In which Jason is joined by Randy Osborne, the originator of Atlanta’s $10 literary art mystery, for a review of the trailer for The Cold Light of Day.
J: Don’t ever leave your family on a boat. Or they’ll definitely get kidnapped. Take it from Henry Cavill. And Cap’n Crunch. Why do you think he battles the Soggies every day? Because they took his family. Look closer, Cap’n Crunch. The Soggies are your family. Cap’n Crunch’s family has Stockholm Syndrome! They’re totally on board with being soggy milk people. They love it. And that’s what burns Cap’n Crunch up inside.
Also burning Cap’n Crunch up inside: half digested Crunch Berries and twice the recommended dosage of over-the-counter Prilosec.
NU: Two things.
(1) We think Bruce Willis is, as the cool kids like to exaggerate, with their fingers fluttering in the air, sex-ay!
(2) We put the first item ahead of this one for a reason, and we don’t mean anything negative *at all* about what’s coming next, which is that Bruce Willis looks more like an ape than any other modern movie star. It’s the creases around his nose/mouth area. When he was younger, and before he shaved his head, they seemed deeper and more simian, but you know what we’re talking about.
What worries us every time we become … enthusiastic, let’s call it, about Bruce Willis is that these primate features attract us more than George Clooney’s dapper handsomeness. More than Brad Pitt’s sharp-nosed boyish charm. Certainly more than Justin Bieber’s fresh-faced, marginal-yet-hard-to-deny, let-me-pack-you-a-lunch appeal. We want the ape. Whenever we see Bruce on video, this bothers us, in both of the ways you are imagining. We didn’t know you were going to send us something that bothered us.
P.S. Not to cavil (hahaha!) too much about this movie’s predictable plot and dialogue, but it’s *never* what he does at the embassy.
J: Look, I get it. The part of our brains that wants us all to evolve into hairless, nerdy, This-American-Life-downloading E.T. the Extra-Terrestrials wants us to mate with slender hipped poets and intellectuals with baby soft hands. (and actually, if you can pull it off, go ahead and mate with E.T.. He’s got the Reese’s Pieces, if you’ve got the time.)
But something older, darker and deeper inside of us cries out for the ape. Something in our very bones. And might I be so bold as to suggest the bone that cries the loudest is the pelvic bone, that great orator of bones, our very own marrow-filled Frederick Douglass? As we all know, the pelvic bone’s connected to the hip bone, the hip bone’s connected to the back bone, the back bone’s connected to the neck bone, the neck bone’s connected to the head bone, and before you know it, you’ve got an Occupy Wall Street of bones, all marching through your body demanding that you choose an ape. Even the choosiest moms choose apes. They claim they choose Jif®, but their kitchen cabinets are bare, as are their bodies, inviting the Bruce Willi (Bruces Willis?) of the world into their hearts and boudoirs.
Even during the Renaissance, some men and women rejected the cultural rebirth. There were stores where you could take your cape (a symbol of effete snobbery and artisanal elitism), and trade it in for an actual ape. And the ape would egg you on. It would encourage your worst and dumbest behaviors. In fact, if you traded in two capes, you got an ape and a dunce cap. The store’s slogan was “Ditch That Cape And Get With The Ape.”
Just as quickly, competing stores sprang up all over Europe. And their goal was to refine the apes. You’d bring your ape in, and they’d put a cape on it. Their slogan was, “Put A Cape On The Nape Of The Neck Of Your Ape.” To muddy the waters even further, stores selling crêpes grew very popular, and their slogan was “Hot Delicious Crêpes.” Unfortunately, most people did not want to trade in their capes, so the cape-ape-exchange stores went out of business. As it turns out, everyone wanted fancy apes for attending operas with, so the cape-on-your-ape stores thrived, leading to an Ape Renaissance of well dressed apes who loved brunch, specifically crêpes.
NU: Yes. You’re talking about the human family, its history and evolution. We don’t know if they were eating brunch, but check out again the table scene at 0:16, right after the young guy says, “To family,” and they all raise their wine glasses. Listen for the disembodied groan: “Family.” We’ve been playing that part over and over. It sounds like the demon in “The Exorcist,” or vinyl played backward, or one of those ghost-hunter shows where the tape recorder picks up an Electronic Voice Phenomenon. Crêped us out.
J: Take a closer look at that young man who’s giving you the “crêpes”. That’s Waylon Boudreaux Capeforape III, of the Vermont Capeforapes, heir to the Capeforape fortune. Don’t get too jealous, though. The Capeforape fortune is almost entirely bananas, after the apes took controlling stock of the Cape On Your Ape corporation. Jesus. This whole scenario has gotten out of hand. Remember when we were talking about a Bruce Willis spy movie? Seems like a thousand years ago.