Myke Johns and Kristina Ackerman discuss the trailer for The Grand Budapest Hotel.
More than most things, I want for Wes Anderson to stop.
Sometimes an adult person wakes up one day to find himself in a loving, grown-up relationship with another adult person, a person who is really pretty special once you get to know her and is actually really good for the first person and has totally helped him mature a lot and get serious about starting a productive grown-up life and that, despite what the first person’s stupid idiot friends think, is not at all a horrible controlling succubus bitch who manipulates the first person’s emotions and uses them like child soldiers in an endless fucking trench war of a romantic partnership, which, now that we’re thinking about warfare analogies, likely boasts a similar body count in terms of emotional casualties as the real-life Rwandan genocide. [Ed note: Or to use a “crossing the streams” analogy, try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light, and Janine Melnitz Instagramming it. #totalprotonicreversal]
If there was a kid in the year 1988 more excited than me about Scrooged, I’d like to meet the little son of a bitch. To shake his hand and wish him a merry Christmas, of course. I was so excited about my hero Bill Murray being in a movie about ghosts again, I bought the cassingle of Al Green and Annie Lennox’s version of the song “Put a Little Love in Your Heart”. Blast that on your oversized stereo in the common area at break and you’re the coolest kid in school. Rude Dog ain’t got nothing on me. Mostly because Rude Dog is dead in the ground, rest in peace pastel colored cartoon dog, your insolence will be missed.
So, Bill Murray and ghosts. A can’t miss equation, as far as I was (and am) concerned. In fact, if you put Bill Murray with any creature from the song Monster Mash- wolfman, Frankenstein, ghost, drag queen, you’ll have a movie classic for AMC to run when it isn’t slam dunking Breaking Bad or Mad Men. Not to mention there were going to be lessons about Christmas. I was so into Christmas that when a couple of hillbillies set up a bunch of lights and animatronic Santas one town over and dubbed it the Tour of Lights, I treated it with all the dignity of a visit to the United Nations. I was fully expecting at the end to be knighted with a sword wrapped in colored lights. I dub thee…Sir Navidad.
As far as I’m concerned, Charles Dickens should be stamping his feet up in British orphan heaven that he wasn’t born in the 60’s so he could have written A Christmas Carol for Bill Murray instead of a bunch of actors in 1843 in their pantaloons and waxy candles or whatever. Even Scrooge McDuck would take second place to Bill Murray’s Scrooge in the one hundredth annual Scrooge-Off. Contests include asking little urchins what day it is, counting gold coins instead of love and God blessing us every one.
Also, Indiana Jones’s girlfriend from Raiders of the Lost Ark is all freckly and loveable in this thing. Plus the Solid Gold Dancers and Robert Goulet. I actually cried a little bit at the end. Not because of the Solid Gold Dancers. I never cry at aerobic elaborate dancing. I mean, never say never, but I held it together watching Jennifer Lopez as a Fly Girl on In Living Color, so the bar is set pretty high.
Yes. Christmas. This movie is super Christmasy and funny and sentimental and has a wide beautiful heart like a hippo. Hippos have wide hearts to match the rest of their bodies, right? If you don’t like Scrooged, you have a heart of stone, like a statue of a hippo. Happy Holidays, everybody!