Guardians of My Sanity

If nothing else can go smoothly in this truly crapped up world of ours, at least we can take solace in the fact that somebody finally got the formula right to make a hilarious and smart summer action blockbuster again. Israel killing impoverished Palestinians. Palestinians are shooting rockets from next to schools to make Israel look even worse than it otherwise would when it massively over-retaliates (though I don’t think they need much help in that regard). The Russian military is blowing commercial airliners filled with AIDS researchers and soccer fans out of the sky and then being all, “Nah. That wasn’t us. That was, uhhhhh, other dudes with surface to air missile launchers.” San Francisco has been overrun with affluent youngsters that have zero social skills and insist on going to the places you like and then knock drinks out of your hands with their giant backpacks, completely oblivious to the concept of rudeness. Michael Bay hired some schmuck to crap out Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles back into pop culture but PETER GUNN MADE AN AWESOME MOVIE AND NO AMOUNT OF EVIL, OBNOXIOUSNESS OR STUPIDITY CAN TAKE THAT AWAY FROM US.

The collective fellating that we as a culture owe everyone involved in the production of Guardians of the Galaxy is one of enormous depth and vigor. Somehow this crew was able to get a Hollywood studio to spend lots of money on a flick that was clearly out of the comfort zone of expected box office revenue. In other words, GOTG is not a remake of anything. GOTG is not some sequel to a franchise that exists solely for aging has-beens to seem relevant (read: Expendables 1 through 3 and the next million of those that will no doubt be made until I kill Stallone with a rake). GOTG is not a “gritty” reimaging of a superhero tale because Christopher Nolan’s Batman flicks were so popular that now some Mirimax exec thinks The Flash or whoever has to be treated with the dramatic gravitas deserved of a production of Othello.  (I’m talking about you, Zack Snyder, you petulant hack.) Guardians of the Galaxy is just a whole lot of fun… like movies used to be in a magical time in filmmaking you might have heard of known as “The Eighties”. (If you are a Millennial, this is that time period when your parents suddenly had to flush all of their cocaine down the toilet because the pregnancy test showed a + instead of a -. Also, there was Ghostbusters and Indianan Jones and other great stuff. You saw those on TBS once, probably.)

Now, if you are a dork, like I am, you were well aware that GOTG was going to rule because you were stalking news about it since the first teaser trailer, familiar with the director’s humorous prior work and also went to San Diego Comic Con this year wherein Marvel was full court pressing the flick so that we would all take to our blogs and twitters and snapchats and whatnots and generate some hardcore nerd buzz, yo. And that, we Comic Con attendees, did. We buzzed SO HARD. Then GOTG made ALL OF THE MONEY a few weeks later, which is exactly why motion picture studios continue to parade their offerings in front of us Con geeks even if the movies aren’t at all comic, fantasy, or sci-fi related.  Seriously, I’m pretty sure The Piano would be screened at SDCC if it was going to be released next year. Ladies and gentlemen please welcome to the Hall H stage… Jodie Foster and Harvey Keitel’s penis!! WOOOOO!!

Here are some other fun facts about SDCC 2014: everybody was drunk. I think. Well, I was drunk and so were Adam, Sam and Kevin. We dressed up, too. You can find the photos on the interweb. Search for “White Trash Avengers” on the tweets and facebookies and snapchats and whatnots. Though, if you are reading this, you probably saw all those photos already because only two or three people regularly view this crap I write and they do it mostly out of pity but please don't go - yes I'm talking to you, Steve in Nashville; you are all I have!

In keeping with standard SDCC tradition, I saw a “Con Exclusive” teaser trailer that made my wiener all tingly but I know intellectually that the movie just wants my money and could give a shit about my feelings… like a stripper.  This year, it was footage from Zack “Slo-Mo” Snyder’s upcoming Batman versus Superman film, Batman v Superman. The clip was pretty much straight out of my favorite comic of all time, Frank Miller’s seminal Batman book, The Dark Knight Returns. I’ll go ahead and spoil the ending for you now if you haven’t read it because I don’t respect you enough as a person to not spoil it (because you haven’t read it; seriously, what is wrong with you?).

Anyhow, Batman and Superman fight. Batman wears this awesome armor. Batman wins, but then has a giant heart attack. The film clip showed Batman in the armor and Superman looking all pissed off. Presumably, they then fight, as indicated by the incredibly vague and confusing title of the film.

But, as I am a veteran nerd and strip club customer, I know that Zack Snyder is a terrible, terrible director who makes mockeries of things that I love, such as Frank Miller’s (AGAIN) 300 and Superman. NEWS FLASH: Superman isn’t supposed to be “gritty” or full of angst. He’s supposed to be an all around good dude whose weaknesses are limited to his love for humanity and green rocks. He isn’t supposed to kill thousands of people in a dust up with Zod and clearly not be at all bothered by the practice.

In 2013 I saw teasers for GOTG. Then, against all odds, the stripper fell in love with me. This is not the first time that has happened but I mean it metaphorically in this instance. If metaphors go over your head, work on your reflexes, folks.

And go see GOTG again. Throw your money at it. Hollywood is like a dog: you get it to come to you with treats. If that doesn’t work, you beat it with a rolled up newspaper in the form of angry nerds panning dumb movies on their blogs, tweets, facebookies, snapchats, whatnots, etc.  

(authored 2014)