Tag Archives: Nicolas Cage

Kick-Ass

Kick-Ass got lost in the mail, so I reported it to Netflix. So they sent another disc. Then the old disc showed up. But I didn’t know that and tried to OnDemand it with Comcast. But OnDemand was broken. The whole world of buying and renting movies is a spinning wheel of broken splinters. And on that wheel rides the oxcart of our hopes and dreams. And pulling that oxcart is the ox of freedom. I could have kept the disc I reported lost in the mail but instead my heart was pure and true, so I sent it back to Netflix. They should give me a medal of valor because I really enjoyed Kick-Ass.

Not to mention I was hungover when I watched it. If you want to feel better the day after drinking too much, you have to eat a hearty meal. Real manly food. Like a bag of mashed potatoes served out of the front of a bulldozer. Or a steak wrapped in a tie and garnished with a cufflink and every time you take a bite a stripper punches you in the face. I had a regular old hamburger with my girlfriend and her amazing Chinese Crested, Spacedog. A titan of testosterone am I.

Speaking of a punch in the face, “A Punch in the Face” would have been a fine title for this movie. Haven’t seen it? It’s super violent and bloody. So if you clutch at your lacy underthings at the sight of awesome fights, then maybe you should reinforce your garters because a lot of this movie is stabbing and burning and shooting.

That pleasantly round faced kid from Hot Tub Time Machine is in this movie. I bet he got at least one kiss from a fan as a result. Not me, though. I’ll never kiss someone just because they were in a movie. Unless it’s a movie about kissing me. Working Title: Smooch Patrol.

I felt like Big Daddy’s mustache extensions were gross. But I think spirit gum is gross. Just a weird minty caramel goo on your face. Makes you feel like you had a threesome with a Werther’s Original and a York Peppermint Pattie. Also, Hit-Girl made weird faces when she was murdering criminals. Like a Japanese doll and one of those kid beauty pageant contestants and an actress in a soda commercial acting all refreshed all rolled into one off-putting expression.

Spoiler Alert

In some ways this movie was really Big Daddy’s story. It’s his crusade for revenge against D’Amico that Kick-Ass gets swept up in and ultimately finishes. I like stories where the main character tries to escape a mundane existence and stumbles into events bigger than himself- oh, you want to get off the boring farm and have a life of adventure? Here you go, kid: you’re a Jedi and the son of the most powerful and evil man in the galaxy. What’s that you say? You’re tired of taking care of a dumb old pig and want a life of adventure? Turns out that pig is the key to a cauldron that makes undead warriors. You’re welcome.

I beg your pardon? You’re sick of tending all these oxen? I’ll have you know that’s the ox of freedom! And that’s the callback, folks. Goodnight!

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call: New Orleans

Terrence McDonagh (Nicolas Cage) is trying to catch New Orleans drug lord Big Fate (Xzibit) but it’s taking him FOREVER because he keeps taking cocaine breaks with his prostitute girlfriend. If I was looking for Xzibit I’d follow the trail of pimped out rides. Man, Lt. McDonagh sure does like gambling, drugs and whores. I guess that’s where the “bad” in bad lieutenant comes in. He seems pretty good at his actual job, though. So it’s a spiritual badness.

Hey look at those implausibly attractive back alley prostitutes Nicolas Cage is shining a spotlight on! If I was a hooker and Nic Cage shined a bright light on me I’d shoo him away with a broom. Go on GIT Nicolas Cage!

Big Fate has a shotgun mounted under his desk and he points it at Lt. McDonagh but McDonagh easily spots the shotgun barrels poking out of the desk and moves out of the way. Well there’s your problem. You’re not some toothless old mountain woman trying to get the tax man out of your moonshine bucket, you’re trying to kill a policeman with a hidden shotgun.

If I was a New Orleans drug lord, I’d keep an alligator hidden in my desk. Then when I wanted to surprise someone there’d be a spring loaded platform that sent the gator flying at the target with his mouth all wide and toothy and ready to bite. While I was at it, I’d have a big brass band in my desk, too, and they’d come marching out behind the alligator playing “When the Saints Go Marching In”. Then the alligator would lead a parade down Bourbon Street in a weathered straw hat and a dusty old suit. You think if an alligator wore a suit it would be in poor taste to wear alligator skin boots to go with it?

I guess I’d need a pretty big desk for all that. Maybe a network of tunnels underneath the desk for the brass band and the alligator to live in? With the living expenses for the band and the tailor for the alligator’s suit, those costs would really add up. Not to mention the guy I’d have to pay to keep the gator from biting the tailor and the guys in the band. I bet I could find a tailor in New Orleans who plays the trumpet. Come to think of it, I bet I could find an alligator in New Orleans who plays the trumpet.

So it’s settled. I’m keeping an alligator in my desk and if Nicolas Cage ever comes around looking to take me to jail I’ll push a button and the alligator will jump out and play the trumpet at him.

Go on GIT Nicolas Cage!