Sunday, August 16, 2009

Wosrt movie ever? And elevator fun. And Rammstein.

I had heard some 'buzz' about this movie being the worst ever made. It's called "The Room". There's actually many movies of the same name, but this specific oddity is the 2003 film written, produced, directed, starring, and I think funded by one person, Tommy Wiseau. Ambitious. And foolish on a near-biblical scale.

My friends and I are connoisseurs of bad movies. The Korean answer to King Kong, "A*P*E", comes to mind, along with "Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus", starring Debbie Gibson. Both effects trainwrecks. Not that all horrid movies need special effects to burn in flames. Thank you, Mr. Wiseau, for showing us how low a budget can go. When I heard about 'The Room", I figured I had to get a copy. I didn't watch it. I waited until I could see it with a pack of friends, so that we could all weigh in on whether the buzz about how bad it is was warrented. Muh of the buzz came from sources who may not know the horrors of Debbie Gibson's recent exploits, after all.

Yeaaaaah, it was bad. There was a plot. A plot thta would have been served well by a 30 second clip, and four less sex scenes. And some continuity. And acting. One of the afore mentioned sex scenes was THE EXACT SAME FOOTAGE from a previous sex scsne. One of the sex scenes looked like it took place in a giant crib, as my friend Chris said, due to the awkward framing of the stair railing. There were several times where a plot device or event happened that would normally have a huge impact on the story, but are scarecly mentioned again, like a character being revealed to be on drugs and in trouble with a gang, or the female lead accusing ole' Tommy of hitting her, and her mother kinda.. not... well... I just can't... put it into words. One character shows up towards the latter part of the film with an ENTIRLY DIFFERENT ACTOR playing him, with no reaosn at all. He doesn't look, or even dress similarly. We're just supposed to flow with it, I guess.

Then there's Tommy Riseau himself. A very memorable man. He looks like he might be a cousin of Christopher Walken, except with some kind of serious narcotic problem. He sounds like ..... well... if you thought Arnie ever had an accent of interest, you ain't heard nuthin yet. The best thing about his acting, from his flat canned laugh, to spaced out glazed out attitude to almost everything, is that it really allowed the other actors to shine in comparison.

Where most enjoyably bad movies achieve thier non-goal primarily with laughable effects, The Room does this the old fashioned way. With horrendous writing, acting, editing, and production values. If you value bad movies at all, you owe it to yourself to take Tommy's pet project for a ride. I don't know if I want to sent him hatemail, or a notice of appreciation.


So, after I'd been abused by Tommy, I wheeled by butt home at about 11:30. My outdoor elevator greeted me as I came around the back of the house. I opened the door and wheeled in, and held the UP switch. Up we go. Wheeee. Is it just me, or is it getting slower? This happens now and then. Usually it means that the circuit breaker had popped in the last day or so, and the list has been unable to charge it's capacitor.

Standard electrical current isn't enough to run the lift, so it maintains a significant charge in its capacitor/battery. When the power is cut, the capacitor is good for a few trips up.

for the second time since getting this lift, I find myself watching the speed drop gradually as I get closer and closer to the top. Another foot up I go.. and another... and.. a few inches... and.. so close... so close....! COME ON... and... no.

When the lit gets to about a foot form the top, it gets a bit of a mind of it's own, which is usually fine. It wants to finish the trip up. Alas, it doesn't have the power. It clicks, gaining no height, and clicks. And clicks. And clicks. When it's in this mode, it won't even allow me to go back down.

Deep sigh, look to the sky. Nice night out. Could be a few more stars, but it was prett at any rate. Alright. Now what? The lift is trying hard still, and won't give up despite making no progress. I cna help it. Just a few more inches up, and the door will be able to open up onto the deck. I reached over to the tower that the lift runs on, and grab it, trying to pull some of my own weight. Maybe me and the struggling lift can get the job done together.

Nope. Plan B. Jump. I stow my sunglasses, lock the wheels, and grab the rims. I push up, yanking the chair up off the floor of the lift just a tiny bit, giving the lift a small window of time when it only has to deal with it's own weight. Jump, jump, jump! It's noisy! I look back at the distance between where the lip of the inner door is, and where the lip of the top floor door is. I made it up about an inch. JUMP MORE! BAM! BAM! BAM!..... nope, that was the end of that.

I'd done pretty well....! A bit more. BAM BAM BAM! Then my wife comes along. I kind of figured that my jumping would have eventually woken her. Hi hon. Oddly, she wasn't impressed with the situation.

Plan C. Get my wife to pull up on the lift as I jump. No, no good. I gave her a little time to have an idea before I start making the inevitable phone calls.

411. "Residential" I instruct the robot that answers. "Pitt Meadows BC." .... "Police." Last time this happened, we called the local volunteer fire department. I don't know why I didnt phone them this time, as if there's no fire department at night. I ended up on the non-emergency line for the police, on hold. I wan't in a rush, I wasn't in immediate danger, I didn't want to call 911 for this.

And I waited. And waited. My wife had a try and grabbing under my arms, and hauling me over the doors. Yeeeeah, no, I knew it wouldn't work, but she wanted to try. Or at least try ripping off my armpits. "How much have you had to drink?" "Three?" Guinness. Whooph. But this had been over the last ten hours, so I wasn't particularly silly or anything.

The hold messages told me not to hang up and dial again. I was getting ready to call 911, but they might tell me to call the non-emergency, at which time, I'd be at the bottom of whatever caller queue I may have been in. My wife brought me the house's cordless. I left my cell in it's holding pattern, and called 911.

"For fire, ambulance or police?" Shucks, I dunno, really, whatever ya got. She said she was sending police, after I explained a bit of the situation. So I waited. I pulled out the cell again, and started playing the crappy little games that came with this ... I dunno, seven year old thing. They were crap, I shut it off. My wife voice comes from the kitchen. "Do you want water or anything?"
Nah, I was good. Bored and sore, but good enough.

Then I hear a firetruck park in front of the house. Three guys come around the side of the house, led by my wife. "Hi guys! I'm not quite a cat up a tree, am I?"

Plan D, similar to plan C. "Kay guys, if this works, nice n simple. Easy and done. Otherwise, it's gonna get less graceful." The three of them grabbed atthe lift and pulled up whil eI jumped again. BAM BAM BAM BAM. After a couple tries, we made it to under an inch form the goal. All the time, the lift is still clicking away desperate to make progress. That last inch would just not do it. It was time to get ungraceful.

The have their own perspective on things, so I didn't wana ot be too bossy and interrupt while they pondered ripping the door open with oe of those fireman-garden-hoe-crowbar jobbies. This damned lift cost 16. We don't want rippage. They came to the same conclusion, and eventually we ended up with plan E, which was how this was resolved the last time this happened.

One fellow climbed into a lift with me, and squirmed around in front, then picked me up, lifting me out of the chair. (Hey there, how ya doin'. Aren't ya glad I overdid the deodorant this morning?) while the other two yanked the chair out from under me, over the doors, and onto the deck. So here I am, suspeded over the floor by this guy as I try to reach the edges of the lift to help support my weight. Soon I found myself arched over backwards over the doors, singing quietly "I believe I can fly!". "Geez, no flying!" one says, "Don't make ups laugh now, of all times!"

My focus was not on the chair, somewhere below me. Just aim my butt onto it, the rest is easy, fellas. Annnnnd, contact, my weight was supported. And I was missing a shoe, and my other foot was still astop the doors. Easily solved, but silly as heck anyway.

Being in a standing position can be a little disconcerting, when you spend all your time sitting or laying down. The bloodflow isn't used to having to work on an entirely vertical body. I didn't get TOO dizzy, bt I felt it. That and being mildy squished in the ribcage by a fireman trying not to drop me. And he whole part where my head was slightly upside down. After making sure I was all in one chunk still, the firemen were on thier way! It wasn't how nay of us had planned to top off the evening, but all's well that ends well. Time to call up the repair guy....


Ever heard of Rammstein? (rrrrram-SHTINE!) Most might only remember the 'one hit wonder' single from the 90's, 'Du Hast', mistakenly translated from German as "You hate", but actually meaning "You have".. that's a whole stoty unto itself.

They were a one hit phenomenon in North America, but in Europe, they're bloody HUGE. Think "What if Metalica hadn't decided to go into alternative wuss rock, and instead went and bought a lot of jet fuel, and a book of matches?"

My friend Ryan had used one of their songs, "Reise, reise" as the soundtrack to the intro vdeo to his drinking team, the Chuggernaughts. That vid is pure awesome sauce, due in no small part to the song. and the 62" TV that would one day be violated with "The Room". I tried to find the song, but didn't have much luck.

So there I am another time at a small impompty party, where I barely knew half the people. No biggie. Ryan's in the habit of putting something on 'in the background' on that TV, whether it be some pimptacular blackspoitation starring Nichelle Nichols (Uhura), or something more musical.

Today, it was Rrrrramstein. The familiar music started up, and I thought it was a new Chuggernaughts video. No, it was a convert at the Nimes colloseum in france. It was huge. Epic huge, and packed. The music slowly gained volume and energy, until BAM, the curtain dropped, and the audience exploded. (not literally. Not yet, anyway). With a bit of a lull in the music, the centre stage opened a metal door, revealing what looked a lot like a man-sized vagina. It widened, revealing the lea singer, Till Lindemann. The audience roars again. Expressionless, and with minimal wasted movement, Till GOOSE STEPS up to the micrphone.

You heard me. A German goose stepped onto a stage in France, and they LOVED it. Ohh, the times, they are a changin'. for the record, rammstein is on record as being very anti-nazi. But they're also very anti-everything. It's the image, and it works.

Know what about Rammy? They like fire. LOTS of fire. Huge fire. They like firing volleys of flares across the audience. They like being on fire, they like setting other things on fire. I'm not a fan of concerts, but holy excrement, it was amazing. All six members of the band are trained and licenced pryotechnicians, not to mention the crew.

I've become quite a fan of them, and you might have gathered. One hitch is that the lyrics are 99% in German. That's fine, I listen for the sound, not the lyrics. Now and then I look up some translations.

Rammstein songs come in many varieties, from mildly political, social observations, and sometimes singing the praises of swimming behind a menstruating woman. Yeah. This is why I listen to it wiht earphones when our German student is around. She knows what I listen to, and that the lyrics mena nothing to me, bt I'd just as soon not subjet her to Till's menstruation appreciation if I don't have to.

Note to self- stop looking up song translations if I plan to continue enjoying the music.

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