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I might not be able to watch Criminal Minds or CSI:NY tomorrow because the weather gods are promising a severe weather bonanza. Woe. I was looking forward to watching that pompous nuntz Rossi engage in a bout of self-flagellation because his enormous ego cost someone their life. Rossi's had a God complex for a long damn time, as evinced by his utter--and undeserved, in my opinion--contempt for the psychic who was trying to give a distraught mother a bit of hope in last week's offering. I'm glad it will be coming back to bite him in the ass, though I'm sorry for the innocent victim of his blinkered meism.
At least today was good. I finally went on my date with Jason Vorhees.
Look, Friday the 13th is what it is. It's not high art. It's not even trash art. It's the simple, brutal catharsis of watching entitled, foolhardy assholes get theirs courtesy of the monstrous disenfranchised. Everyone in these movies is either a blank slate, the dangerous, faceless unknown(Jason) or a stereotypical asshole(the victims). The writers don't intend to portray the victims as assholes, of course; they'd have us relate to them as Katie and Johnny Everyman, but since they're basing their everyman on the rich, privileged, prep school dickheads that infest Beverly Hills with the febrile tenacity of pubic lice, it seldom works. Everyman comes across as an obnoxious tool, and so Jason becomes not an evil monster, but an arbiter of cosmic and karmic justice and guardian of the status quo. Honestly, groups such as the PTC and Association for the Preservation of the American Family should love Jason because he puts a quick and decisive end to all that nasty drug abuse and iniquitous premarital sex. He's the silent muscle behind the Moral Majority movement.
I like Jason. He's not a disfigured, misunderstood woobie. He's a killing machine(and if those wheelchairs stacked in his mineshaft of nefarious didoes were any indication, an equal opportunity one, at that. Thanks, Jason. Though I do have to wonder just how many limpers think it would be really groovy to go camping in the sling-seat, ass-chafing, aluminum cheapo chair they snagged at Rite-Aid for $700.), but he's the lesser of two evils(in a fictional context, put down the cudgels, armchair psycholanalysts)because he doesn't present himself as anything but what he is. He doesn't pretend to be socially acceptable or a good guy. Jason doesn't give a fiddler's fart for such pretenses. You're fucking and smoking doob on his property, and he's going to part your hair with whatever's handy. The end. It's black and white and refreshingly unambiguous. It's cinematic comfort food, and I gobbled it up.
PROTIP: If you've managed to throttle the unstoppable killing machine and tether him to a running wood chipper by a length of heavy chain, LEAVE HIM THERE AND RUN AWAY. Do not remove him from the security of his tether and toss him into the lake; nor should you sit pensively on the dock and reflect on your narrow escape. Leave him attached to the wood chipper, leave the chipper running, and run. There's no need to hide the evidence. Given that he killed eleven people, including a police officer, the cops aren't going to care that you punched his ticket. Nor is it necessary to give him a proper burial. He's already risen from the dead once, so the gesture is moot, and I doubt he'll be touched. Let him hang there until decomposition separates his head from his body. For God's sake, save your moronic, Darwin-flouting asses, you troglyditic peons.
At least today was good. I finally went on my date with Jason Vorhees.
Look, Friday the 13th is what it is. It's not high art. It's not even trash art. It's the simple, brutal catharsis of watching entitled, foolhardy assholes get theirs courtesy of the monstrous disenfranchised. Everyone in these movies is either a blank slate, the dangerous, faceless unknown(Jason) or a stereotypical asshole(the victims). The writers don't intend to portray the victims as assholes, of course; they'd have us relate to them as Katie and Johnny Everyman, but since they're basing their everyman on the rich, privileged, prep school dickheads that infest Beverly Hills with the febrile tenacity of pubic lice, it seldom works. Everyman comes across as an obnoxious tool, and so Jason becomes not an evil monster, but an arbiter of cosmic and karmic justice and guardian of the status quo. Honestly, groups such as the PTC and Association for the Preservation of the American Family should love Jason because he puts a quick and decisive end to all that nasty drug abuse and iniquitous premarital sex. He's the silent muscle behind the Moral Majority movement.
I like Jason. He's not a disfigured, misunderstood woobie. He's a killing machine(and if those wheelchairs stacked in his mineshaft of nefarious didoes were any indication, an equal opportunity one, at that. Thanks, Jason. Though I do have to wonder just how many limpers think it would be really groovy to go camping in the sling-seat, ass-chafing, aluminum cheapo chair they snagged at Rite-Aid for $700.), but he's the lesser of two evils(in a fictional context, put down the cudgels, armchair psycholanalysts)because he doesn't present himself as anything but what he is. He doesn't pretend to be socially acceptable or a good guy. Jason doesn't give a fiddler's fart for such pretenses. You're fucking and smoking doob on his property, and he's going to part your hair with whatever's handy. The end. It's black and white and refreshingly unambiguous. It's cinematic comfort food, and I gobbled it up.
PROTIP: If you've managed to throttle the unstoppable killing machine and tether him to a running wood chipper by a length of heavy chain, LEAVE HIM THERE AND RUN AWAY. Do not remove him from the security of his tether and toss him into the lake; nor should you sit pensively on the dock and reflect on your narrow escape. Leave him attached to the wood chipper, leave the chipper running, and run. There's no need to hide the evidence. Given that he killed eleven people, including a police officer, the cops aren't going to care that you punched his ticket. Nor is it necessary to give him a proper burial. He's already risen from the dead once, so the gesture is moot, and I doubt he'll be touched. Let him hang there until decomposition separates his head from his body. For God's sake, save your moronic, Darwin-flouting asses, you troglyditic peons.
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