PERSPECTIVES (6/13)

A Pirated Movie Review

by Aaron Bennett Presley, esq.

Disclaimer: This is a simple publier un dementi fortifying your worst of assumptions. This column will not be a reassessment, analysis, report, study, checkup, recapitulation, audit, survey, view or inspection. I will simply write. That is, isn't it, the point of this quality lit game we participate in? If you are looking for stars, forks, thumbs up or down or any other kind of rating on this revue de cine you have plopped your mouse-point in the wrong place. Try Siskel and whatever the guy who replaced the dead guy's name is dot com (maybe Siskel died?). Anyhow, if I'm writing about it, you should be able to tell by my context whether you should watch the flick or not. Just here for a quick once-over.

In regards for what, I try to believe, some consider as decency yours truly has decided to compile a bit of prose in what will hopefully end up being a week-to-week exhortation. I will, with clutching unabridged honesty opinionate for those I wish to pied-piper through the film world.

I have, as of late, watched an elephantine amount of highly illegal (carrying fines each within itself up to, but not to exceed, $250,000USD, enforced by such agencies as Interpol) bootlegged/burnt/ripped DVDs. This, I can't say, I am awfully proud of. I am addicted, however.

My collection reaches for the thousands. I have seen spells where I wouldn't leave my room, much less my apartment, for weeks on end. I have fashioned myself an indoor outhouse by way of one plastic mop bucket, one 32 oz. bottle of Lime-Away and an "I got ripped at the FMX Birthday Bash," t-shirt. This is solely why I think I would be a champion choice to sherpa you through Movie Land.

The inaugural film I will bard is none other than soon to be cult classic Wes Anderson's The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou.

Not since the '98 characters of Magnus Buchan, Max Fischer, and the such have I been so amazed with Wes' work. He's a da Vinci of the plastic-like ambient aesthetics played out in each of his masterpieces. Many weren't appreciative of The Royal Tenenbaums, but who's into that whole brevity thing? I, again, think Royal and his disciples, or those quite the opposite, were optimum Anderson genius. Such fluidity has also poured onto the screen in the adventures of Steven Zissou.

This genuine tall tale takes the patron from the death of Zissou's best friend and confidant--Esteban du Plantier, hefted by Anderson vet Seymour Cassel--full circle to the vengeful hunt of the looming antagonist, "Jaguar Shark."

How can a production of the almighty Wes A. be done sans Kumar? It's been pulled off. Even though one might watch every rear scene for the boyishly naive antics of the Indian screen savant, he will not be found. No Mister Little Jeans, no Pagoda, no Gupta Rajan. Nonetheless the film wins.

If you have yet to familiarize yourself with Wes' earlier work, do so now. Go out and try to find a copy of his tour de force Bottle Rocket and watch it over and over for a day or so. Memorize some lines and hang with the beat of his word. Then, after much study, you're ready for Rushmore. This was Jason Schwartzman and Bill Murray suffocating you with unimaginable monotony...Hilariousness.

This, again, not being a review or critique, I will not spoil anything about the picture. I will let you on your way. Get out and see it now.