Double Feature Night and A Strange Dream
For those of you who don't know, or haven't scanned my info page at least, I live in Cicero. That's number one, number two is that I've been hanging on to the remnants of a Blockbuster gift card for quite some time, since Christmas 2002. And finally, number three is that last year, when Gregory Peck passed away, my English teacher recommended one of his movies, 12'o'clock High, to me. The other night these three facts combined to produce a series of events far more complicated for their own good.
I had the card, with enough money for one rental. I had a movie selection already in mind. The only wrench in this machine of logic was that I was in Cicero, and Blockbuster is in North Syracuse. There are many other video stores that are closer; Mo>ie Gallery, Wegmans and even Hollywood (by a small margin). So, if I was to go to Blockbuster, it might be my last time. I was only going because I wouldn't need to spend any money, and I'm a cheap bastard. So I asked my dad permission to use the car. Permission granted. I got into the car, started the engine and...ding ding ding!, the fuel warning light comes on. Well, there goes the whole not spending money thing. So I gave it $5 worth of gas, because I was merely financing a trip to North Syracuse, not my dad's daily commute for the next week. So then I was off, I did some other errands along the way, but I won't relate them because it will only serve to make this long story longer.
So I walk into Blockbuster, and after a quick scan I ask an employee if they have 12'o'clock High. No go. Well, I made the trip, why don't I make another selection? Suddenly, a display catches my eye. "See the originals before you see this summers sequels!," it proclaims. Spider-Man, seen it. All the previous Alien and Predator movies, yeah, I've seen the shole of them. Bourne Identity. Hold the phone. As I head toward the front, however, another film, from the comedy section, catches my eye. Mel Brook's History of the World: Part I. Well, shit. I decided to do some sort of random decision making process, but I already knew what usually results when I do something like that.
As I'm ponying up the extra cash needed to rent both movies, the guy asks me if I have a Blockbuster card.
"No."
"Driver's License and Credit Card?"
"No Credit Card."
"Vehicle Registration?"
"Not in my name."
"Then...I'm sorry."
Back to Cicero, to get my Dad's card.
Back to North Syracuse, to rent the damn things.
Back to Cicero, to freaking watch them.
Only I, Andrew Robert Eastham, of the Eastern Bloodline, can make something so simple, that complicated.
Anyways, here's my reflection on the two features. Bourne Identity is a slick and more down to earth take on the spy thriller genre. It's good stuff. History is, well, what we've come to know and love coming from Mel Brooks. It tends to drag in some parts, but the excellent wordplay, clever irony, some "Airplane" literalness, and the two musical numbers ("The Inquisition" and "Jews in Space") more than make up for it.
I also had a strange dream, probably resulting from my thoughts as to whether or not my thick, laser-straight, almost fur like hair can be molded into any style other than it's natural state. The dream consisted of me walking into an ethnic barbershop, and then a Mel Brooks-like song and dance number occurring. I wish I could tell you more, but I can never remember my dreams too well. I'm sure you folks out there are creative enough to come up with something to curb your curiosity as to what an ethic barbershop musical would be like.
I had the card, with enough money for one rental. I had a movie selection already in mind. The only wrench in this machine of logic was that I was in Cicero, and Blockbuster is in North Syracuse. There are many other video stores that are closer; Mo>ie Gallery, Wegmans and even Hollywood (by a small margin). So, if I was to go to Blockbuster, it might be my last time. I was only going because I wouldn't need to spend any money, and I'm a cheap bastard. So I asked my dad permission to use the car. Permission granted. I got into the car, started the engine and...ding ding ding!, the fuel warning light comes on. Well, there goes the whole not spending money thing. So I gave it $5 worth of gas, because I was merely financing a trip to North Syracuse, not my dad's daily commute for the next week. So then I was off, I did some other errands along the way, but I won't relate them because it will only serve to make this long story longer.
So I walk into Blockbuster, and after a quick scan I ask an employee if they have 12'o'clock High. No go. Well, I made the trip, why don't I make another selection? Suddenly, a display catches my eye. "See the originals before you see this summers sequels!," it proclaims. Spider-Man, seen it. All the previous Alien and Predator movies, yeah, I've seen the shole of them. Bourne Identity. Hold the phone. As I head toward the front, however, another film, from the comedy section, catches my eye. Mel Brook's History of the World: Part I. Well, shit. I decided to do some sort of random decision making process, but I already knew what usually results when I do something like that.
As I'm ponying up the extra cash needed to rent both movies, the guy asks me if I have a Blockbuster card.
"No."
"Driver's License and Credit Card?"
"No Credit Card."
"Vehicle Registration?"
"Not in my name."
"Then...I'm sorry."
Back to Cicero, to get my Dad's card.
Back to North Syracuse, to rent the damn things.
Back to Cicero, to freaking watch them.
Only I, Andrew Robert Eastham, of the Eastern Bloodline, can make something so simple, that complicated.
Anyways, here's my reflection on the two features. Bourne Identity is a slick and more down to earth take on the spy thriller genre. It's good stuff. History is, well, what we've come to know and love coming from Mel Brooks. It tends to drag in some parts, but the excellent wordplay, clever irony, some "Airplane" literalness, and the two musical numbers ("The Inquisition" and "Jews in Space") more than make up for it.
I also had a strange dream, probably resulting from my thoughts as to whether or not my thick, laser-straight, almost fur like hair can be molded into any style other than it's natural state. The dream consisted of me walking into an ethnic barbershop, and then a Mel Brooks-like song and dance number occurring. I wish I could tell you more, but I can never remember my dreams too well. I'm sure you folks out there are creative enough to come up with something to curb your curiosity as to what an ethic barbershop musical would be like.