kpduty

I don't know if you know this, but it's very difficult to review a movie that doesn't suck ass. VERY DIFFICULT. You basically say, "It kicked all sorts of ass," and then you're done. But for your sakes, I'll try to muster.

Did I ever tell you about how The Husband proposed? He came to The Job dressed as a gorilla. HA! I wish. Instead, it's an incredibly complicated story. Many years ago, before the Earth was formed, The Then-Not-Yet-Husband and I went on a trip to Cincinnati, because that's where all young lovers go. We were there to visit the museum, but when we arrived at our hotel (ROOM 1013!!! That's The X-Files' Chris Carter's Birthday! And production company! Fate was afoot!) The Then-Not-Yet-Husband sent me off for ice for the purpose of getting me out of the room for fifteen minutes. Unfortunately for me, the ice machine was in a cubby hole right next to our room, so I sat in a chair in the hall with a bucket of ice, praying no one would come by. When I was finally allowed to enter the room, The Then-Not-Yet-Husband had transformed the room into a real life romance novel, with rose petals strewn all over, and candies and chocolates and small French pastries, and champagne. And that night was the first time we confessed our undying love for one another. Awwww.

Fast forward a few years. The Then-Not-Yet-Husband's best friend is coming into town for a visit, and we're meeting her for dinner and a movie. But she's not getting into town until later; we'll meet up at the movie. He takes me out to dinner at a swanky restaurant. I'm convinced TONIGHT'S THE NIGHT: my mother gave him her engagement ring to give to me, so I knew all about the coming proposal because every time I saw my mother she'd ask if he'd asked yet. Yummy pasta ensues; no proposal. We go to the movies to see BOURNE IDENTITY. Still no friend; he's called, she's tired, we're meeting at the hotel after the movie. Okay, whatever. "You know," I says, after we sit down, "I was sure you were going to propose, what with the swanky restaurant.' The Then-Not-Yet-Husband laughs. The movie KICKS ASS. We leave and go to the hotel.

"Did you call The Best Friend?" I ask. No, but she knows we're coming. "What if she's sleeping and we wake her up?" She's not sleeping. "How do you know?"

By then, we're at her room. The Then-Not-Yet-Husband pulls out a key card. "You have a key?" I ask. Yes, she gave it to him earlier for just such an eventuality. We walk inside. All the lights are out.

"Goddamnit, she's still sleeping!" I hiss. I call out The Best Friend's name as I creep into the bedroom. The lights come on. "She's not here," I say, "where'd she go? Do you think she left without us?"

I turn around, and of course The Best Friend isn't there. It was all a scam, as the room is decorated to remind me of our night in Cincinnati. Except this time there's a bottle of Dom and an engagement ring. And an expensive designer candle that I promptly knock over on top of the TV so a half hour is spent scraping hot wax off the carpet and monitor. And we don't drink all the champagne, so an hour is spent trying to cork the bottle back up. And we have to walk fifty miles to the front door to smoke, and I'm a total mess with the hysterical crying, and the earth-shaking post-engagement sex never happens because I pretty much cry myself to sleep on the couch watching "Chef."

And that is How I Got Engaged.

So it was only appropriate that two years later we spend the day after our anniversary celebrating our anniversary by going to see BOURNE IDENTITY BUT WITH WAY HOTTER ACTORS AND MORE EXPLOSIONS, AND IT'S ALSO A METAPHOR FOR MODERN MARRIAGE.

MR. & MRS. SMITH stars two people I normally don't really care about, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, basically acting their socks off, if they were actually wearing socks. They're a married couple on the verge of divorce, until they learn that they're both hit men and they have to kill each other. But then they join forces because they actually do love each other, and because of the First Law of SPEED the sex is now totally incredible, and so they go on a rampage and blow lots of shit up and look beautiful doing it, and Vince Vaugh is in it and he's totally a part of my Imaginary Harem because he rocks all kinds of shit. And there's therapy and pot roast and David Duchovny's ex-girlfriend Perrey Reeves and Jennifer Morrison from HOUSE and Adrian Brody from the OC which I know about even though I totally DO NOT watch that show, and shit blowing up while looking beautiful doing it, and then I totally cried at the end because the movie just goes to prove that EVERYTHING THE REPUBLICANS EVER SAID ABOUT THE SANCTITY OF MARRIAGE IS TOTALLY TRUE, especially if shit blows up.

Gays, get out there and start blowing some shit up, and then they CANNOT DENY YOU the right to marry!!!

Let me just interject here that I don't give a Rat's Flaming Ass if Brad Pitt left Jennifer Aniston for Angelina Jolie. It is totally beneath me to care. Although I totally believe it's because he wanted to have children and she wanted to concentrate on her career. Not that there's anything wrong with that. And I'm not one to pass judgment, especially over people I don't even know. But seriously, I would leave Jennifer Aniston for Angelina Jolie. She's SMOKIN' HOT. And I'm not even a lesbian. I read an interview where the writer was talking about how Angelina Jolie doesn't care about POP CULTURE, she's worrying about REAL THINGS THAT MATTER, and that is so awesome. I wish I could do that. I mean, I do care. And if I didn't have to work or write this blog and I was a millionaire, I'd do stuff, too.

But luckily for you, I'm sitting right where I am.

Anyway, this movie is the dog's balls. It's really funny. I don't think I've had that much fun at a movie in a long while. And Brangelina have tons--TONS--of chemistry. Seriously, this sounds really trite and crass and like I'm really old, but they are a joy to watch. I giggled--GIGGLED--when they argued. They were really cute kicking the crap out of one another.

So now I think that they're actually half-decent actors. And the script was very clever in its use of layered dialogue: are they talking about their jobs or their marriage? Very intelligent. Very witty. Brad Pitt did some great physical gags, too. And there were many spectacular explosions.

Well, I'm off to bed. I wish I could say that I was going to partake in some post-anniversary sex, but The Husband just bought an Xbox, and a man's gotta have his priorities. I can't complain: I've got about forty pages left in my rereading of The Amityville Horror. Gots to cue up the VCR; since I started rereading this, I've not been able to sleep without the TV on. I'm lame.

"Jodie's my friend. Jodie's a pig."

Seriously, saw the movie, and except for Ryan Reynolds's hip bones...not much worth seeing. The book's a billion times scarier.

Ryan Reynolds's hip bones are my new imaginary boyfriend. Did you know he's married to Alanis Morrissette? It's true! And his character shot Scully on The X-Files. But I think I told you that already.

Next up: BATMAN BEGINS on Saturday. Then LAND OF THE DEAD. Then, who knows?

PS: If The Husband reads this..."10." He'll know what it means.