Since we couldn't find Stephen Stills house using Google maps, we went to see Hellboy, the movie. An hour in, I fell asleep, which never happens, and Ben let me sleep for a half hour because there was nothing I was really missing. The subtext of this movie doesn't exist, because there is not a discernible text. In American summer blockbusters, even when the badguys are CGI, the hero stands in for America. Patriotism was nil, though--if we couldn't tell from the mammoth cross swinging from Selma Blair's neck--Catholicism loomed. The film's emotional axis is not will the world survive this not very evil plot hatched by the elves borrowed from Labrynth, which doesn't have much truck when a.) every American knows the apocalypse is nigh and b.) the only creatures that have the baleful elf-prince's back is an easily killed monster that turns Manhattan into a garden as it dies (RECYCLE, BITCHES!) and a rogue army made from what appears to be the innerworkings of Patek Philippe tourbillion watches. (Look out for that glowing timepiece, Hellboy, it's got a sword!) The emotional axis, instead, is the fate of Selma Blair's unborn child. Or to give the stupid fucking ending away--her twin fetuses! Everyone will risk their life and health, and fate of the world!, for the innocent life of unborn feti--and yet, still you will not give a shit. AND THEN: Hellboy offs the NSBM-looking elf and the legion of pocketwatches and OUILA!
suddenly he's Paulie Bleeker in redface.
Posted by Jessica at July 13, 2008 09:12 PM