Swamp Thing II, Thor, Conan the Destroyer, I Love Lucy

     The Return of Swamp Thing crossed my eyesight.  Seems more like the swamp scenes were shot in a studio, though the end credits mention Savannah, Georgia, as the filming location.  Heather Locklear as Swamp Thing's love interest.  He resurrects her after her step-father has drained out her life force, sucking it into himself, before he gets pinned underneath a piece of lab infrastructure.  The whole place goes up, but Swamp Thing and Heather get out, he brings her back to life, they kiss, a little flowering plant comes out of her foot.

     Doctor Arcane (Louis Jourdan) makes hybrids out of human beings and animals.  A man with a baby elephant head sticking sideways out of his head is an example.  A cockroach man, ordered to be exterminated by Arcane.  

     Heather Locklear, plant-loving step-daughter of Louis Jourdan, has the genetic blood thingey the bad doctor seeks to rejuvenate himself, as he wishes to age backwards, sucking her life force from her cute Heather Locklear frame.  

     Sarah Douglas is on hand, reminding us of the cruel roles she played in Superman II and in Conan the Destroyer, a sorceress in the latter picture, with an ulterior motive for sending Conan on a quest.

     My favorite scene in Conan the Destroyer has Conan, who's just had a vision of his lost love, Valeria, planted in his mind by the sorceress, standing calm but alert in the sorceress's private chamber.  Earlier she wore armor, rode a horse, head covered by a fearsome black helmet.  She did a mind fuck on Conan, then recruited him to go on a quest.  She wears long gossamer robes of dark hues, a headdress, she's quite striking.  As she speaks, she pours drinks into goblets.  She hands the goblet to Conan, he takes it and drinks, makes a satisfied face, evidently a good refreshing drink, and heady, perhaps.  The anticipation is she may poison him, or knock him out with a sorcerous concoction, but no, it's just very good wine.  She's the de facto ruler of a small desert kingdom, she has access to the best of the trade goods.

     Sorceress: Molson!  Take an extra case of that Ophirean Port, do it when no one's looking!  

     A ruler of a great nation, her prime concern is looking pretty, her secondary concern governing with an iron hand, her tertiary concern, polo, but all three of these concerns get buried under her main project: bringing earthwards the chthonic god, Ramstitan, god of blocked airways, cave collapses, physical and mental abuse, lost topazes, and sellers of trinkets.  A horrible and fearsome thing to look upon, the color of ten year old gum smoothed into being one with the pavement.  

     Sorceress: Conan, you look perplexed.

     Conan: I will do your quest, but I am confused.

     Sorceress: About?

     Conan: The payment.

     Sorceress: I will give you two bags of precious jewels and a night with one of my temple prostitutes.

     Conan: Two nights with fifty prostitutes.

     Sorceress: Deal.

     Away from the Savannah, Georgia and environs swampy setting of The Return of Swamp Thing.  At the film's end Heather Locklear and Swamp Thing seem on the verge of mating.  Child of Swamp Thing, we can hope, will someday be made.  Playmates of Swamp Thing's Child.  Swamp Thing Dies.  Swamp Thing's Child's Revenge.  Resurrection of Swamp Thing.  Swamp Thing Vs. Swamp Thing's Child, a courtroom drama that will fail to impress at the box office, but two more sequels will come: Doctor Arcane's Formula, and Swamp Thing's Child Meets His Doom.

     So-called stupid movies have the benefit of providing relief from thought.  My parents couldn't understand the appeal of Gilligan's Island for me.  It was, they believed, an intellectual desert of entertainment.  They missed that Skipper and Gilligan did Hardy and Laurel-like things that constitute genuinely funny slapstick.  The premise of the show wasn't meant to make sense in our world.  Sherwood Schwartz, the creator, said it was The Admirable Crichton, except the hyper-efficient Crichton is replaced by the bumbling accident-prone Gilligan, the one who thwarts their rescue attempts.  A bad luck charm.  I identified with Gilligan, surrounded by two beautiful women, one of them a movie star, the other a Kansas country gal in tight jean shorts.  He's a servant to the millionaire couple.  For some reason, everyone on the island respects the Howells' tycoonish behavior.  The seven deadly sins were represented, according to Schwartz, in the castaways, by my estimation:

     Ginger: Lust

     Mary Ann: Envy (for Ginger)

     Gilligan: Gluttony

     Skipper: Anger

     Mrs. Howell: Sloth

     Mr. Howell: Greed

     Professor: Pride

     Do I get an A in Gilligan Studies, Advanced Course?  My term paper, The Films of Ginger Grant, becomes a hit book, tour of the world, Kathie Lee Gifford and Regis Philbin interview, photos taken with Tina Louise, who was in The Stepford Wives and God's Little Acre.

     Plot lines grew from my head.  Canister of jam, Fred Mertz uses his trusty can opener on a beer can, Studio Beer, the black and silver label.

     Fred: Ricky, you're like the Mexican jumping bean when you conduct your band.  Why not try a dignified approach?

     Ricky: Fred, are you drunk again?

     Fred: Not quite, Cubano.  I shall trumpet you in place of your orchestra.

     Ricky conducts Fred on the trumpet.  With a piece of sourdough bread he covers the bell of his horn.

     Lucy enters, covered in tomato soup.  

     Lucy: I spilled soup on myself!

     Ricky: Lucy!  We're working on a composition.  On three, Fred.

     Fred: Righty-oh!

     Lucy: I need to take a bath.  Dinner's going to be late, Ricky, that's what I wanted to tell you.

     Ricky: Lucy, you keep interrupting!

     Lucy: You don't care about me!

     Ricky: Of course I do.  Luuuuceeee!  Come here, come to Ricky.

     Lucy: I'll get your tux red.

     Ricky: Like a badge of honor will I wear it!  Go to the bedroom!  Await me!

     Fred: We're working, Lucy!  Obey thy husband!

     Lucy sticks out her tongue at Fred, blows a kiss at Ricky.

     Ricky: Ten minutes, my sweet, grant me that.

     Lucy: This is a moment when romantic flute music would be heard by two people preparing for love.  The giving of love.  The kind of thing that results in a baby, a new mouth to feed, someone else to worry about.  Pull out, Ricky, that's what I'll tell him.  Shoot your baby juice on my chest, in my hair, I don't care, just not in my twat.  

     Ricky and Fred agree to meet tomorrow to go over Fred's solo in the third act.  Fred's confidence has grown.  He feels competitive with the greats, Beiderbecke, Ferguson, Wongdorfer, Hattery.  He changes his name to Mertzengerstein, Friedrich von Merzengerstein.  He forms a band of non-entities with names changed to sound aristocratic.  Thus, the drummer is Boomen Bang von Crangschluppen.  The bassist and backing vocalist, Lady Carnelia Vore dem Austfotter-Gleebstochen von Vemst.  The guitarist, Cedric Grunt, Fourth Baron of Vacant Lot 3.  Keyboards, Ham Nickelbarber.

     Friedrich von Merzengerstein: We've achieved much!  Just eight months since our formation.  Now, we conquer America with our performances and sound.

     Boomen Bang von Crangschluppen: Not to mention, with our charisma!  Why, just tonight, during the last song, a woman revealed herself in the front row.

     Cedric Grunt: These mini-events are to be expected.  She must have a boring life to so expose herself in public.  A crying out.  Look, world, I'm interesting!

     Boomen: You think it's that, Cedric?  You can't allow the woman some fun?  Some joie desprit, some letting go time?

     Friedrich: This conversation is pointless.  Anybody need the toilet for the next ten minutes?  Well then, see you guys on the other side.  Good concert, by the way, I'm pleased with my fellow musicians, my melody makers, my rhythm masters, my New Age minstrels, my God's Heavenly Host swirling around us singing a song to break the hearts of anyone who's seen The Ten Commandments.  The Burning Bush scene, man, that got to me!  Thou shalt make music!  Yes!  Yes!  Ham Nickelbarber, break out thy electric piano!  I'll fetch up my trumpet and blow for a bit into the mouthpiece to warm it.  I'd rather not flub my notes, gotta recording session here, right after a live performance before 5,000 people.  Man, this rock and roll life is challenging sometimes.  How does Ricky handle touring with his band?  Whores?  Is that his method of getting through it?  I can't see him cheating on Lucy.  I think Ricky holds it in until he gets home after two months then he fucks the heck out of his redheaded wife, who's pretty cute when she doesn't talk.  If she never talked, I'd gladly go out on a date with her.  I danced with her once, at Ethel's birthday party last year.  Holding Lucy, an in-shape woman, feels damn good, man, I felt like my boner would say a loud hello to Lucy if she were to brush against it, but my projecting stomach, normally an annoyance in my daily life, saved me by concealing my trouser rod.  Ricky's got it good with Lucy, no doubt.  I'm happy for Ricky.  I don't envy Lucy.  Ricky's an asshole.  Selfish, pig-headed, condescending towards Lucy, she doesn't deserve that.  He's obtuse, self-centered, doesn't consider what his actions do to his wife.  Hey, I'm like that with Ethel!  Not as bad as Ricky, though.  I like having Ricky around.  His putrid behavior makes my bad behavior seem inconsequential and easily forgivable.  

     Ricky and Lucy run into Friedrich outside a bakery.  He has doughnuts and crullers for the band.

     Ricky: Fred!

     Fred: Friedrich.

     Ricky: Oh right...I heard you changed your name.  Friedrich!  A strong name.  Friedrich the Great!

     Fred: Frederick the Great, you mean.  18th century German history not your strong point, Ricardo retardo?

     Ricky: 18th Century German history, let me think...ah, the Hessians!

     Fred: Who were the Hessians?

     Ricky: I remember this from my INS test.  The Hessians were a mercenary force recruited by the Principality of Hesse in western Germany.  The Hessians fought for the British in the Revolutionary War, 1775 to 1783!

     Fred: You speak as if you weren't there?  Didn't your teacher take you and your fellow students into the time machine?

     Lucy: Did your trumpet blast a hole in your brain, Friedrich?

     Fred: Time travel, Ricky.  It's real.  In the future, you die.

     Ricky: I should think so.  

     Fred: Lucy lives on forever.  A homemaker on the edge of stardom, married to a celebrity, yet ordinary life, from a comedy for comedy's sake angle, intrudes.  Does that sound about right?

     Ricky: Living with this woman is an every day adventure, don't know if I'm going to make it on some of those days.

      Lucy: What do you mean, some?

     Ricky: Like when you blew up the car. 

     Lucy: That wasn't my fault.  I thought I saw Randolph Scott hitching his bicycle to a railing.

     Ricky: What's important is we lived.

     Lucy; Ricky, I put that new dent in the fender, not some hit and run type.

     Ricky: I figured that to be the case.  You're a terrible driver!  If there'd be a law that says women can't drive I'd be behind that law!  I'd run for office on that law!  

     Lucy: Start being nice to me, or else!

     I don't know if my absurd fiction is welcome, I don't know if it's good.  It amuses me.  When I write comedy it comes out like that,

     Pile of DVDs from the library over there.  I should watch one tonight, no work tomorrow.  Colder than before temperatures, one day the wind was averaging around 24 miles per hour.  Thor: Love and Thunder, shall I watch it?

     

     The opening scene is good.  Christian Bale becomes a god killer.  This of course threatens Thor and his godly companions, like his girlfriend Sif.  After the opening comes pointless scenes, it's hard to take Thor seriously.  He's been turned into a buffoon in this and the previous movie, Ragnarok, directed also by Taika Waititi, so I must blame him for ruining Thor.  Thor, The Mighty Thor, was a comic book from Marvel.  I bought several numbers of Thor.  I was intrigued that he and his companions could walk around contemporary New York City wearing costumes out of the 9th century A.D.  The first Thor I bought, Thor and his companions, including blue-black haired Sif, encounter a full-page Mephisto, a red-demonic-looking Mephistophelean entity.  The image seared into my brain.  I still have the issue.  When I find it I will re-experience the boyhood moment of reading the latest comic book bought with allowance money distributed each Saturday.  

     This fourth Thor film is like a Lifetime movie with a woman with a terminal illness, a technology that extends her life, but she loses it in the end.  Natalie Portman demanded a line in her contract about never having to appear again in a Marvel movie.  It's sad, because she was good in the first Thor.

     Getting back to the God Killer (Bale), it's about time.  Cut out the Lifetime movie stuff and concentrate on telling an action story.  Reduce jokes and quips to a minimum.  Make Natalie Portman lift weights for six months so she looks convincing with some strength with her own muscles instead of using obvious CGI.  She's so much smaller than Thor, she looks like his mascot.  The hammer healed her cancer, I guess.  I lost my attention.  The movie has too much dialogue and the dialogue isn't good.  That's a problem.

     A comic book cost twenty cents when I started buying them.  I didn't imagine in the 1970s that a movie studio would take the name Marvel and make super-expensive films with characters I had discovered in print many years before.  I've never been completely satisfied with any portrayal of a comic book character.  I didn't like how Iron Man was depicted, the suits I mean.  I didn't want to see Robert Downey, Jr.'s face, I wanted to never see inside the suit.  Joseph Schildkraut would've made a good Dr. Strange, he had a face shaped for it.  Sub-Mariner, blue-black hair, swimmer, Sean Connery.  Thor, Mr. Universe, Dave Draper.  Sif, Gina Lollobrigida.  

     This movie, Love and Thunder, is bad, uneven, long sections of melodrama weaken the more active sections.  The movie unfolded, ending sooner than I expected it to.  Some good scenes running up against bad scenes, clunky dialogue, but the Christian Bale God Killer angle is good.  Bale is the film's best performer, so if you want to see Christian Bale playing an alien grieving father who acquires the ability to slay gods, this is the film for you.  Just think if he gets typecast, playing grieving fathers, sometimes alien, sometimes suburban briefcase two martinis per lunch men.

     I finished watching the film just a few minutes ago, I can't remember it.  It's ephemeral, like an M&M.  Seven or eight colored M&Ms of different shapes and sizes are shown to the viewer, the end.  That's Love and Thunder.  A colorful film, indeed.  I wonder if Taika Waititi were to take over the Rings of Power, Season 2, and how would that show transform into swirls of color, testicle-based architecture, and Galadriel talking to her knife, as Thor does to his axe, which seems jealous of his time.  

     The death scenes are moving, although we're not given enough time with the essentials of these characters' personalities to care about them, except as objects on a screen moved around by the director, who doesn't seem to know how to balance the components of his film.  The film will start to move with an adequate action scene, then die immediately with more melodrama, not even as well-written as the script of an afternoon soap opera.  Bad writing kills films.  Bad writing can also make a movie entertaining to listen to.  This movie doesn't play bad writing well, though.  

     I did like it when Jane Foster slammed the hammer down against the pavement.  That looked good.  A woman generating electricity, lightning, the power to fry.

     It's a bloodless movie.  Thor activates an army of child soldiers to fight a horde of huge monsters with claws, fangs, and tentacles.  The kids fight like Ninjas, one cute little girl with glowing eyes slices a cactusoid with eyes in half.  No child is harmed or killed in this battle.  I don't believe it.  Some of those kids would have gruesome scars from bite marks and sucker pads digging into their faces.  Right?

     I can't believe I watched that movie.  I don't know what I saw.  It's hallucinatory, or I'm just reacting to the yet to be accepted possibility that the movie's mediocrity is somewhat submerged beneath the movie's flashy shellac.  None of the interactions matter much, except in the death scenes.  Thor is serious and flippant in the space of the same scene.  

     Keeping Thor dark and brooding would've been a good idea to maintain throughout the Thor films and his appearances in the Avengers movies.  Instead, he's become a comic relief character.  

     Wrong approach, my fellow filmmakers.  

     In the comic books, Thor is a serious young man when he's living the role of Eric Masterson, his human identity.  That seriousness stems from being, in reality, Thor, Thunder God, wielder of the Hammer Mjolnir.  A great responsibility.  Secretive Thor.  He doesn't want people to discover his real nature, so he goes by an alias, leading a normal life on the surface, with a blue-black haired girlfriend, Sif, Earth name Mandy Partridge, a cashier in Bloomingdale's, a real knockout, drives a Jaguar.  Eric eats pistachios, drinks cans of Grain Belt Beer, watches war movies, brags about how he met Liv Ullman, played one season of baseball with the Yankees as a relief pitcher.  Eric likes watching the Jets rather than the Giants.  Mandy dated a baseball player, and a banker, and a freighter captain.  Eric lost his right index finger to the freighter captain.  Damn.  Three months to grow back the finger.  Some poker games on the freighter captain's ship, the Return, end up bloody.  The freighter captain, picture Ed Asner of the early seventies, has a bag in his closet filled with "souvenirs" from his poker games.  He cheats whenever he can, is missing two fingers from opponents alert to his cheating.  

     My mind drifted as I watched Waititi's mess.  Chris Hemsworth, playing Thor for the seventh time, seems to have adapted easily into the plot to make his character ridiculous.  Hemsworth was paid 20 million dollars to play Thor in this thing.  Why bother to make the film great?  Twenty million dollars doesn't buy a good performance.  He looks like he's tired of playing this part.  The producers have let him take it up to a point, have pushed it towards the ridiculous, rather than the dignified, so he's a joke as a god, when that should be the most majestic part of him.  No, instead he's the one on screen responsible for keeping the laughs flowing, except the lines aren't funny, no laughter happens.  That's a problem.

     You want to watch a good love story, watch The Return of Swamp Thing.

Vic Neptune