricate churches. Catholics, Jews, Bohemians, Moravians, Slavs. A patchwork quilt of ethnicities.
Of course, the Philosopher Pareczenethy was a Czech. Born in Praha, murdered in Thereisenstadt. His utter disdain l for the violence of power. He died fearless.
And then the Czechs… the silly lyrical Czechs. But it was them. The Czechs… who killed the Butcher of Prague, the architect of the final solution, the evil Reinhard Heydrich. Not the sexy, muscular, unshaven Hollywood Americans, not the icy, methodical Brits, not the bold Russians. But, rather the tiny little Czechoslovak people. And they suffered for it greatly.
The Ethiopia of Europe. Sacrificed so a vicious bully wouldn’t hit the West. But you can’t negotiate with bullies. They only stall for time, then they beat the shit out of you anyway. Ask a Cherokee what good negotiation did for them?
The real Nazis played for keeps. Their philosophy was a typical cult of Armageddon. The Communist-Jewish conspiracy was going to kill them all like they did to the Romanovs, like they did to the Ukrainians, like they did to the Kulaks, like they did to the family of King Ludwig in Bavaria. They were coming for the German people. The British were foppish twits and their American friends were tools of the Jewish bankers and they were going to cover the earth with red paint and destroy western civilization, plunder its wealth and kill all non-believers and only the beloved Fuhrer could stop them.
But it was the Czechoslovak who struck the first and boldest blow against the Nazi cult of Armageddon.
Anthropoid is a movie about a tiny group of people and a dwindling resistance to a violent behemoth. It is metaphor for the souls of the Czechs. The two protagonists were a parable of the close cousins, the Czechs and the Slovaks and the short time they lived together and died together in the heart of a poisoned Europe.
The execution of Heydrich emboldened resistance movements in every occupied country. Like the example of the Ras Tafari, the Lion of Judah, King Selassie Hailie the I of Ethiopia who stood up alone against the fascism of Mussolini. Solzhenitsyn, Bonhoeffer, that’s what speaking truth to Power really looks like. It doesn’t end well. It’s not a Hollywood fantasy with an American happy ending.
Someone had to stand up and do something. And they did. Are you willing to die for your people? Are you willing to risk your family and everyone you love? That is the story of Czechoslovakia.
Inglorious Bastards is a silly fable. Anthropoid was real.
You know how it ends. But there is a story worth seeing.
Anthropoid Sean Ellis, Director, LD Productions 2016
Heaven’s Gate, directed by Michael Cimino starring Kris Kristofferson, Jeff Bridges, Sam Waterston, Richard Mazur and some broads I’ve never heard of.I wanted to hate this movie. But I had never seen it.
It was sort of the nouveau-Western historical epic genre (Pronounced Jaaaahr).
It was kind of long. Too slow in parts. It was an art film. Music score was brilliant. Many great visuals. Had it come out ten years later, it probably would have been highly regarded and been heavily attended.
The topic, The Johnson County War, was mildly interesting.
It was a classic Hollywood mega-bomb: runaway costs, too much hype, out of control whiz kid Director and commercial failure. It was fun to make fun of for the critics. It became in a word: a meme.
It really was not that bad. Very long story short: Harvard Grad goes West becomes Federal Marshall, tries to stop ranchers from killing a hit list of immigrants who threatened their cattle 🐄 (true story… like WTF?) .
He then has to take on other Anglo-Saxons, whose values he questions. Christopher Walken is his conflicted nemesis. The Marshall falls in love with 😍 Balkan Woman Whorehouse Madame. She is killed. Then he goes back to his life of wealth in New England married to his old College Girlfriend.
My reviews are terse because no-one can read lots of impenetrable over-wrought bullshit.
This film deserved a better fate.
The Omen, Directed by Richard Donner, was the successor film to ‘The Exorcist’, essentially the DaVinci Code of the 1970’s.
Plot: evil devil’s spawn Damien, born of a jackal, switched at birth with murdered real baby 👶 of ambassador causes people to die and kill themselves, has to be ritually killed with knives procured from Israel 🇮🇱. Blah, blah, blah.
It was filmed like a cross between a soap opera and a 70’s made for TV 📺 movie. It was a schlock horror film of the worst quality. The acting was atrocious. Gregory Peck was too old for the role. Most of the characters were unattractive and creepy, but that may have been on purpose.
The horror scenes were too obvious, the lighting 💡 was too strong 💪 and often destroyed the mood of terror. Some of the scariest scenes were so bad that they were funny 😄.
It was an iconic film, yes. Barely watchable. Slightly boring. But a really shitty film at best. Horrible production quality.
‘Sanctus Spiritus! Sanctus Spiritus!’
Cool film. Must watch. Schlock horror iconic film.
Note: ‘kid 🧒 on bicycle 🚲 where Mom falls off balcony’ scene was totally copied by Kubrick in the Shining Big Wheel scene. Go see for yourself.
Herb 🌿 Alpert: The Lonely Bull. Like Al Hirt, one of my favorite Trumpet 🎺 players ever. Sorry 😐 I don’t worship at the altar of Miles Davis, he bores the f@&$ out of me. Great Album by Herb and the TJB.
The Sting Soundtrack: Scott Joplin Great movie, reintroduced America to the amazing Scott Joplin, King of ragtime.
Tom Jones Greatest Hits: Tom Jones ultra-60’s-hip.
Grease Soundtrack featuring Sha-Na-Na. Hated the movie, a lot… but I live Sha-Na-Na.
Lucky Strike: ‘Remember how Great’ light jazz and big band collection. Awesome stuff, like Xavier Cugat. Big Band.
I picked up this ‘rando’ collection at the Goodwill (Pronounced Ghutt-wheel). Check for deep scratches. Check for grotesque stains and caked on food.
Only the Showdown represents true muscular American Wild-West cowboy 🤠 (Pronounced Koe-Bwah) bravado. The good guy vs. the bad guy. Face to face.
Two men face each other at high noon in the dusty street of a frontier town. No silly sentimentalism, compromise or emotional 😭 Schwachheit.
No special weapons other than the macho phallus-like muscular six-gun.
The Sherriff vs. the shitty scumbag bad guy. Yes the bad guy. Not conflicted, he is rotten and shitty. You, the audience hate him because he is a complete irredeemable piece of shit. He must die so that his evil sins can be expiated by fire. His soul is beyond salvation.
Frank Miller is the bad guy, released from prison by wishy-washy judges and slimy politicians so that he can wreak havoc on the defenseless town.
The Sheriff is the epitome of good. He has no vices. He will risk death rather than compromise his principles. Gary Cooper is the good guy. Grace Kelly is his new bride 👰 a pacifist Quaker.
The Sheriff is old and past his prime. Sure he can leave town like a filthy yellow-bellied coward but a true American can’t leave the problem for the next guy. He has to stay.
Real Americans, both good and bad, always have the showdown at the agreed to time and place. But the duel is “faggier” because it is European and hence gay 🌈 and man-on-man bottom-passive *hot* The showdown is muy muy macho like Ricardo Montleban.
Only the shittiest coward doesn’t show up. The French call failure to show up “the little death”. I made that up, but you get it.
The townspeople are unprincipled, apathetic 😐 self-involved, sniveling yellow cowards. One by one they back out. They deputy won’t fight unless Cooper recommends him to be the next Sherriff, but Cooper won’t compromise his principles for that slimy dirtbag. Only the 14 year old kid offers to stand with him, but like a true American Cowboy 🤠 Cooper must fight alone.
In the end, the bad guys are so shitty, that they fight four on one. Shitty, scumbag, rotten cheaters. Of course they die one by one. The wife drops her stupid pacifism and becomes a true American by shooting one of the bad guys through a window.
Of course the head bad guy Frank Miller is so rotten (Pronounced Un-American) that he actually takes Grace Kelly hostage. Grace Kelly! Miller is a total scumbag piece of shit! Of course she scratches him and Gary Cooper shoots him to shit like he deserves.
But who was shittier and more un-American? The bad guys who can’t help being rotten? Or, rather the slimy shitty cowardly townspeople who let Cooper face the bad guys alone. The conclusion is obvious.
In the final scene, The Sherriff after vanquishing the shitty bad guys stares down the yellow-bellied townspeople whom he just rescued and he drops his shield in the dirt.
Everyone knows that the movie is based on the original 1934 Japanese thriller サムライ対悪い男 ‘Samurai tai warui otoko’ by Watanabe Uweyuki Yakazuke.
In this epic black-and-white Japanese thriller that takes place in the 17th century, a samurai must try to defend his village against shitty bad guy criminal scum bag thief, killers, led by WaLuigi-wa.
Noone in the town is willing to help them fight the bad guys because they are all a bunch of filthy disgusting Cowards.
In the end the samurai must go it alone and the only person that comes to his defense is the silly, stupid, wimpy, nerdy good guy who is almost incapable of helping but stabs one of the shitty bad guys in the back with a bamboo pole by accident.
The leader of the bad guys holds the Samurai’s daughter hostage. She performs Baru-Ki-Ka-Ru by kicking him in his shitty ballsack, so the Samurai can kill him with nunchaku.
The Samurai then scolds the villagers who lose face due to their shameful cowardice and the village is renamed 臆病者の臆病者の村 which means Village of the shittacious cowards.
The Samurai walks off into the sunset 🌅 with his daughter and the nerdy 🤓 guy who is in love with the daughter and has proven himself worthy by slaughtering a bad guy.
It was a very strange place, but it was a strange place that he’d gotten used to rather quickly. How many years had it been? More than a few, but not that long. It was very possible that it was the best job that he ever had.
He’d been a little bit more important maybe a little more relevant in years past, but now it all just didn’t really seem to matter. He had no boss really. The biggest incentive was just to take care of the customers, maintain the facility and keep the residents happy.
It was 6 o’clock in the morning. They used Earth clocks because why not? He ran and worked out a few days a week. Today was one of his running days.
The atmosphere was strange. It depended really on where you were on the planet. The poles were incredibly wet and contributed to retaining the atmosphere. The rest of the planet was basically desert with an occasional oasis here and there. There was no real smell. It was a clean smell actually. In fact the entire planet was hypo-allergenic.
Of course, there was the underground. From all he had heard, it was a very rich environment that had been very carefully built up over the years with massive underground structure. Oddly, not a single structure existed anywhere on the surface.
The only structure on the entire surface was Waystation 9. Back in the day it would’ve been called an airport, and like all other airports, it started out ad basically a small airstrip.
I suppose that you could say spaceport but that’s just a little bit corny, isn’t it? At any rate, it was time to run. He had his own building. One story, full gym, water cistern, food cabinet, kitchen, refrigerator, theatre room, extra bunk rooms, technology room, design room, meeting room and more.
The radiation meter was down to zero, so he could leave his quarters beforehand he unbuttoned the complex.
He put on his shoes, shorts and T-shirt and he went out to the track. It was always cool and dry, always about 55°F. It almost never rained down here. Rain was an event.
He took off Running. The track was actually his idea, they basically said ‘look if you want to try build yourself a track make yourself some deals for materiel and build yourself a track.’ The sand had a slight crunchy feel. It wasn’t dusty unless there was a sandstorm.
He was one of the two site managers. There were always only two site managers and it was the same way every day, eight hour shifts overlapping by four hours for twelve hours coverage. The opener opened the spaceport’s radiation shields, the closer buttoned up. Then it was eight hours of bizarre radiation.
During the storms, people did maintenance, fueled up, worked out, went to one of the clubs, workout studios, art studios, galleries, restaraunts. Inside it was like a gigantic beautiful multi-level shopping mall and series of hotels.
The spaceport could only be open for 12 hours a day and it was closed for 12 hours a day. That was the rule. There was some kind of strange disruption in the atmosphere that created radiation. This radiation storm went on for about 8 hours a day, so Waystation 9 had to be buttoned up.
He was going to run 5 miles today. It was pretty much flat everywhere you could see. There were mountains way up to the east but he had really not explore that much. At some point, he figured he would get out there.
He had his cycle so he could peddle out there, but of course distances were much longer than they appeared to be. If you got stuck out and you didn’t have supplies in that environment and you got caught in the radiation storm then that would not be a good situation.
Oh you could survive out there, there’s a special little kind of tent that you could bring if you were going to bicycle for a day out there but you better bring extra tires and extra supplies maybe even a second bike.
He once tried a journey to the foot of the mountain, but he never climbed up, he just took a look around, camped out in the cave, waited it out for 12 hours and then pedaled back
It didn’t have to be a monotonous job, you could find ways to occupy yourself, ways to stay interested. He actually had fairly good relations with the residents. They were known as were known Holeans.
Holeans were genuinely nice people and why not call them people? They were intelligent beings like us, sure they looked a little bit different – almost like the typical aliens as we imagined from Area 51 but a little more robust, a little more hair but they were an attractive and interesting people.
The Holeans had one favorite interest: curios, antiquing we would call it. They did not like to leave their own planet. I don’t know that any of them ever did very often. Maybe every now and then a few of them would travel by freighter to go visit somewhere.
I know there was a few that were buyers of goods who traveled a bit, but they preferred to let the merchandise come to them. You see, they ran an exotic import-export business and that was the deal. They get the import-export business, while the visitors get the spaceport.
Holea had plutonium-platinum pellets – don’t ask me how they work, I’m not a chemist but I will say that the pellets were incredible for powering spacecraft. They also had water as I mentioned before. All you could possibly need: the poles were essentially a mixture of giant oceans and swamps.
Underground, there was an enormous amount of water. The Holeans lived above the water in their structures down beneath the surface. I always imagined that they had some type of boats or maybe even ships under the surface, I don’t really know how it worked.
So that was the deal, we get the fuel, we get the water, we get the spaceport and they absolutely get their pick of the import-export business. Sure, they were interested in occasionally exotic foods but they were mostly interested in the merchandise: Strange woods, interesting metals, intricate carvings, coins, objets d’art that could’ve been thousands or tens of thousands of years old nobody knew.
I think they had more pleasure running their various family kiosks in stores than they did in collecting. I’m sure they had things under ground maybe museums and galleries places for curios, but they like the little cubbyhole stores that we go back as far as possible, little circular staircases to get from one to level to an other.
But when you walked in, you had a feeling that the import-export stores and been there for decades or maybe even hundreds of years, actually I don’t know how long they were there… could’ve been hundreds of years but as you know, these things grow up over time.
Jean-Claude Deblois, the runner, was the morning concierge, or you could call him a site manager, the other concierge, her name was Francine Chantal Delacroix. I don’t know how they both ended up having French names but I think that’s just one of those things that happens.
They didn’t really get along and they didn’t really not get along. I think they were just the only other people that they could talk to. Both kind of viewed the world same way, but were very separate – almost like it a brother and sister that had grown up and moved apart for 30 years and then moved back together.
He kept running, the track was nice – not yet covered with sand. The surface was excellent with a good grip, it stayed in very good condition despite the radiation storms and it seemed to never buckle very much and it never wore out or cracked.
My name is Pochemu as you would Pronounce it. I am a Bolean. Boleans are from the twin planet in synchronous orbit with Holea. I lived with Deblois. This was my first tour of duty. Boleans provided security for the Holeans. Holeans are a religious people, we view them as a nation of priests. We look alike, but they are more white and we are more blue.
Boleans are violent, industrious and highly intelligent. We have been at peace for a long while, except for a few minor skirmishes around the edges of our region of solar systems called the Aal Mog grouping.
I am an officer in the Royal Armed Forces of Bolea. I suppose my career is stagnant which is why I volunteered for this post. I miss my wife and daughters, but other than that it’s good duty. This story isn’t about me though.
Working with aliens is cool. Yes, you reading this are outer space aliens to me. It’s cool because my boss isn’t here. As long as I facilitate for the concierges, the guests and the Holeans, I’m solid. I fuel a report once a month. We use your months, because why not? Systens work if everyone agrees on them.
DeBlois. He’s a cool guy. I run with him some time. Boleans Run, our cousins, the Holeans don’t. They swim.
Eepoporque is my counterpart. She’s only a Captain. Ambitious and snotty. I wouldn’t want her in my command, but I’m her rater on her BAER: Bolean Army Evaluation Report. She is DelaCroix’s facilitator. We don’t tell the concierges what to do, nor the Holeans. We just report and keep the peace. Imagine… Boleans as peacekeepers. Thank Lord Khufu my dad isn’t alive to see it. Oh well.
It’s a long way across the spaceport. There’s a lot of hangars. I think it’s actually 45 miles square. We use your miles, too because.. why not?The enclosed portion is like a giant covered City about 20 miles wide Running South .to North. The morning concierge lives on the North end and the evening concierge lives on the South end.
Funding, yes. Every planet, every civilization runs on the almighty, wait for it… dollar. The Waystation is funded by a non-profit: Hwardjionsczenz. They ran the first space ports, hotels and restaraunts. You can get a used spaceship from their rental division. My brother and I bought a small Kyrellian cruiser. We fixed it up. The new ones suck, the old ones used good materials.
I went outside to run with DeBlois. He was easy to catch. Boleans who are in shape can run a two minute mile at Earth gravity. We’re just different. I slowed my pace to nine minutes to chat with DeBlois.
”JC! What’s up Blay?”
”I’m really roakin’ – eight minute mile today.”
”Pochemu, you ready for your shift?”
”As ready as you are. There’s a new Kapoolian Coffee shop that just opened up. Imagine when a Bolean walks in, they still hate us from the Sadérrhillian conflict of the Difth Cluster Vortex, back in the Schamponian epoch.”
”Listen you big blue bastard, everyone’s making money now, they don’t car who’s ancestors were man-raped and pillaged.”
”Yeah, no drama anymore JC. We Boleans love drama, but here I have orders: play Everything low key.
Hollywood California: “We’re not Too Jewish Studios.” Office of Schloimo Ben Tennboom Boingboomtschak, Producer.
”Botendaddy, my young Boychik, have nice Bagel (Pronounced Begg-el) Lox and Cream cheese 🧀 with tomato 🍅 and breath destroying onion. Rachel, my niece is here today. The one ☝️ you schtupped with your huge Kosher Picklehauber. Look her ass, it is enormous, it’s bigger than ever. Rachel, honey, show Mr. Botendaddy your huge enormous embarrassing gigantic fat ass. It’s zaftig!”
Her ass did look 👀 huge in her tight skirt and 1940’s old lady 👵 girdle.
”He’s already seen it, uncle Schloimo. He schtupped me in the men’s room. I’m still dripping with his goyish spermatozoa out of my huge, gaping, cavernous, sloppy, vagina into my huge panties. I love 💕 it!”
She Said dreamily.
I thought about how awkward this would be if normal people with actual boundaries were involved.
”OK Schloimo, I admit it, I f”@ked her.”
”OK great, she needed it. Look how happy she is now. 28 no boyfriend. The last one turned out to be a huge Faygeleh 🌈 ah the smell of it!”
”I know Uncle Schloimo. Botendaddy f@&ked him too with his massive Easter Island 🗿 godhead. Smoke was rising from my boyfriend’s gaping stretched-out spermatozoa-soaked anus like a drill after boring into pine wood. Ah the taste of it!”
“OK, enough smalltalk. So you’re gonna make your first Holocaust film about this Pareczenethy asshole (Pronounced Aiyze-hoool). Pareczenethy, my father knew him from Breslau Camp. What a schmuck. My dad, Hyman, G-d rest his soul, said Pareczenethy was the biggest most arrogant fuckhead anyone ever met. When he was shot, my dad told me everyone in his barracks was secretly relieved that they wouldn’t have to hear his bullshit anymore. Czech bastard.”
I munched on gefilte (Pronounced guh-Phil-Tea) fish 🐠 and herring.
”Yeah, it’s a feel-good movie 🎥. Kids will love it. That is if they love early 20th Century Central European Philosophy and German Expressionist Theatre 🎭.”
Schloimo said he’d get funding from a guy in Rotterdam. I took Rachel for a walk. Then I f@&ked her again.