I'd forgotten how bad Kyle MacLachlan's hair was in Dune
After running an errand today perilously close to the sprawling matrix that is UCSF Medical Center, I was duly proceeding back to my car on the corner of 5th and Irving only to discover a tow truck appearing to be making love to my car via conjoining of certain mechanisms.
Heart rate: 713
Blood pressure: 450/300
Epinephrine levels: incalculable
Adrenal glands: subsequently emptied
After pulling a Pietro Maximoff* and tearing up a block of sidewalk in my haste to accost the two tow truck drivers, I skidded to a stop next to my car only to find that the drivers were actually towing the car parked behind me.
Still, I had to spend five minutes bantering with them and demanding he account for the scratch on my bumper. The first one backed away. The second promised to never, ever tow me (or, for that matter, fuck with me) because, and I quote, he'd be afraid of getting "played."
Sitch? Sorted.
In a fit of self-flagellation born of a strategic lapse of judgment, I decided to watch Dune again last night. My first viewing years ago should have been lesson enough.
I remembered it as akin to Heaven's Gate in its distinctive lack of cohesion, rationality, and editing, and all of that is grievous, to be sure, but what really set me off? Aside from the headlong rush into total incoherency towards the end?
Everyone's hair. My god, can we STOP the eighties nostalgia? Go back and watch Dune, people. The fact that everyone has frizzy hot-rolled 1982 waves obscuring their sweaty foreheads should be enough to enact a worldwide permaban on anyone. Ever. There is NOTHING attractive about eighties hair. Somehow, Francesca Annis' forehead - a beautiful forehead that should NEVER be obscured, not to mention her cheekbones - barely made an appearance in this film because some dipshit stylist decided to cover her face with ugly eighties downcurls once she left the palace and went out into the desert with her son so he could trip out on spice and bask in the fact that his hairdo was a backsweep.
See, Francesca Annis went from this forties fabulosity in the first part of the film:
To this:
The sweeping curls obscuring her forehead - NO WOMAN is going to have the time to pull that off while in self-imposed exile on Arrakis, okay?
* Except I managed to get through this automobile-related pseudo-crisis without uttering the word "expiate" and/or causing the Inhumans to declare war against me and/or angst about Wanda.
Heart rate: 713
Blood pressure: 450/300
Epinephrine levels: incalculable
Adrenal glands: subsequently emptied
After pulling a Pietro Maximoff* and tearing up a block of sidewalk in my haste to accost the two tow truck drivers, I skidded to a stop next to my car only to find that the drivers were actually towing the car parked behind me.
Still, I had to spend five minutes bantering with them and demanding he account for the scratch on my bumper. The first one backed away. The second promised to never, ever tow me (or, for that matter, fuck with me) because, and I quote, he'd be afraid of getting "played."
Sitch? Sorted.
In a fit of self-flagellation born of a strategic lapse of judgment, I decided to watch Dune again last night. My first viewing years ago should have been lesson enough.
I remembered it as akin to Heaven's Gate in its distinctive lack of cohesion, rationality, and editing, and all of that is grievous, to be sure, but what really set me off? Aside from the headlong rush into total incoherency towards the end?
Everyone's hair. My god, can we STOP the eighties nostalgia? Go back and watch Dune, people. The fact that everyone has frizzy hot-rolled 1982 waves obscuring their sweaty foreheads should be enough to enact a worldwide permaban on anyone. Ever. There is NOTHING attractive about eighties hair. Somehow, Francesca Annis' forehead - a beautiful forehead that should NEVER be obscured, not to mention her cheekbones - barely made an appearance in this film because some dipshit stylist decided to cover her face with ugly eighties downcurls once she left the palace and went out into the desert with her son so he could trip out on spice and bask in the fact that his hairdo was a backsweep.
See, Francesca Annis went from this forties fabulosity in the first part of the film:
To this:
The sweeping curls obscuring her forehead - NO WOMAN is going to have the time to pull that off while in self-imposed exile on Arrakis, okay?
* Except I managed to get through this automobile-related pseudo-crisis without uttering the word "expiate" and/or causing the Inhumans to declare war against me and/or angst about Wanda.