frozenrider112 said:So, back home in Canada—and probably the US too—you don't really see seat numbers or row numbers at the movie theaters...
That's just because half the people in America and Canada can't count to ten, right? And since everyone’s got equal rights, they don't want to discriminate against anyone who skipped math class. That's democracy for you. 👍>
Back in my hometown, Des Moines, they used to have numbered seats and rows, but the roof leaked so bad that all the signs eventually just washed away.
But hey, everyone knows that picking the third, fifth, or eighth row isn't exactly a great call if it's raining outside.
Even the front row isn't great on the weekends—the theater owner runs a chicken stall at the local market and leaves the birds in the lobby, and man, those things stink... unless it rains, then I guess the rain washes them off.
I guess life's like that—sometimes you love the rain, sometimes you hate it, you know?
Man, what symbolism? I don't have the bandwidth to talk about deep meanings right now—symbolism is whatever you make of it in your own head. Monsters, Inc. rules, everything else is just noise. Captain who? Honestly, I can't even remember the guy.
People say it’s your second work that actually defines you as an artist. Well, Tarantino hasn't even dropped his second masterpiece yet. Charlie's Angels II is a blast, and Kill Bill is fun too. But honestly, looking at this thread, the first seven pages seem to be nothing but a giant love letter to Kill Bill. So why didn't Full Throttle get seven pages of hype? Probably because it lacks that specific "designer touch"—if you ask Douglas Phillips4. I’m not really a fan of those "Tarantino outdid himself" takes. If he keeps up that pace, he’ll be filming Four Rooms in a couple of years. 😁 😁
So, I was rewatching the put samurai thing yesterday. Tarantino goes with a woman as the samurai—you know, a ninja, an avenger, whatever—and Jarmusch goes with a Black guy. But what Tarantino totally missed out on was:
A dog, some pigeons, a best friend who's a Frenchman he can't quite wrap his head around, a Lexus that the ninja drives, a kid locked in his apartment by his parents that even the mob can't touch, or even just a little girl the samurai bickers with about whether or not he actually has friends...
That's where the real imagination lives. It’s that whole samurai world—it's like a total fairy tale. Like that guy building a boat on his balcony his entire life, or that Indian guy who shouts "Stupid White man" when the mob kills a pigeon, or those mobsters in sweaters getting winded after climbing three flights of stairs, or Ghost Dog just blending into the sidewalk where nobody even notices him walking by...
Back when Tarantino was filming Pulp Fiction, he actually had vision. That's why I say he must have been dreaming up details for at least ten years to get Pulp looking the way it did.
But this? This is just a fun movie. Tarantino just made a fun movie. End of story.
Nobody even thought to bring up Ronin. And that's a movie about samurai, too.
casualotter21 said:Honestly, Charlie's Angels II was actually a blast to watch.
That’s exactly what I mean—it's a fun movie, sure. But if Tarantino had directed it, people would be claiming it’s some genre-bending masterpiece that redefined cinema or whatever... blah blah blah. 😁 😁 😛
My old man was born in '36—joined the resistance when he was just a kid and took out a hundred and fifty Germans... honestly, he’s tougher than all your dads combined, even when he isn't carrying an M1 Garand.
Why do critics end up being worse than the stuff they’re tearing apart? I swear their "expertise" just holds them back. They can't even create anything from the heart—they're too busy spotting references everywhere. Like, "Oh, that riff sounds like something Eric Clapton did," or "That lyric is just a rip-off of some old B-side..." man, it's exhausting. Their own job basically becomes their worst enemy. They can't make the music, and because they're stuck looking for all those connections, they can't even enjoy the tunes like us regular folks. Their bar for what's actually good is way too high. Some people need half a candy bar to feel good, while a critic needs a glowing review just to get moving. And if you're out there making music just to chase a positive review, then you aren't doing it for the right reasons. You should be doing it for yourself, right? But if you're a critic and you try to do things for yourself, who are you even working for? You can't really separate your identity from the critique.
Benjamin Morris36 said:...I mean, what part of this don't you get? 😢 Musicians represent affirmation—critics are negation—and critics of critics are just the negation of negation... honestly, give me a break. I thought... you were my hero...😢 rocking that star on your chest... but you clearly haven't even touched the basics of dialectical materialism... you aren't some legend like Walter who defended Chicago... you're just some random actor...🙂 🙂 🙂
I totally get where you're coming from, though—I just love these kinds of debates, wasn't being cynical or anything.
Hey man, go ahead and read that book for dustyscout53. 😁 😁
And what's up with everyone else jumping on this movie bandwagon—don't they have any actual opinions? Do they seriously think the whole point is just about how Indians are ungrateful, like, you give them a bed and food and all that, and they still just wreck the damn hotel?
So, did you actually finish Ken Kesey, or what? You’ve read that bum Jack Kerouac guy, but you haven't touched Ken Kesey yet. Man, Kerouac... just a bunch of stuff about picking plums, driving through Mexico, drinking wine—whatever. Totally meh. Go read Ken Kesey. 👍
If critics who review the reviewers get called out for being just bitter, washed-up musicians—then what does that make those meta-critics? Aren't they actually way worse than the original critics?
Which one? Is that the guy who did that documentary about the dude getting lost in the desert before some guy found him? Something like... Paris - Texas? Yeah, I could totally see him filming that one....
What? What’s even the point of those documentaries? You just show up, grab a camera, and start filming... and suddenly you're some big shot? Seriously, if I had a few buddies struggling with addiction, I’d be famous overnight. Take Ry Cooder, for example—he heads down to Cuba, films some locals playing music, and... wow... he's such a genius. Why is he so "great" again? Honestly, he could've just stayed in his room and paid someone two bucks a day to film the whole thing for him. I just don't get it. Where's the excitement? Where's the actual drama?