Syndication Block Edits, The Fallow Fields of an Elijah Price Warp

Searching for the shining face of God Jean?-- Burt Lancaster, Scorpio

In the sense that poverty requires patience before gratification is achieved, it took courage for Coronji Calhoun to allow himself to be exposed as the obese kid who gets picked on by everyone, including his mother, in Monster’s Ball, but like the late 20^th century Big Night, one of my favorite Tucci films, Forster intends for Monster’s Ball to be a rather convoluted allegory of the post-civil rights era in the American South. The Amazon app announced that it was free to Prime subscribers the same evening Bounce, the black programming channel—which as often as not airs blockbuster setups with Sylvester Stallone on flimsy pretexts—made Ball available to viewers during the conventional prime time slots we all had to depend on before we were cable subscribers. Your poor dowager had a momentary tug of war. She cannot quite afford a streaming device for her flat screen, but needed her other devices free, thus opted to trust that the syndication edits did not diminish the full effect by any significant degree, as they did with Unbreakable.  As her beleaguered pessimism makes rather self-evident, the dowager has been slowing down to a terrible degree, never envisioning the crack of the powder keg crumpling me in to this extent, and thus, utilizing free broadcast to catch Elijah’s appalling rationale for his genocidal miniatures to Willis’ David Dunn, was what I tuned in for, except that this last muted monologue, the darkest of all megalomania’s expansive graphic excesses, is what Bounce chose to edit, in my precious expending of my energies, exasperating, but not nearly as much as Thornton’s conflicted correction officer, harboring a suppressed appetite for the dynamics of diversity in his sweet tooth for bowls of chocolate ice cream? Both Hank and Leticia have ambivalent relationships with their progeny, Heath Ledger is actually dead, with no real world repairs necessary for a Glock’s trajectory penetrating the furniture. What is Sean Combs here but a misguided, regressive boy hoping to evade a truant’s penalty? As Musgrove, he is the softer underbelly to the brittle ruthlessness Jackson’s Elijah exudes. Forster admirers may disagree, but I do not see reconciliation in the story’s conclusion, not in Halle’s speculative glance as she looks toward the headstones in the yard.

Both Shyamalan’s perspective on graphic novel culture and Forster’s powerful parable are turn of the century predicates, and Jackson’s portrayal of psychological malignancy is one of the greatest theatrical feats of this young century in which I perish, but there are still African stoic majorities who insist on an inflammatory deafness. Though I cannot weigh in on what penalties Weinstein may actually deserve, the culture of silence surrounding Cosby's behavior was broken by blacks themselves. Ta-Neshisi Coates, not known for emulating the once titanic comedian he covered for the Atlantic, is on record believing Cosby is guilty, and yet, this black free press still feels whites were out to punish Cosby. No, to the extent that the prosecutor acted, it was to placate feminine fury.

Diapers in the Closet Deja Vu

"I feel like a visitor to this marriage!"-- Morris Chestnut, bad bluejeans shuffle

I remember the user handle Cambaird from years ago, in a more turbulent space of grievance, which must mean I was a member of Yabberz years ago; I do not believe I was banned, as sometimes I am the one who surfed off from sites in a huff, annoyed by the disruption of trolls who couldn't see that my suffering was of the utmost importance. The differential, between then and now, isn't a cure so much as it is biological erosion mitigates intensity. Linda Dezenski is two years my senior, now chastened under a grant for railroad victims within very specific parameters (though I do not believe she has physically departed from Liberty, as they claim, when I telephone to warn them my battle is coming), and she hit these symptoms of our unraveling before me. Plaque psoriasis is a loss of adhesion, and it resided on her right elbow 15 years ago just as it is now perennial and perhaps a permanent problem on mine. She has the resources yet, on the backs of all those rib cages pierced at the point of her sword, to chase after cosmetic solutions, appeasing vanity's struggle with the clock, while I pour pitchers of water over dander, rolling around in scissor tackled knits, investigating which hot spots I'm going to attempt to huddle in, giving retail outlets money I can ill afford while attempting software downloads over trade-ins, a street roller once removed but for a sheer act of will. An eatery on Commerce Square is closer than Joe's Coffee, while determination vacillates between staying closer to residence, the latter retains more possibilities for a commercial pitch, in that space where entrails haven't evacuated my body cavity.

The mobility medical scene in Unbreakable has a sinister suspense. We stay glued to Jackson, in a suspended animation, in his give and take with Robin Wright, the wife of Bruce Willis, superhero of circumstance. In Not Easily Broken, (2009) the white physical therapist is a contrivance, left to hang like a chad on a Florida voting ballot, in an outrageously maudlin narrative, which conveys, nevertheless, certain truisms about the vindictiveness of black matriarchal dominance. No one should have to mark their closure on their prime of life via hazy recall over computer monitors built like television sets with vacuum tubes, watching a second rate actor who seems custom made to play a lizard in a disguise of the human epidermis.

Urban Vigilantes

"Just in case you skimmed over that, Eminem is saying he wants to kill a woman he particularly despises with a machine gun."--Lucy Jones, NME

Dick Costolo is sanguine about suspending the twitter accounts of lawyers if they attempt to corral class action clients through the micro-network, yet Spike, because he is a celebrity, can engage in an overt vigilante attempt, which, despite his lauded artistry, he doesn't verify, gets his facts wrong, and disrupts the lives of innocent people. Settles with them for pocket change, wants the suit dismissed, and no doubt holds the loyalty of his followers with a bond stronger than the variability of melanin. Is it fair that market value dictates access and privilege in this manner?

I am no particular fan of George Zimmerman despite my experiences in the inner city, but I do care about the rule of law, which is why I never published any direct threats to my disability center, or to my former supervisor Linda, despite years of duress as a consequence, yet this man can do as he likes and come away with a wrist slap because he has an agenda, and airs dirty laundry on the inside of his brothers and sisters, swimming the established currents of the left because he got Jackson to do a shuffle parody. The virtual highlight of Jungle Fever. Given that I have been victimized by entitlement and identity, I think the suit against Lee should hold, and that twitter should consider suspending his account until the case settles, and the issue of inciting the public is examined with serious consideration. Whatever the future holds for Zimmerman, he was acquitted in the death of Trayvon. Killing the man amounts to giving all of us an open season. Perhaps a boycott of future Lee projects is in order. The breakout work had energy, to the limited extent I'm familiar, but the chocolate chip that drives his work walls off entry into it. Spike likes to kick box his audience. I wonder how he'd feel about a spastic steam roll.

Biel Amps

I did not place Jessica Biel's celebrity until Home of the Brave (2006) floated by my consciousness three, four times. With Jackson, Ricci, this should be a stronger ensemble than it is, and I paid slightly more attention to it last time when the realization dawned that Biel carried a hand amputation. What her post war beau said to her character about pushing people away is an applicable issue as it relates to body image, which is why my former manager, Linda, may have gone off on me about her convulsions during orgasm.

I cannot say what Winkler did that makes this movie drag past any tolerable hold, but I am of the position that mediocre work never really helps in pushing our moral centers forward; white noise is fairly easy to tune out, as evinced by the fact that the dramatic arcs here are so watered down, took so long to get my attention.

Genius in the Water

If I wrote about every schlock thriller in circulation on the American market, I'd run out of room, but I saw  Deep Blue Sea  (1999) on the ever amazing flat screen and I have no idea why anyone would like it. The computer graphics showed a blatant lack of integration. Jackson and the supporting red shirts get carried off like plastic G.I. Joe toys, and the overzealous doctor, played a bit smugly by Saffron Burrows, broke the rules so as to cure Alzheimer's Disease!

I am not going to be too pc about this, but I wish screen writers could take more responsibility for their plot lines, and maybe read a little AS Byatt, who at least has the courage of her conviction about the broken characters she trusses up, with no apologies.

Alzheimer's can be integrated into our creative impulses, but using it as a tacky excuse for more fish monster elimination games is a bit of a crock.