i have been watching movies lately. Well, actually I’ve been dealing with a lot of insane family stuff lately and when I get done with that I’m too fucking emotionally exhausted to do anything else, so I’m watching movies. Also I really wanted to see Mad Max Fury Road because obviously, as a card carrying disaffected child of the 80s, I have seen all the Mad Max movies. In fact I have for long years now anticipated the moment in the slow dissolution of society when it would become necessary for me to dress in leather and spikes and soup up my 98 Saturn to unbearable heights of post apocalyptic glory. Which moment has not yet come but another Mad Max movie has and one that’s being touted as a feminist masterpiece at that. So Jay and I went to see it and it was pretty damn good. There were mutants and explosions and bad guys and so on, red dust, Australian accents and lots of cars, a guitar that shot flames and, best of all perhaps, Hell’s Grannies, so, yeah.
Then the next night I watched Kiki’s Delivery Service. What? I contain multitudes. The one does not preclude the other. But! They are the same movie. No, really, they are the same movie. A few spoilers from here on in, so if you are the sort of tender soul who is affected by such things, better click outta here now.
Kiki and Furiosa: two young women in search of an identity. Striving to make it alone without the help of family, building a new community all on their lonesome. They both encounter difficulties with their vehicles: Kiki has trouble managing her broom altitude and Furiosa’s war rig keeps getting overrun with mutants. They both have to fight at least three big battles: Kiki is attacked by crows, the perceived scorn of her peers and an overly zealous policeman while Furiosa is naturally nearly killed by a guy with a beard made of bullets and monstrous feet, her erstwhile owner who sports a white beard, a skull gas mask and a penchant for fertile women as well as another guy who I forget now because jesus, Fury Road, and it was like 2 weeks ago. However! Both of them have a familiar: a talking black cat and a barely talking tattooed guy with an affinity for explosives. Both of them have friends who care about them, even if it means getting blown up or mildly embarrassed and both of them have older mentors, although Kiki’s are not quite so into motorcycles as Furiosa’s. And, to top it off, pregnant women play an important role in both movies. Same movie!
But Kiki’s Delivery Service does not have skeksis. Fury Road does and when I saw it, during the brief and hallucinogenic moment of calm when they appear, unexplained and at a distance, a sigh rippled through the theater: skeksis! Which says something, I am not sure what, about a demographic perhaps, who knows just exactly what a skeksi is.
ps some extra notes
if there was enough mud to bog down the war rig than there was enough water where they should all have been hanging out right there – weren’t several of the mad max movies about the hunt for water?
they collapsed that same arch twice
it would have been sweet to see the thunderdome in the distance and
13 is too young to send a child off to earn her fortune even if she can fly
In other non movie news things are far – whoa! way far! too fucking far! holy shit! – from settling down but as I was driving home tonight I thought, I cannot take this, I can’t handle it and then I thought that is a completely immaterial statement because it doesn’t matter if you can or not, you WILL handle it because you simply have no other choice. And so here I am, handling it, at least for certain definitions of handling. Which, I suppose, is part of the much vaunted wisdom of aging. Fuck THAT noise. Bring on the skeksis.