lucius_t (lucius_t) wrote in theinferior4,

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I am (sorta, kinda) legend

I went to a screening of I Am Legend tonight and for about a hour, hour and fifteen minutes, I was really into it. I liked Francis Lawrence's first film, Constantine--considering he was stuck with Keanu Reeves as a star, I thought he did a pretty good job of capturing the feel of the comic--and I had hopes for this one. But after a terrific set-up, accompanied by a splendidly realized mise-en-scene, the movie dissolved into a bunch of bad CGI and a dopey climax and just fucking ended. This is the second film I've seen recently (Michael Clayton being the first) that didn't have a third act, and this one had barely a sliver of a second act. It's as if the screenwriters ran out of paper and just said, hey, we'll go with what we've got. Really disappointing. I hope that this doesn't become a trend, the Hollywood half-movie. Anyway, i'm probably going to do a longer review of this, so I'll save the rest for later. One thing, though. I can't figure out how come they used CGI instead of prosthetics for the vampires. All they did was bite and scamper about. Whatever, it looked cheesy.

The theater where I saw the movie is in downtown Vancouver (WA), kind of a seedy area. Pawn shops, bars, usually a few derelicts hanging around and a hooker or three. On cold nights like this, they usually wear down jackets over their mini-skirts. Tonight there was a hooker waiting for the bus at the stop where I catch it. She was a peroxide blonde, thin, sort of pretty in a hardbitten way, acne scarring on her cheeks--she wore a red skirt and a red fake fur. Her arms folded, all her flaws revealed by the streetlight overhead. She stood there, I stood there. We both looked down the street, avoiding eye contact. It was like a little play witout dialogue. I lit a cigarette and she asked for one. She asked for a light and cupped her cold hands around mine to shield the flame. We smoked and watched for the bus. She mentioned the weather, that it was freezing out. Yeah, I said. Might snow. After a pause she asked if I wanted a date. Not tonight, I said, and felt bad for having turned her down, because she was shivering and looked like a damaged waif dressed in a Halloween costume. I have to go to work early, I said. Her face hardened and she half-turned away, exhaling a plume of smoke. I felt like a dumbass for having been solicitous toward her. When the bus came, empty of passengers, she flashed her pass and went right to the back and sprawled out on the seat. I sat behind the door at the middle of the bus. She got off at a stop next to a pizza joint and stationed herself out front. The light turned red and the bus idled at the corner. I glanced at the hooker. She gave back what I assumed was a hateful look, her head poking up from that funky scarlet ruff like a weird blond lizard. Then, as the light turned green and the bus pulled away, she flutttered her fingers at me in a wave. All the way home I puzzled over that wave. Had it been disdainful? Had it marked her recognition of our brief interaction? I assumed that after I rejected her, she thought I had been treating her as a hooker not an individual--which had been the case to a certain extent. That she had approached me as a pro and that she could resent the fact that I had reacted the way I did was typical of hooker logic. Maybe the wave was a kind of apology, a human acknowledgement. I was overanalyzing, but still it occured to me that I no longer knew where I was, and perhaps I had never known. Fucking America, Land of Mystery.
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