01 February 2008
Clobberfield
It's weird the things that remind you of childhood. While you try your best to keep memories of fashion-victim-ness, bad hygiene and rabid puppy love tucked securely under your goody drawer, things tend to pop back into your life--not to drag you back to shame, you're not that pathetic, but simply to... pester you with the thought that you WERE indeed pathetic.
Case in point: the much-hyped, boombastic-kudos-for-very-effective-marketing flick Cloverfiled. I saw it yesterday while waiting for movie dates who clearly wanted to finish office hours more than hangout with me. And I gathered I wasn't the only one who was made to wait. It was only half past 5PM but the moviehouse already had a considerable amount of carbon dioxide. Someday, do-gooder employees will simply fall into coma and the world will be a much happier place...
By the way, ten minutes to the movie, an Assumptionista stood from the side-front seats and walked out. I wondered why--I mean, it was only some monster-less party scenes that were on, you would think she'd be happy about it. Seconds later, my mind was appeased: A guy stood from a few seats away from her's and walked the same way. How could I have not known better? A colegiala watching a monster flick by herself, on a late Thursday afternoon? DUH. So not cool. Well maybe they already had seen it on dibididibidi, and just so happen to see each other seats apart in a dark, spacious room. Hence the walkout. Hence another contribution to the short-time industry.
Those two are like the "protagonists" in the film: A couple who secretly screw on trains and carnival rides, pretends to be JustFriends in public and waits for a monster to destroy the city before admitting doing the dirty on a ferris wheel by the sea. No wonder Godzilla's long-lost sister stirred from under the sea and wreaked havoc. She must hate hypocrites. And I digress.
So, Clovierfield. I'm still recuperating from the extreme dehydration after puking my insides out due to migraine. Take 99 capsules of Bonamine before watching this monster flick. Really. It's like doing Rialto with a thousand people with halitosis. This is why I first-person-PoV films are my least fave. The only consolation in Cloverfield was that it was the least cute guy who held the camera for most of the film...
The monster. Nothing in the flick explained what it was or where it came from--unless the last scene that showed the sea and some "odd" waves the size of a palm for a second was a hint, in which case it probably wasn't because... because... well try pressing your palm against a cinema screen and see how it measures, smart ass!
As far as I'm concerned, the only thing I got from that creature was a stingy memory of our guidance counselor in grade school. They look almost the same. Wait for that second last sequence where it was given a close-up and you'll see a precious memory of my childhood. Her name was Erlinda Manaois, and she had these distinct features reminiscent of a bullfrog.
Frog. I was given the nick "Froggy" back in my early teens. 'Coz I sounded like a frog, they say. Still do, actually, only now I can incorporate a Kris Aquino or a Tony Braxton twist when needed.
Back to the film. Uh... well, that's about it: Two secret lovers fight, a monster that sweats a la Gremlins pops out in the open, some attempt at heroism by saving a girl stabbed with a rusty metal through the heart on the 47th floor of a crumbling tower, everybody tries to stay alive until the end-credits--fails--and you end up with vomit all over your shirt. If you're lucky, some motivation to clobber that lady who kept "commenting" on the scenes. It is, after all, a monster flick that... that kills time. (But could you really blame her? She was bored!)
Sadly, Cloverfield's hype failed to give it justice. Towards the end of the 90 minutes I felt more and more like that girl who fell asleep while doing the dirty a la Lassie. Strangely, I kept yawning while I was supposed to be holding on to my seat. Then bam--end credits. FINALLY, some music half worthy of a movie ticket.
I suggest you watch Clobber..., erm, Cloverfield, at the comfort of your very own Lazy Boy. And don't forget Bonamine. 100 capsules. (Take the first one now, I'm sure you need it.)
Case in point: the much-hyped, boombastic-kudos-for-very-effective-marketing flick Cloverfiled. I saw it yesterday while waiting for movie dates who clearly wanted to finish office hours more than hangout with me. And I gathered I wasn't the only one who was made to wait. It was only half past 5PM but the moviehouse already had a considerable amount of carbon dioxide. Someday, do-gooder employees will simply fall into coma and the world will be a much happier place...
By the way, ten minutes to the movie, an Assumptionista stood from the side-front seats and walked out. I wondered why--I mean, it was only some monster-less party scenes that were on, you would think she'd be happy about it. Seconds later, my mind was appeased: A guy stood from a few seats away from her's and walked the same way. How could I have not known better? A colegiala watching a monster flick by herself, on a late Thursday afternoon? DUH. So not cool. Well maybe they already had seen it on dibididibidi, and just so happen to see each other seats apart in a dark, spacious room. Hence the walkout. Hence another contribution to the short-time industry.
Those two are like the "protagonists" in the film: A couple who secretly screw on trains and carnival rides, pretends to be JustFriends in public and waits for a monster to destroy the city before admitting doing the dirty on a ferris wheel by the sea. No wonder Godzilla's long-lost sister stirred from under the sea and wreaked havoc. She must hate hypocrites. And I digress.
So, Clovierfield. I'm still recuperating from the extreme dehydration after puking my insides out due to migraine. Take 99 capsules of Bonamine before watching this monster flick. Really. It's like doing Rialto with a thousand people with halitosis. This is why I first-person-PoV films are my least fave. The only consolation in Cloverfield was that it was the least cute guy who held the camera for most of the film...
The monster. Nothing in the flick explained what it was or where it came from--unless the last scene that showed the sea and some "odd" waves the size of a palm for a second was a hint, in which case it probably wasn't because... because... well try pressing your palm against a cinema screen and see how it measures, smart ass!
As far as I'm concerned, the only thing I got from that creature was a stingy memory of our guidance counselor in grade school. They look almost the same. Wait for that second last sequence where it was given a close-up and you'll see a precious memory of my childhood. Her name was Erlinda Manaois, and she had these distinct features reminiscent of a bullfrog.
Frog. I was given the nick "Froggy" back in my early teens. 'Coz I sounded like a frog, they say. Still do, actually, only now I can incorporate a Kris Aquino or a Tony Braxton twist when needed.
Back to the film. Uh... well, that's about it: Two secret lovers fight, a monster that sweats a la Gremlins pops out in the open, some attempt at heroism by saving a girl stabbed with a rusty metal through the heart on the 47th floor of a crumbling tower, everybody tries to stay alive until the end-credits--fails--and you end up with vomit all over your shirt. If you're lucky, some motivation to clobber that lady who kept "commenting" on the scenes. It is, after all, a monster flick that... that kills time. (But could you really blame her? She was bored!)
Sadly, Cloverfield's hype failed to give it justice. Towards the end of the 90 minutes I felt more and more like that girl who fell asleep while doing the dirty a la Lassie. Strangely, I kept yawning while I was supposed to be holding on to my seat. Then bam--end credits. FINALLY, some music half worthy of a movie ticket.
I suggest you watch Clobber..., erm, Cloverfield, at the comfort of your very own Lazy Boy. And don't forget Bonamine. 100 capsules. (Take the first one now, I'm sure you need it.)
0 said something:
Post a Comment