Orwell in Dubai

Italy is a peninsula that acquires the shape of a boot.

In his 2003 physique, Tim Robbins looks churlish naked. Perhaps he is supposed to look that way as Code 46 draws to a close, with Samantha Morton showing Deborah Winger how it's done if you you want to challenge ethnic types. There is a bit of Sheltering Sky to this speculative venture, one which doesn't add any additional spice with ad hoc contraceptives. Other than that, Winterbottom and Boyce paint a depressingly accurate portrait of our future, regardless of what we believe about the ability of neurologists to manipulate our minds.

There is also an aura of fatalism about European/American individualism invariability giving way to Asia's sheer mass. Was this intentional? The film ends with Morton's ironic glance of knowing the pleasures of defiance, enough to suicide by or take comfort in. In the past, Tom Reid and I would have talked about it for awhile; it's the type of film which would have interested him. I no longer have college friends, and but for digital props, it was as forceful as The Man from Earth, virtually free of anything but good acting and Tony Todd engaging in cream puff antics better suited to Forest Whitaker having a mood swing. There is depression, and there is the downer of an accurate portrait of where our societies are headed.

Sickly Hues of Milk

This TV plays games with those of us on the cheapskate, much as we play games with the frustrations of touch interface, or online paranoia. Steve Jobs has neither my gratitude nor my fetish zeal, although one can look at Tim Cook's libertarian streak in his battles with the FBI as a paradoxical quagmire. Most of what we get from This is mediocre: mediocre space opera, mediocre war movies, shoveling shit to those worried about IVC Filter implants. 

Once in awhile something you want to eat comes along: The Burrowers, District 9. Code 46 seems to have the same nutritious texture, but caught me off guard, because I was busy having an insurgency tantrum about Blogger's HTTPS update, figuring they want to muzzle stiff necked intransigents such as yours truly. (Is my rebellious despair all that important?) I will have to catch its rerun over the weekend, but what I saw of the first twenty minutes certainly had an unsettled effect, at least in terms of cinematography, which contributed as much to the dialogue as Morton's oozy Caucasian journey in an urban environment anesthetized to the residue of humanity within it. All I did was log on to research what I was looking at, wasted over 2MB getting upset about HTTPS encryption and security protocols which I certainly don't understand, missed getting grocery on time, and now have to roll to the Pakistani at the 7-11 to waste money on bad franchise food, hoping they still have wings, as that is their most tolerable selection. Obviously, we need time off now and again; let's see how I tap dance around an overage gigabyte, shall we? I'm worried about my castor tire, and if that goes, so do I. Live it lovely.