Wednesday, December 30, 2020

MOVIE REVIEW: GODZILLA 1984 (1984)

 (AKA Gojira, The Return of Godzilla)


Directed by Koji Hashimoto

Special Effects by Teruyoshi Nakano

Cinematography Katsumi Hara

Edited by Yoshitami Kuroiwa

Music by Reijiro Koroku

Screenplay by Shuichi Nagahara (from a story by Tomoyuki Tanaka)

Produced by Tomoyuki Tanaka


Starring

Kenpachiro Satsuma as Godzilla

Yosuke Natsuki as Professor Makoto Hayashida

Keiju Kobayashi as Prime Minister Seiki Mitamura

Ken Tanaka as Goro Maki

Yasuko Sawaguchi as Naoko Okumura

Shin Takuma as Hiroshi Okumura



“You have your fear, which might become reality, and you have Godzilla, which is reality.”

-dialogue from Godzilla: King of the Monsters (1956)

...


Review by William D. Tucker.


In 1984, Godzilla re-emerged from the molten depths of the earth to terrorize the people of Japan as he had done back in ‘54. 


(Oh, all those movies that happened between ‘54 and ‘84-didn’t happen. They’ve been elided out of existence. De-canonized. Sorta like what Disney did with all those Expanded Universe Star Wars novels. But Toho did it first. )


Godzilla, hungry after his decades-long hibernation, attacks a Soviet nuclear submarine and a Japanese nuclear power plant. Somehow, through the mystery and majesty of Kaiju Science, the King of All Monsters is able to suck that nuclear energy through his meaty paws right into his thunderous heart. 


The Prime Minister of Japan decides to take an “all-options”  yes/and approach: 


yes, deploy the military to slow the beast down, even though history suggests that conventional methods of life-destroying aggression can’t kill Godzilla; 


and put the elite egghead scientists on the case. 


Back in ‘54, an eccentric scientist innovated a lethal answer to the question posed by Godzilla’s rampage, “Are we at Doomsday’s Threshold?” 


In ‘54, the answer was, “Yes . . . but this far and no further.”


Science provided the solution in the form of a superweapon called the ‘oxygen destroyer’ that sent Godzilla back to the primal oblivion, but the fear that the Monster of Monsters could one day re-manifest took root in human hearts and minds ever since. 


Is it that fear which opens a titanic gateway which allows Godzilla to return to our world?


Now, the Prime Minister of Japan must fend off belligerent overtures from the United States and Soviet governments about launching pre-emptive strikes with nuclear missiles in order to kill Godzilla before he turns his baleful gaze upon the Land of the Free-Home of the Brave and/or-yes/and decides to tear down the Iron Curtain and bring on the final dialectic prophesied by Hegel and Marx. Imperialist Capitalism and Totalitarian Communism both stand to be obliterated by a towering apocalypse beast. 


So . . . let it work, right?


Well . . . here’s the deal. If the Japanese government does nothing to stop Godzilla, then, as much hella fun as it would be to see the Kaiju Supreme put his foot all the way up the ass of both the Kremlin party bosses and the Worshipers of Mammon/Moloch/Thatcher/Reagan, millions of people could be slaughtered by both the monster’s rampage and the futile fusillades unleashed by various impotent military assets. Only rigorous thoughts and actions can save humanity from mass slaughter, not slackery capitulation. 


Perhaps, Dear Reader, you are thinking, “William, you sick and twisted fuck-how can you even entertain the notion of rooting for Godzilla!? That mindless beast of destruction! Where’s your compassion? Where’s your humanism? How dare you indulge such gruesome notions! Humanity is basically decent and humanity shall prevail and you are the worst person who ever was!”


Okay, okay, that’s fair. I take your point. I don’t actually disagree with any of that.


Except . . . Professor Hayashida-the leader of the egghead elites in this movie-shares my own inner conflicts. You see, he is duty-bound to use his scientific expertise to try to find a world-saving solution to the problem of Godzilla-and yet he also admires the Atomic Avatar as a unique life form upon the Earth. Professor Hayashida even says that in times of strife, when nature is unsettled, Godzilla manifests as a living embodiment of Nature’s Wrath. Godzilla is not to be taken lightly. Godzilla may in fact be Nature’s judgment upon Humanity. 


So you see . . . the conflict inside me 

between 

the William-That-Wants-To-Cheer-With-Sick-Joy-As-Godzilla-Wrecks-All-Of-the-Shit 

and 

the William-That-Wants-To-Keep-On-Living-In-A-World-Of-Air-Conditioning . . . 

. . .well, Hayashida embodies that inner turmoil. 


I mean, yes: I am a sick and twisted fuck. Professor Hayashida is not. He’s much more philosophically tormented. The good Professor is never seriously tempted to abandon his duty to humanity, but his character expresses this dual attraction/revulsion we feel when it comes to Godzilla-that strange charisma that overpowering figures of doom exert over the human imagination, and finds expression in the obliteration-scapes of ultraviolent dystopian films like Akira, where telekinetic powers smash a corrupt status quo or Mad Max: Fury Road wherein post-apocalyptic humans redefine themselves as heroes or oppressors in the absence of laws and states; or even the maniacal bullet-riddled outlaw excess of The Wild Bunch and Bonnie and Clyde where the protagonists choose hopeless paths of violent rebellion rather than submission to laws and normsyou see it in the shadowy chambara armageddon that climaxes The Sword of Doom as a killer for hire ascends into demonic status even as he descends into alcoholism and paranoia-


Indeed, there’s a dark allure to becoming a figure of terror. And with Godzilla, we are confronted with the exhilaration of proximity to a proper Apocalypse Monster. The perverse antici-pation of the End of All the Shit. This is the giddiness of a Doomsday Cultist, of a Jim Jones or a Shoko Asahara or a communist Red Brigade militant or a religious fundamentalist or a fanatical Red Scare demagogue cheering for a pre-emptive strike on Moscow. We are all fated to die. May as well buy it from the biggest death-dealer on the planet.  


Smash Me, Big Papa G, smash me!


After all, Godzilla movies are known to revel in scenes of mass obliteration of cities and military equipment.  In ‘54, this is presented as a black and white nightmare monster of cosmic violence trampling upon the city of Tokyo-widely read as a hulking, stalking allegory  for the looming threat of global annihilation promised by the growing stockpiles of ICBMs and the brinksmanship played by blocs Communist and Capitalist upon the Earth. 


Other Godzilla movies played these scenes of destruction as campy pro-wrastling spectacles involving other giant monsters, all grappling and roaring and stamping their feet and beating their chests to see who can be Number One Kaiju For All Times. Solemn or goofy, the monster destruction scenes are why people bought their tickets in Japan and around the world wherever these kaiju flicks find distribution.


Godzilla 1984 works in the grim spirit of Godzilla’54, presenting Godzilla’s rampage as a solemn march of annihilation. Godzilla is driven to feed on radiation, but he takes no joy in it. He has the dead-eyed stare of a junkie straight out of Naked Lunch or other transcendentally perverted William Burroughs novels. Godzilla is even allowed a kind of lip-curling sneer like he’s trying to performatively look cool and mean for the camera even while he obsessively pursues oblivion. You could see this bad boy as the lead in an all-kaiju revival of The Connection. In another pop culture dimension, Godzilla could’ve become the poster-beast for some high fashion irradiated mutation of ‘Heroin Chic.’ Maybe, like, ‘Uranium Chic?’ Could’ve been a thing, could’ve been a thing . . . 


Wouldn’t that have been some shit? The squirmy allure of underfed super-models languidly draped all over the wastescape of kaiju-rubbled Tokyo? Could’ve been a thing . . .


A key scene in Godzilla’84 comes when the frame is filled with an image of Godzilla howling as he enters a volcano-which is perhaps a mythic gate-of-hell offering an exit for the tormented Apocalypse Kaiju from this Earth and into the Great Beyond. We pull back and we realize we are watching a huge ultratech telescreen-a frame-within-the-frame-being observed by the Prime Minister and his cabinet. The hopes and fears of a nation forever wounded by Hiroshima and Nagasaki are projected onto the ritual sacrifice of Godzilla-ultimately lured in this film back into the hellgate by superscientific means-a Beast of Doom, a Beast of Burden, a Kaiju Christ, who will, hopefully, carry our aggression, our militarism with it into the Void, and leave us with a renewed sense of our global humanity. 


We get a close-up of the Prime Minster’s face as he openly weeps-have you ever seen a fucking politician so moved? Keiju Kobayashi’s quivering, ugly-crying face might be the most fantastical special effect in the entire Godzilla filmography. 


We get an ennobling low-angle shot of Professor Hayashida as he stoically observes Godzilla’s exit-Gary Cooper’s got nothing on Yosuke Natsuki


Hayashida’s conquered his apocalyptic fears of Nature’s Judgment-which is, perhaps, a cynical human construct that allows us to avoid responsibility for our existence upon the Earth. Yet Hayashida maintains a healthy skepticism about himself, his science, his world. 


A sugary pop song bids farewell to Godzilla, our hard-boiled friend, our harshest sensei, but promises we’ll all meet again . . . 


Will it be a cynical-cyclical repeat of obliterations past?

Or maybe, when next we meet, we’ll all drink each other under the table. 


No nukes.


Just sake bombs. 


And bad karaoke.


Maybe Sofia Coppola could direct the next one, eh? 


Lost in Translation 2-people have wanted it for years, now, and Bill Murray is about as ancient as Godzilla by this point. Scarlet Johansson could play Mothra. 


How about that?

Tragically realistic, not much happening aside from some mildly creepy Daddy Issues, boring really-but no one has to die. The hipsterish curated soundtrack album would get some play on college radio stations, even.


I’m sensing terrific synergy here, people. 


Could be a thing . . .


Tuesday, December 29, 2020

VIDEO GAME NOVELIZATION REVIEW: SHADOWKEEP (1984)

 Novelization by Alan Dean Foster.

From a video game developed by Telarium/Trillium and published by Spinnaker Software.

Available for Apple II computers. 



“It’s difficult to be a tourist in a void.”

-Alan Dean Foster, Shadowkeep (1984), p. 155.


...


Review by William D. Tucker.


Internet tells me that this is the first video game novelization. 


Appropriately, it’s also the most basic swords-and-sorcery role-playing game story imaginable. 


You have the bland-as-fluorescent-lighting human protagonist who is the one chosen by fate to vanquish evil from the land.


This guy sets out on his journey and collects three other companions:


a goofy kangaroo man who is the comic relief;


a beautiful and smart elf lady who solves all the puzzles;


a tough guy lizardman who kicks the most ass;


and this quartet is on their way to a tower of evil called Shadowkeep.


Inside Shadowkeep are booby traps and monster hordes and magic items and holographic teleport walls and treasure beyond the dreams of avarice and lots of things you might expect from a computerized role-playing game. You even get a set piece boss battle with a slimy, partially submerged abomination called a Brollachian that wouldn’t be out of place in a Dark Souls or Souls-like game.


It’s totally fine. It’s all acceptable. 


Writer Alan Dean Foster is a prolific and respected science fiction author (the Pip and Flinx series) with a profitable, decades-long side hustle in media tie-in novels. Foster has written novelizations of numerous movies: Star Wars, The Thing, Dark Star, Starman, Outland, The Black Hole, Clash of the Titans, Krull, The Last Starfighter, Alien, Aliens, Alien 3, Alien: Covenant, and Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen to name a few. Foster also wrote the novelization of the computer adventure game The Dig. 


Foster’s philosophy regarding media tie-in books is that, given his choice in the matter, he gets to do a ‘Novelist’s Cut’ of a movie or computer game. In other words, he takes the original material which is suited to the silver screen or PC or Apple II monitor and then he changes it so that the same material has integrity as a prose fantasy and/or science fiction narrative. But, if the intellectual property owners don’t want him messing around with the source material too much, then Foster will just do a straight write-up in unadorned prose of the screenplay. Foster has his ideal working approach, but he is also a realist in these matters. 


(BTW, my favorite Foster novelizations are Alien, The Thing, Krull, Outland, Dark Star, and Clash of the Titans. So now you know all that.)


I almost hesitate to recommend Shadowkeep to someone who has never read a Foster book, since this is such a basic piece of work, and therefore doesn’t really give you the full power of the author’s talent. And yet, Foster’s effective, concrete writing style is here; as is his tendency to try to find some amount of intellectually respectable justification for the storytelling absurdities inherent within video game constructs. Foster goes to some trouble to establish why an innkeeper would set up his business in the vicinity of a sinister tower of supreme evil. It turns out . . . the profit motive might  be stronger than metaphysical principles of Good and Evil, Light and Dark, Order and Chaos and what have you. I buy that.


In the end . . . it is all perfectly fine. 


This is the kind of book I used to love to come across in a used bookstore or thriftstore. I’ve read almost all of the Foster-drafted media tie-ins over the years, and I’m never less than diverted by them. Shadowkeep is a minor historical milestone in the grand scheme of popular genre literature, and an easy enough read. Bland, reassuring entertainment for chaotic-as-a-motherfucker times.

Monday, December 28, 2020

VIDEO GAME NOVELIZATION REVIEW: POOL OF RADIANCE (1989)

 Novelization by James M. Ward and Jane Cooper Hong.

From a video game devleoped and published by Strategic Simulations Incorporated.

Available for Apple II, IIGS, MAC, IBM, C-64/128, ST, AMIGA computers. 

Based on Advanced Dungeons and Dragons created and published by TSR Inc.



“Keep the Staff of Power in the Cloth of Many Pockets until you are forced to use it. I advise you not to use the staff in front of strangers unless you plan on killing them, or you are willing to trust them with your life. Many a young mage has lost his life as a result of displaying such power to newfound friends.”

-James M. Ward and Jane Cooper Hong, Pool of Radiance (1989), p. 22.


...


Review by William D. Tucker. 


Three honorable mercenaries are hired by the corrupt government of the city of Phlan to clear out the bad guys in this readable, if basic, novelization of the seminal computerized role-playing game. 


In the actual game, you create your own party, using a version of the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons rules set to roll up characters of your choosing. 


In this novel, authors Ward and Hong have to create their own heroic trio to navigate the dangers of Phlan, and they do okay. You’ve got a combat-oriented magic user seeking vengenace-she’s the most intriguing one. You’ve got a rough’n’ready ranger dude. And you’ve got the healer, a cleric guy, who’s pretty cool, who patches up the squad when they get dinged up on the field of glory. They make it work, y’know?


There’s schemes afoot. The corrupt city government is corrupt. They hire you to use you and betray you as politicians are wont to do in the Forgotten Realms. 


You’ve got undead hordes. 


You’ve a dragon with some lousy intentions. 


Ahhh . . . there’s fight scenes.


There were fight scenes, right?


Um . . . yeah, the heroic trio gets into some dust-ups.


Look . . . this novel is readable . . . but also pretty forgettable. If you like Dungeons and Dragons shit, you’ll be amused. It is neither brilliant nor horrible. It’s the beginning of a trilogy, so, I dunno, maybe I’m not getting the whole story?


I suppose one criticism I would make is that . . . things just kinda come too easy for the heroic trio. They’re appealing characters, but if you’ve played the actual computer game, you know how detailed and demanding the combat is-the video game is actually more consequential in terms of combat than this novel. Which is weird, right? Video games are usually more of a power fantasy than even the most simplistic literary depiction of violent struggle. But here the shit is reversed. 


Hmm . . . what else, what else . . . 


OH! 


I remember . . . there’s a part where someone is riding on horseback-through a graveyard if memory serves-and a horde of undead well up out of the ground and skewer the belly of the horse with a spear. That was my favorite scene. A gnarly fuckin’ moment, right?


Heh, heh . . . yeah.


I didn’t hate it, okay. 


Some things . . . they’re just kinda . . . just very light entertainment, when you get down to it. 


Mm-hmm.


Okay, I think I need to hang it up now.


Good talkin’.


(Hangs up. Falls silent . . . but then William’s lips keep moving, his hands keep gesticulating wildly, knocking shit over . . . the forms persist . . . yet what of the substance . . . ?)

Sunday, December 27, 2020

VIDEO GAME NOVELIZATION REVIEW: ALIEN: ISOLATION (2019)

 Novelization by Keith R. A. DeCandido. 

Based on a video game developed by Creative Assembly and published by SEGA in 2014.

Review by William D. Tucker. 

This novel tells the story of Amanda Ripley, the daughter of Ellen Ripley, the heroine of four Alien movies played by Sigourney Weaver back in the day. Amanda spends her childhood separated from her mother who goes out on various long-haul space trucker assignments, and she is left in the care of her deadbeat alcoholic stepfather back on Earth.

Ellen disappears on a job somewhere out in the cosmos, and teenage Amanda decides to cut loose from her piece-of-shit stepdad, and get out into space to find her mother come hell or x-tro infestation. 

Amanda knows that her mom worked for the Company, and the Company only cares about profits, not people. However, the Company is also into covering its ass, and so they provide financial relief and job assistance to young Amanda, who initially resists their offers, but caves when she realizes that they're offering the only viable path to uncovering the truth of her mother's disappearance. 

What I like about this novel is how it portrays the Company's invasion of all aspects of life planetside. Amanda's earthbound existence consists of an obstacle course of hyper-corporatized, make-work beauracracy and an education system that seeks to strip people of all humanity according to a regime of bogus standardized tests and credentialing ordeals. This is next-level crapitalism.

The putrid norms established by the Company infect all levels of society, creating a social reality where everyone is trying to get over as best as they can, even if that means fucking over your friends, your family, yourself. 

Amanda takes after her mother, and refuses to let a world constructed upon greed, incompetence, and lies keep her down, and this strength of character inevitably puts her on a collision course with human evil. 

And, yes, there's the iconic double-jawed beastie from beyond the stars . . . this novel plays the hits for sure.

Look, this is media tie-in product. It ain't Proust. But it's a worthy elaboration of the cynical nightmare world of the original Alien flick. So, if you're into that . . . here's some more punishment. 

Friday, December 25, 2020

Call it the Curse of Interesting Times . . .

 . . . first it was the Mystical Mindfuck Monoliths, 

and now we got the Unknown Jetpack Jerk-Offs, 

what could be next?

I'm wagering on Out-Of-Season Asshole Hurricanes. Just in time for New Year's. 

Christ-humping fucknuts, People. 

What's happening on Planet Earth? 

EVERY DAY IS HALLOWEEN 16: ALL SPOILERS ALL THE TIME.

 I refuse to see anything new or remotely upsetting.

I will only watch what I have already watched.

I will only read what I have already read.

I will only listen to the music with which I am already familiar.

I will dwell at all times within the memories of peak sexual, intellectual, artistic, and athletic experiences already experienced,

perfectly refined by the natural processes of selective self-serving memory creation.

And so I announce the advent of my own personal Era of Perfect Flow,

for so long as I can beat back all processes of senescence and death,

with Eternity the Ultimate Goal.


How is this possible?

Wasn't there a time in my life when everything was new to me?

Well . . . technically . . . yes . . . let me explain.


Once upon a time,

I was born.

And everything was new to me.

I lived a long life, taking in many experiences, achieving accolades, indulging in every vice, every pleasure with no limits;

occasionally, my body would be full of injuries, diseases, breakages;

my mind overtaxed, fractured;

and so I would take a vacation, ingest a massive regimen of restorative drugs, surgical nanobots, sentry nanobots, anti-biotics, pro-biotics, vitamins, nutrients so perfectly mixed that it was, essentially, a chunky, rich cocktail of Creation and Destruction in perfect balance;

and so I would be restored;

and so I would sally forth to accumulate new experiences.


My life proceeded in such a cyclical fashion for 187 years,

before my brain began to come up against the physical limits of its neural networks,

and so I obliterated the neural networks which inspired little to no nostalgic pleasure sensations,

and I made a wondrous discovery:

with total mastery over my physical existence,

and total command and control over my mind,

I realized that the best feelings, the most intense pleasure 

derived from those experiences most redolent of nostalgia,

memories of peak sexual, intellectual,  artistic, and athletic achievements.

And so I rewrote myself

to only continuously cycle through an internal program of all those past peaks,

those memories to which I would naturally return in moments of boredom, loneliness, isolation from other beings.


To maintain this internal phantasia as close to indefinitely as possible

I have had my brain and nervous system transferred into a formidable robot warrior body

that is programmed to ruthlessly extract the necessary fuels, nutrients, and restorative organic substances to maintain my Perfect Cyclical Brain Heaven,

while also maintaining its own powerful mecha body

by any means necessary,

until we are destroyed

or discover some unconquerable physical limits

which induce inescapable senescence unto death unresponsive to restorative regimens,

an unavoidable end.


I now formally declare my victory over the single most jarring enemy of Perfect Flow:


Surprise


All is structured,

all is now in accordance with the Laws of Nostalgia

and so shall all the Earth be subdued to serve these Laws,

'til the last resource is consumed,

'til such time as irreversible decay unto death is discovered as a New Law,

and not just an unfortunate tendency,

as we currently believe it to be.


I usually say, "Amen," at this point, but lately I've felt that's a bit much.

-December 2020


Thursday, December 24, 2020

EVERY DAY IS HALLOWEEN 15: NO SPOILERS.

 

Text of a note I apparently wrote to myself?

Yeah.

Here, take a look . . . 


I prefer to go into a movie with no preconceptions, no idea of what I'm about to see.

I don't watch the trailers.

I don't watch interviews with cast and crew.

I try to forget everything I know about the director's filmography, the past roles of the cast.


So I drink as much industrial grade alcohol as I can;

insert deep brain electrodes to smooth out all the wrinkles of my brain via electrolysis;

construct a new womb and birth canal from cell culture meats reactor grown materials;

pack my guts full with a custom, all-organic emerald green neo-meconium;

and have the womb and birth canal carted into the theatre by my crack staff of loyalist privatized medical professionals,


where I will be reborn

just in time to catch the coming attractions,

my pure mind barely comprehending the assault of sight and sound,

crying out to Mother Cinema,

whose name I have no way of knowing at this stage,

yet I never fail to learn by the time the credits roll.


It's the only way to experience the magic of the movies!


. . . so, I guess I’m pretty intense about spoilers, eh?
Well.

That is what the note says. 

Seems a bit extreme, but I guess that’s how I’m supposed to be. 

Good thing I wrote it all down.

-December 2020


Monday, December 21, 2020

POETIC VIDEO GAME REVIEW #9: NARC (2005)

 “Want some shit?”


Remember Narc? It was that 1988 arcade game where you could either arrest drug dealers and drug addicts or you could shoot them with your assault rifle or blow them to burning bacon bits with your tactical grenade launcher. 


You had a choice between a super-pig kitted out in a red catsuit with a matching motorcycle helmet or the same super-pig but in blue.


So, red or blue . . . was this a commentary on the bipartisan support for the ultra-repressive Forever Wars on Drugs that the US-of-A pursued so ardently from Nixon ‘til, uh, well it’s still kind of a thing isn’t it? 


Yeah . . . so along came the X-Box and the PS2, and things from video gaming past were resurrected in bigger, bolder, gutsier,nuttier, bustier, beefier, bloodier, ballsier fashion. 


Hence . . . Narc’05. 


“Want some shit?”


Here’s some marketing copy from the back of the insert paper inside the plastic sleeve of a clamshell X-Box case:


BIG HIT $19.95 FRIEND PRICES


Which is kinda funny, right?

It’s a clever way to spin a budget release title. 

It’s not cheap because it’s been stepped on by slave labor and cut with strychnine and

polonium.

No, no, not at all.

These are friend prices.

We love you. 

Like Winston loved Big Brother. 

And you’ll love us right back with the same ardor. 

 

“Want some shit?”


Choose your character.

You got two ways to go:

One dirty cop voiced by Bill Bellamy-remember Bill Bellamy? Actually . . . I do remember Bill Bellamy a little bit-MTV VJ, actor, TV host, and a stand-up comedian who, apparently, coined the term ‘booty call.’ Like . . . he’s the guy that first came up with the concept of the booty call. That’s what his wikipedia page says. What? That’s impressive. Did George Carlin or Richard Pryor or Sam Kinnison or Brother Theodore or Joan Rivers or Redd Foxx or Lenny Bruce or Don Rickles or Jerry Seinfeld actually invent a new term and the concomitant idea said term is meant to express? I’m impressed. 


And another dirty cop voiced by Michael Madsen . . . the straight razor guy who cut off that cop’s ear in Reservoir Dogs. 


I’ll go ahead and save you some trouble: Madsen’s the one you want. 


If you played this piece of junk on X-Box back in the day, you could press a button on your chunky-ass controller that allowed you to sell some of the illegal street drugs you’ve been hoarding for your own personal use to random NPCs on the street.


When you press this button

you cue up a gloriously throaty voice clip from Mr. Madsen


“Want some shit?”


There’s combat.

There’s a dumbfuck story involving corrupt intrigues from Baldy Ol’ Eagleland, USA all the way to Hong Kong, where everybody knows Kung Fu, natch.

You can ingest your confiscated party favors to get temporary superpowers: Flash-like speed, PCP-style invulnerability, and woozy stonerish slow-mo modes.

This game is fuckin’ dumb.

I vaguely recall that the people who produced it paid to have Curtis Mayfield’s Pusherman and Freddie’s Dead on the soundtrack. 

Like people are going to confuse inauthentic product like Narc’05 with Super Fly.

As if.  

This is the bargain basement version of Grand Theft Auto,

and I never liked Grand Theft Auto in the first place

(Retro City Rampage does GTA better than GTA, BTW).


But every time you press that one button


“Want some shit?”


I believe in the cigarette-burnished voice-strings of Mr. Madsen.


“Want some shit?”


This is, really, the only fun to be had in the game.


“Want some shit?”


I can picture in my mind, the actual Michael Madsen, especially his look from Kill Bill, cruising through some nightclub or some illegal farmhouse rave, cowboy hat and all, 


“Want some shit?”


and I believe . . . that I want Philip Glass to compose an opera around this voice clip, and Madsen’s sublimely dumpy exterior-can’t you just hear that driving, cycling, iterating musical minimalism a la The Grid from the Koyaanisqatsi soundtrack? 


BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY

BEEDEEBOODOOBOODOOBOODOO

BEEDEEBOODOOBOODOOBOODOO

BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY

BEEDEEBOODOOBOODOOBOODOO

BEEDEEBOODOOBOODOOBOODOO

DOODOO, DOODOO

DOODOO, DOODOO

DEEDEEDOODOODOODOODOODOO

DEEDEEDOODOODOODOODOODOO

BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY . . .



And then we add to that, at random intervals reminiscent of the voices chanting random sequences of numbers in Einstein on the Beach


“Want some shit?”


And we end up with


BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY

“Want some shit?”

BEEDEEBOODOOBOODOOBOODOO

BEEDEEBOODOOBOODOOBOODOO

“Want some shit?”

BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY

“Want some shit?”

DOODOO, DOODOO

DOODOO, DOODOO

DEEDEEDOODOODOODOODOODOO

DEEDEEDOODOODOODOODOODOO

“Want some shit?”

BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY, BOOPITY-BOPPITY

“Want some shit?”  

. . .


It goes on like that.


Oh, there’s no end in sight.

 

I just need some investors.

 

Philip Glass does commercial gigs, y’know, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t put out for a commission that would exist only to serve my own twisted and capricious whimsies, right?


It just takes a generous fee.

And I can make this shitass lousy fuckin’ world what I want it to be.


These words that I have written . . . here are the most significant thoughts in the global domain of human consciousness at this very moment.


Nothing else rates.

-December 2020.