Number 24: Drive-By Movie Reviews

Invictus 7/10 - A more poignant and moving Cool Runnings, Invictus is what We Are Marshall should have been; a movie that made me care. Well, that might be a bit harsh, but seriously it took me three attempts to force feed myself Matthew McConaughey and the Thundering Herd's redemption. I have grown increasingly weary of movies of this type and even more weary of the immunity to criticism which is granted these films because, after all, "Dude, that really happened." Something that really happened is a bad excuse for Hollywood's lack of new ideas. But anyway, soapbox dismounted. When it comes to movies telling stories you already know, one could do much, much worse than Morgan Freeman, Matt Damon and Invictus.

Brothers 7.5/10 - A friend commented to me after seeing this movie that perhaps its true that the best role for a mediocre actor is a stoic or one of a character so wounded that only blank stares are required. Unfortunately for us, when Tobey Maguire's is not staring blankly, he is overacting; another go-to for bad actors. On the other hand, Jake Gyllenhaal and Natalie Portman are so good that it makes up for any shortcomings on Maguire's part. It also helped that this is one of the most gripping and emotionally draining movies I have seen in a long time and one that I would reccomend to anyone who has ever thought that Call of Duty tells one everything they need to know about war. (I'm looking at me.)

Avatar 5/10 - Equal parts Pocahontas, Jurassic Park and Fern Gulley, Avatar seems to justify the 300 million dollars spent to make it, but not quite the 9 dollars spent to see it. However, it did take place in the future and involve aliens, so my guilty pleasure centers wont allow me to give it less than a 5 on principle alone. What is unacceptable though is this film's suggestion of an America which would wipe out an entire race of natives or disregard the culture and lives of an entire people with purely selfish motives. James Cameron should be ashamed of himself for suggesting that a country as benevolent as ours would ever destroy another people's holy sites or force them to leave the land of their fathers simply for our convenience. Yet another example of liberal propaganda coming from those out of touch with real America.

Number 23: Its Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)

When I left, I left for good. I was 20 and living with my mother in Princeton, Indiana when I threw a tooth brush in the car and put Alice Street and that little red house in my rear view mirror like some sort of Jack Kerouac knock-off. And that night the half moon looked liked God’s narrowed eye asking me what the hell I thought I was doing.

It wasn’t some adventure though you know? I didn’t come of age or find myself or anything like in books I’d read. I just got a job selling Hallmark cards at a corner store on 5th Avenue in Eaton, Ohio. For three years I sold people the apologies, condolences and congratulations that they didn’t really feel enough to say themselves.

And then my Mom called.

“Joe?” She said. She always said that and, ironically enough, it was always me.

“Your Dad came home.”

He had been gone since I was just old enough to know that whatever had brought him and my mom together was broken. I stayed home for a couple years after high school but, after a while, whatever had kept me there broke just the same. Now, my mom wanted me to come home for the weekend, like two days would make up for more than a decade. I went home anyway though.

The driveway. The state road. The highway. Exit 218. The red light. The stop sign at Jefferson Avenue. Alice Street. The little red house. The driveway. The front door.

My mom answered and pulled me in the same way she pulled me into the kitchen Christmas morning to show me my new bike. I have a surprise for you Joe, you’re gonna love it. And then the strange, familiar voice from the kitchen.

“Joe?”

She pushed me in like a friend trying to set me up with a girl. And then the reveal. The surprise. The damn bicycle.

“Heya kid.” Said the man.

Then like a leaky faucet.

“Hey Pop.”

“How ya doin son? Your mom tells me you’re livin’ in Ohio now?”

Then like a burst pipe.

“Pop you can’t do this. You can’t just leave and then come back like a cheap magician. You weren’t here when I learned to drive or when I ran the truck into a pole.
Ma doesn’t need you showin’ up like this.”

“Honey what the hell is all this?” He looked at my mom like nothing bad had ever happened.

“Don’t look at her like she’s your wife Pop. She’s my mom, I’m her son and you’re a stranger in the kitchen.”

The screeching porch door.

The slamming porch door.

The moon seemed to be asking me the same question as the night I left. I wondered if the answer wasn’t in the kitchen with Mom.

I heard my dad’s voice. I heard my sweet mother. Pop had always been the bull and my mom the china shop. At least this was familiar.

Even if you move to Ohio and sell greeting cards, one day you’ll end up back here and your Dad will be in the kitchen.

The screeching porch door.

The gently closing porch door.

My mother.

“Joe? You could try you know? For me. We…I mean, your dad and I, we’re trying to make things right. Were trying to start over and I only wanted you to come home so we could be here together again.”

The leaky faucet.

“I know Ma.”

“I just want to see if things can be like they were”

“It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry Joe, but if you can come inside we can try…”

“It’s alright Ma.”

My mom’s hand on my shoulder.

The screeching porch door behind us.