Dizzying
tales of cocaine, gambling, and rusted cars
against
a backdrop of Honduran heat and chemical formulas
break
out to weekend winnings and snarky snomp.
The
parameters come off in this wild romp
through
enantiodromia and return.
From
Nairobi to Miami,
Uzbekistan
and back again,
the
human touch is pirated, mocked, lauded, undone
before
an ultimate reconciliation
of
Willendorfian proportions.
Throw
in something heartwarming for the older folks--
singing
children, patriotic brass: Blockbuster awaits.
Villains
ride a curvaceous strike force
of
‘80’s tractor trailers.
There's
famous killers in exquisite skyscrapers
headed
by a Scando socialist
psycho
named Dr. Nytrø
fought
by billionaire good guys
eating
hibiscus salad and sugared salamander
on top
of Chicago.
The
heroine has a hotbod
and
speaks bureaucracy
as she
crushes nemeses to dust.
A man
named Garden is involved.
Somebody
says You started this thing now you can't
stop it.
Midway
thru, deadly twists.
You
will smell the airbag wires burning down
hit the
jackpot in your glands.
--People
will be talking about the love scene
for
seconds to come.
--The
car crash alone is 10 minutes long.
--Oscar
award for sound and for set.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The
sequel reads like a trip with Vishnu thru 1970’s Oahu
loaded
on uni and psilocybin
but
it's 5× too long
and can
only be viewed
at 45°
angles
in
special theaters
for
$99.95.
People
call it excessive
but
what worth viewing is not?
Yes, my
son,
the
dialogue may be
nothing
but stilted
British
fantasy
filmspeak
but
consider that Garden turns traitor
outraging
his fans. Tortures
innocents
on the rack.
With explosive urethras
and outstanding propaganda.
Oh, how it flies
in the face of applause!
This
time the “heroes” are Shiite
apsaras
liberated from a Nigerian prison
by a
lovely orange eagle
and the
villains are Belgian
environmental
terrorist compound
survivors.
Redemption.
Violence. Purification. Bullshit.
The
sharkfighting scenes drew rebukes for their explosive exploitation
and
became instant media success.
A
series of initiatives, parlays, and forums boil down
to an
Indy-style car race through landscapes
treacherous
as the latest indices, including:
1.
castlescape dusted from Assyrian mud flats
2.
Monte Carlo, 1947
3.
Vietnamese cave jungle in full monsoon
all
considered among the most
beautiful
film ever seen.
But the
flash doesn’t cash and the time lingers on.
Just
when you think it's over
the
theses get bigger, the problems enmesh
ramifications
extend, the conclusion sifts out.
The
detective summons a tea ceremony
where a
murder is solved
so
unconvincingly you'll need your money back to see pt. 3.
Last
line: We're human after all
says it
all.
--Won
the Razzie.
--Grossed
more than the elections
--Or
anything in history.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This
time they shook the director and the pipeline.
Garden
has new costumes!
So what
so satisfactory.
Pyrotechnics
designed to conjure childhood
instead
remind you of a good day at work.
The
real people of this dangerous world
are
lauded in a 10-minute medal ceremony
halfway through.
Portico and
dorsal fins of aircraft—Brazilian models—ridiculous modeling clay montage
portrays Cheng Ho’s journey to Africa.
A treasure map on the back of a
bathroom stall
leads our heroes to an emerald mine
in the heart of suburbia
where Garden has come home to detox.
America, the poxed plain
turned enlightened feast
on bodies of a conquest
that could not be avoided.
Ironic visits to submarine Venice
and abundant tundra seem to portend
the inevitable goodness of our oily world.
The costumes remember
Roman galas mixed with alien splendor
and American junk.
I took medicine 2/3 through
so don’t ask me about the final act.
But romance was destroyed
and human kindness reinterpreted.
So shut up
and buy the t-shirt.
Because this is the story of the century.
Moral
of the trilogy:
Don't go nuts without coming back.
Trust
only your critics
and
kill them with their own hands.
Be good
and be gone.
Peace. War. Whatever goes.
