lucius_t (lucius_t) wrote in theinferior4,
lucius_t
lucius_t
theinferior4

  • Mood:
  • Music:

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.
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 22 comments