admin
22 December 2023
Before I start this month\'s installment of \"Wayne Says...\" let me be blunt: I like shit.
No, not literally. Although, that would make for an interesting column, too. And a stinky one.
No, the shit I\'m talking about is the kind that is pumped out to the masses on a daily basis, be it in film, television, newspaper, or magazine format. Present company excluded, of course. Most of the time, anyway.
I\'m sure I\'ve explained this all before, but if this is all new to you, let me explain. I don\'t watch television regularly, but when I do, I\'m either watching wrestling, Jerry Springer, or A Current Affair. Why? Because it makes me feel good. I feel smart. I feel attractive. And I feel like I have more teeth than most people. It\'s a confidence booster. A reality check. Not on my own life, of course. But rather a reality check on the world around me. It\'s scary, yes. But yet it\'s also comforting in some sick way. And I don\'t mean that in some crying-out-for-help, insecure kind of way. That\'s far from the truth, as I\'m well aware of how beautiful and truly irresistible I am. And so do the ladies. Rwarrr!!!
Anyway, my point (and unnecessarily long intro) is that I seek out things that suck. Likewise, the people around me know this fact, and point out totally crappy shit that they think I\'ll like. Or hate. Or whatever. Which brings me to the night I just experienced.
Fphatty Lamar was subjected to the cinematic release of The Phantom of the Opera a few months ago. After spending three months in a coma, she came to me and said, \"Wayne, you must see it. It\'s horrific.\" And so, plans were made. Meds were taken. Vodka was purchased. And after a quick round of \"Are you sure you want to do this?\", we pressed \"Play\" on the DVD player.
Holy fucking balls.
First, let me get the obvious out of the way: Joel Schumacher should be shot in the face with an arrow. So should Andrew Lloyd Webber. And Pat Robertson. But that\'s neither here nor there.
Granted, I\'m not a particularly huge fan of musicals anyway. But this \"film\", this ocular cancer, goes above and beyond the sub-gutter standards of your average musical. This is no ordinary musical, ladies and gentlemen. This is a poo-sical. True cinematic poop incarnate.
Forget the fact that the whole story is long, drawn out, and trite as can be. Forget the fact that everyone in the film put forth the most hackneyed performances in the history of Hollywood. And forget the fact the man responsible for the movie is also responsible for putting nipples on Batman.
All of those facts aside, my point is-- wait a minute. Those were my points. I take it back. Don\'t forget those facts.
We weren\'t even a half-hour into the film before my buddy Jeremy traded in his vodka and lemonade mixer for straight vodka from the plastic bottle. And I was chasing my liquor with a few cans of Busch beer that someone had left at my house. Busch beer, people! If me drinking Busch beer isn\'t an indication of how wretched the evening was, I don\'t know what is!
On the technical side of things, the film was poorly dubbed. There were entire parts of the film where characters\' mouths wouldn\'t match up with what was being said. It was like watching a big, gay Godzilla opera... with Minnie Driver... as Godzilla.
For those of you that are familiar with the storyline (which should be just about everyone), the Phantom wears this half-mask thing-- a face yarmulke of sorts-- to cover his supposed hideously disfigured face. Well, unless I missed some key scene, the Phantom\'s \"hideously disfigured face\" looks more like Brendan Fraser with a sunburn than anything else. Actually, those two things are pretty closely related. Forget what I just said.
Needless to say, by night\'s end the fight had completely been drained out of me. I had run the gamut, going from a nervous sick feeling to a wide-eyed terror to an incredulous cackle of confusion to my final state, an exhausted, white-flag-waving depression of defeat.
You win, Phantom of the Opera, because I lose.
I mentioned that my friend Latta de Saint was singing along the whole evening, right? A ladies man, that Latta is. Ladies man.
artid
3280
Old Image
8_1_wayne.jpg
issue
vol 8 - issue 01 (sep 2005)
section
stories