Okay, first off - it's one a.m. I've been in front of my desktop from ten to two today, and in front of my laptop from maybe three to eight. I am boggled, googly-eyed, and considering the late hour, if any of this is remotely cohesive tomorrow, I will be mighty impressed with myself.
(Yes, I'm tired. The coherency rating on this post is about to plummet in three... two...)
Spoilers: For "Sunshine" below the cut.
I'm not a huge fan of the Fantastic Four. I think, humbly, that Stretchy Guy and Invisible Chick and their marital problems are slightly less interesting than the ongoing Angstfest in X-Men - one woman's opinion, of course. Personal preference will out.
Nonetheless, I watch the movies. I may think some of their catch phrases are particularlylame, but what do you expect, it's Marvel. The redeeming thing about the movies for me, personally, is a little blond beefcake who goes by the name, Johnny Storm. (Cue the fangirl squee.)
To those of you who are unfamiliar with the comics/films, here's the breakdown on Mr. Storm: he goes by The Human Torch, which would suggest, he sparks himself up several thousand kelvins and is capable of flight.
That's all you really need to know for the purposes of this post.
He's cute. He's a little kitsch with his trademark "Flame on!", but I like him because he'd make a nice parallel to Bobby Drake... if Bobby Drake could actually bed any other woman than Mystique (again, still reeling... WTF? P.S. Have you heard Marvel's canceling X-Men? I hope to god it's just a rumor, but lordy, am I miffed. There are too many damned aliens running around Uncanny right now, and as much as I like those crazy birds from the Sh'iar empire, there's a decided lack of Remy LeBeau in every other title that doesn't have Wolverine front and center. Yes, I am biased. No, I don't damned well care.)
Anyway, Johnny Storm was nowhere near this film. The directors made that very clear, opening the movie with an almost unrecognizable, unshaved, shaggy-haired Chris Evans (Mace) throwing an angst fit over the fact that he's been away from earth for some sixteen months.
It takes almost five minutes for him to get rid of the beard, after, I might add, he's been prescribed two hours in the "earth room" which evidently displays your most treasured scenes from the home planet in full visual and audio surround. (I should interject at this point that Mace prefers large, crashing waves against rocks. Do I need to repeat myself for this cut-scene? Large, crashing waves. Better than a beach, and ultimately a much more portable way to parallel the s-e-x in s-p-a-c-e.)
Around the same time, his sullen counterpart reveals himself as the omnipotent Voice that narrated the introduction. The person in question just happens to be Cillian Murphey (Capa), who, I still maintain, belongs chained to my bedposts. (Fanon Blaise? I remember three years worth of obsession, do you? If you don't, you're better being spared from it. Trust me.)
Capa is a surly physicist who's designed a bomb intended to create a star, that will be launched into the sun, to reignite it. I get that far, paying close attention to the stilted dialogue, the half-formed characters whose stations are clearly defined but whose motives are sadly lacking - and then Capa "phones home." (He's a little more eloquent about it... or, at least, he's not as monosyllabic as E.T.)
Then, while I'm pretty sure Mace has a fit over the amount of time Capa's spent on the phone, I forget to follow the rest of the film because Mace has tackled Capa, and the testosterone levels has shot through the roof.
By this point, my inner fangirl is struggling to voice the sheer wonder of Cillian Murphy and Chris Evans tackling each other in a purely primal attempt to assert their dominance over one another.
I forget to watch the rest of the movie. My attention coming back to the screen fully at the next point in time when they're once again at each others throats.
The movie ends. No rocks fall, but everyone's dead anyway. I couldn't care less. I'm too busy plotting out how to slash Capa and Mace because their UST is the stuff that could butter the muffins of a generation.
The verdict: The film wasn't anything to write home about.
The real verdict: OTP!!!11!ELEVEN!!!!111!!!
Farewell, and goodnight.
(Yes, I'm tired. The coherency rating on this post is about to plummet in three... two...)
Spoilers: For "Sunshine" below the cut.
I'm not a huge fan of the Fantastic Four. I think, humbly, that Stretchy Guy and Invisible Chick and their marital problems are slightly less interesting than the ongoing Angstfest in X-Men - one woman's opinion, of course. Personal preference will out.
Nonetheless, I watch the movies. I may think some of their catch phrases are particularly
To those of you who are unfamiliar with the comics/films, here's the breakdown on Mr. Storm: he goes by The Human Torch, which would suggest, he sparks himself up several thousand kelvins and is capable of flight.
That's all you really need to know for the purposes of this post.
He's cute. He's a little kitsch with his trademark "Flame on!", but I like him because he'd make a nice parallel to Bobby Drake... if Bobby Drake could actually bed any other woman than Mystique (again, still reeling... WTF? P.S. Have you heard Marvel's canceling X-Men? I hope to god it's just a rumor, but lordy, am I miffed. There are too many damned aliens running around Uncanny right now, and as much as I like those crazy birds from the Sh'iar empire, there's a decided lack of Remy LeBeau in every other title that doesn't have Wolverine front and center. Yes, I am biased. No, I don't damned well care.)
Anyway, Johnny Storm was nowhere near this film. The directors made that very clear, opening the movie with an almost unrecognizable, unshaved, shaggy-haired Chris Evans (Mace) throwing an angst fit over the fact that he's been away from earth for some sixteen months.
It takes almost five minutes for him to get rid of the beard, after, I might add, he's been prescribed two hours in the "earth room" which evidently displays your most treasured scenes from the home planet in full visual and audio surround. (I should interject at this point that Mace prefers large, crashing waves against rocks. Do I need to repeat myself for this cut-scene? Large, crashing waves. Better than a beach, and ultimately a much more portable way to parallel the s-e-x in s-p-a-c-e.)
Around the same time, his sullen counterpart reveals himself as the omnipotent Voice that narrated the introduction. The person in question just happens to be Cillian Murphey (Capa), who, I still maintain, belongs chained to my bedposts. (Fanon Blaise? I remember three years worth of obsession, do you? If you don't, you're better being spared from it. Trust me.)
Capa is a surly physicist who's designed a bomb intended to create a star, that will be launched into the sun, to reignite it. I get that far, paying close attention to the stilted dialogue, the half-formed characters whose stations are clearly defined but whose motives are sadly lacking - and then Capa "phones home." (He's a little more eloquent about it... or, at least, he's not as monosyllabic as E.T.)
Then, while I'm pretty sure Mace has a fit over the amount of time Capa's spent on the phone, I forget to follow the rest of the film because Mace has tackled Capa, and the testosterone levels has shot through the roof.
By this point, my inner fangirl is struggling to voice the sheer wonder of Cillian Murphy and Chris Evans tackling each other in a purely primal attempt to assert their dominance over one another.
I forget to watch the rest of the movie. My attention coming back to the screen fully at the next point in time when they're once again at each others throats.
The movie ends. No rocks fall, but everyone's dead anyway. I couldn't care less. I'm too busy plotting out how to slash Capa and Mace because their UST is the stuff that could butter the muffins of a generation.
The verdict: The film wasn't anything to write home about.
The real verdict: OTP!!!11!ELEVEN!!!!111!!!
Farewell, and goodnight.
 | MOOD: silly SCENT: Dia de los Muertos 2004 |
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