ONE LINE MOVIE REVIEWS #11: TETRIS (2023)

If this is the stale, formulaic beginning of a Tetris Cinematic Universe, then hopefully the sequel will be a daring and experimental adaptation of Inventory Tetris.

BURNING QUESTIONS IN A UNIVERSE OF MYSTERY #44:

In this era of ubiquitous video gaming it is not unheard of for people to listen to podcasts while playing especially grindy, repetitious games.

Okay.

But what I want to know is this: has there been any research into specific brain effects of playing certain kinds of games while listening to podcasts?

Yo! Stanford Research Institute! Get on the stick! 

And what about games that just aren't that common for home use anymore-like light gun games?

Could you imagine what might happen to someone playing Lethal Enforcers while consuming a cheeseball, pretentiously moralistic true crime podgrift? 

"I'm gonna get you, Dahmer-zap,zap,zap!"

You know, maybe someone should do a podcast about "Games I Play While Listening to Podcasts."

It could be a variation on cringey foodie/film crossover shit-"Let's pair this fine wine with the latest Wes Anderson confection!"

Okay, I confess. I played Age of Empires while listening to Hardcore History. 

I'm an insufferable asshole, too. 

I'm sure there are plenty of grotesque hipster folks who paired This American Life with GTA Online. Or the first season of Serial with Disco Elysium.

The articulate civility of Fresh Air contrasts well with the headlong bloodlust of Doom.

The absurdly titled Hidden Brain (HINT: The brain's located within the skullular area) merges amicably with the absurdly rationalized'n'de-politicized vision of city planning depicted in SimCity. 

Harry Shearer's Le Show allows you to keep up with the trades whilst emulating that delightful The Simpsons arcade beat em up belt scroller. Does Shearer still get a cut of that coin box?

Yeah. This could be something. 

It becomes nothing.

AS A SOLIPSIST #3:

 

I awake at the asscrack of dawn, for I am the freshly squeezed shitlog of Cosmos. All that Cosmos consumed, took into Itself, and digested required a certain waste byproduct-myself. And everything tends towards disorganized waste. Structure and process are but illusionary fashions of the relative moment-the waste prevails. I prevail: the shit-heart, the churning chaos all things try to dress up for a night out at the theatre, for I am their secret (yet not-so-secretly despised) Master! All things devolve back into Me, all things are flushed towards me, until the Wonderful Day-that chaos drift of all systems-when nothing shall flush ever again-all the flush bandwidth being eaten up, you see-and that is when I shall back up into all things, vast and magnificent and implacable and definitive-there won't be a part of Me the sun doesn't shine upon-I'll stand revealed to Myself-which is all-as asshole and shitlog all-in-one-!!!

-and on that day-oh, yes-I'll give Myself the One True Flush . . . just so that on the off chance there is something more than a vast puppeteered shadow play beyond this perception of mine-an actual other consciousness . . . well, y'know, finally that speculative other mind out there will have something interesting to experience. 

In any case, I entertain Myself, I entertain Cosmos.

BONUS: I also like cracker-based snacks. Like with a slice of cheese and a slice of ham? No need to get too fancy. Cheese cubes with the wee plastic swords will also suffice.

EDITORIAL NOTE: William is a solipsist.

THEME MUSIC FOR EVERYTHING #2:

Theme That Plays Continuously During Both Traversal and Combat Screens: Kakeru Koma no Joku by Masara Nishida from the Burst Angel OST.

This is for when the action is relentless, a theme for a running battle, if you will, through some convoluted military installation or mad science facility. Flashing red lights and blaring klaxons may also be appropriate. 

It's short, so I recommend looping it for fifteen to thirty minutes or so. 

For additional excitement, play it loud from your mobile device while moving through the passages of some complicated space. At regular intervals, imagine enemies jumping out from behind barriers, or phasing ectoplasmically through walls, crashing down through ceiling panels, or lying in ambush around blind corners.  Arm yourself with one of those little plastic cheese cube piercing swords, and slash away at phantom enemies to your heart's content.

PHOTO #2:

 

This one's a photo I never took. 

A photo of a book trilogy box set with a mismatched volume out of three.

I was in a Goodwill in Florida. I'm looking at the books. I see a box set of three Tom Clancy "superthrillers" in mass market paperback form. It was supposed to consist of The Cardinal of the Kremlin, Red Storm Rising, and Without Remorse. Except someone had replaced The Cardinal of the Kremlin with a mass market paperback edition of The Starr Report. 

I guffawed. 

Here was the vengeful dreamlife of the embittered Republican faithful laid bare. 

"If only we had a real life John Clark during Whitewater! We coulda cleaned house!!!"

Alas, heroic avengers never seem to escape the page, do they?

I didn't take the picture, but I've dined out on the anecdote.

NOTIONAL HEADLINE #25:

 

MAGIC TEETH COME FROM FOREVER.

ADVERTORIAL #1: NON-FUNCTIONAL BALDNESS CURE

 

Absolute darkness.

Interminable stretch of time.

You hear many things.

Perhaps it is just the settling of the foundations of the Worldaround Theatre.

And then there is a voice.

Could it be your own voice?

Lights A-Blaze!

You see the magnificent figure of blogger and sex god William D. Tucker slouched impudently upon a throne of immaculately lacquered human skulls, his right leg hitched up over an elaborately morbid armrest. His luscious dark brown hair cascades down upon his body in a kind of all-encompassing robe of wavy sensuality. His pitiless eyes gaze at you with a kind of wanton contempt as if to say, "Yes. You'll suffice for some sport." 

All of this seems to be exquisitely poised upon the surface of a night-dark lake, indicated only by a hypnotic pattern of ripples seemingly generated by a strange hover effect emanating from the base of the skull throne. 

The blogging sex god speaks . . .

WDT: Hello. As you can see, I have all of the hair. I'm literally clothed in it. But many men are not so fortunate as I, not so-

-a cruel smile veering into a sneer-

WDT:-blessed. Many men are afflicted with varying degrees of baldness; and therefore varying degrees of shame. Who can say for sure what the full effects of this baldy shame are upon the hearts of men, however it is telling, is it not, that we live in an age of many so-called cures for baldness. Most of these are purest snake oil. An advertisement such as this is meant to make you feel naked, inadequate, totally vulnerable in your baldy exposure to the world. Which brings me to the product at hand-

A desperate baldy man comes splashing through the lake of shadows, rapidly running a toothbrush back and forth across his hairless scalp, muttering furiously and nonsensically to himself.

WDT:-NON-FUNCTIONAL BALDNESS CURE. 

William holds up a toothbrush. Just a plastic toothbrush you would buy at a chain big box store. 

WDT: Just rub this all over your baldy shit, and your baldness shall persist with nary a hitch. Not a single hair shall grow. Not a one. 

The desperate baldy man rubs away at his scalp with the toothbrush. 

WDT: Take it from a magnificently hairy man such as myself. I've never used NON-FUNCTIONAL BALDNESS CURE in my life.

The desperate baldy man brushes and brushes away at his scalp. A seam forms in the hairless flesh. The seam parts to reveal a set of pearlescent white teeth. The desperate baldy man starts brushing his newly birthed choppers.

WDT: Well, holy shit!

Giant, blindingly white teeth clamp down on the universe with a rather overdone chomp sound effect.

ANCILLARY PRODUCTS #6:

Napkins for Napkins.

I mean, how else are we supposed to have clean Napkins?

Napkins for Napkins for Napkins for Nap-

Cue yawning abyss of madness.

And just where, exactly, do you propose to store a yawning abyss of madness, hm?

Cue yawning abyss of madness to contain a yawning abyss of madness to con-

Well, at least I have plenty of Napkins to ride this out!

OPTIONAL RULE #9:

I may as well tell you about The Human Timer.

This can be used for any game that requires you to use a stopwatch, kitchen timer, or software application that emulates a timer. 

The Human Timer is a person who counts down the seconds, as opposed to a mechanical device or software app. The Human Timer counts down the seconds out loud, "1, 2, 3, 4, . . ." etc. until they reach the final second-60, 120, 180,  240, 300, whatever the required interval happens to be for the purposes of the game. The players dictate the number of seconds that must be counted by The Human Timer with absolute authority. When needed, a player says, "Time, X seconds." X may be any number. The Human Timer responds with, "Time Ready." To start the count, the player says, "Time go," and The Human Timer immediately counts the seconds starting with the number 1. The Human Timer may be required to face towards the players or away from them at the players' discretion. The Human Timer is not considered a 'player' in this context. 

However, The Human Timer has absolute discretion over the rate at which they count the seconds. The Human Timer is under no obligation to accurately measure out the seconds. The Human Timer may speak the numbers slowly and/or with huge gaps of silence between each number, or they may speak them at Micro Machine pitchman John Moschitta, Jr. levels of speed. The Human Timer is totally free to alter the pace of their count however they see fit. The only hard and fast requirements are that they-The Human Timer-must speak all of the numbers accurately and in proper sequence starting with the number 1 with no skips, repeats or other errors; and The Human Timer is also strictly forbidden from adding 'One One Thousand' or 'Mississippi' or any other extra words after speaking the numbers. 

The players may not interfere with The Human Timer once the count begins unless an error occurs. Players may express their frustrations or amusement to each other, but they may not hassle The Human Timer unless a number is skipped or repeated or unauthorized words are spoken. 

If The Human Timer errs in any way, they may be immediately fired by the players at their discretion, or offered another chance to get it right. 

Due to the unsettling time distortion effects that may occur when employing The Human Timer, this is all strictly optional. Use with caution.

PEOPLE GET MAD . . . (#7)

. . . when they say what they really mean,  and then they get mad at the ensuing radio silence.

People get mad.

OPTIONAL RULE #8:

This is an optional rule for violent video games.

You go to the Options Menu. Inside the Options Menu there's an on/off slider next to the words DANCE ABANDON. If you move this slider into the On position you will have activated HEADLESS DANCING WITH ABANDON MODE, which basically entails the following: everytime you decapitate an enemy, instead of just falling over, the enemy's headless corpse starts dancing with wild abandon. The Charleston. The Fox Trot. The Cabbage Patch. The Can-Can. The Lambada. The Watusi. The Running Man. The Viennese Waltz.The Roger Rabbit. Adult Contemporary Ballet. The Boot Scootin' Boogie. It's a little bit of everything.

And as they dance, these headless corpses create a kind of bloody rain machine effect what with all the spurting neck stumps and such. Totally slicks down the streets. Really gives a glow-up to all the lighting effects. Everything looks like Blade Runner or King of New York or the battle in the rain from Seven Samurai, but with lots more blood.

Now, this is all strictly optional. Sure.

But I bet the more you think about it, the more you'll probably feel that DANCE ABANDON should just be default if not mandatory.

Truly, it is neat.

ONE LINE MOVIE REVIEWS #10: FAST X (2023)

Computer shit happens 'til it stops.

BENIGN AND/OR INANE CONSPIRACIES #5:

Darkness. A spotlight. Ronald Reagan steps into the light, clutching a Gort plushie, looking confused.

A voice emanates from all quarters of the dark.

"I'm sorry Mr. President, but you'll have to surrender the Gort plushie."

Ronnie nods. A pair of hands reaches into the spotlight, and takes away the Gort plushie.

A second spotlight reveals a chair.

"Mr. President, if you would approach the chair, please? Thank you."

Ronnie nods, steps out of his light, moves through shadows, and emerges inside the second spotlight next to the chair.

"Please be seated, Mr. President."

Ronnie sits down, profound uncertainty playing across his face. 

"We've already applied Gorilla Glue to the chair to lock your shit into place, Mr. President. All you have to do is sit there, play the hits."

Ronnie smiles, sadly, mutters to himself, "Bedtime For Bonzo . . ."

"Oh, you won't be getting much sleep, Mr. President. Of that, we can assure you. However, in this place-"

Lights come up to full, revealing an entire stage full of animatronic U.S. Presidents.

"-and in this role, you will achieve something far beyond what you attained in the White House."

Ronnie looks about, distress and confusion playing across his face.

"Immortality. Mythology. Transcendence. Mere facts and figures shall flake away, dandruff on the wind. But this folksy, cornball, catchphrase-spewing automaton of you . . . well, isn't this your truest self?"

Ronnie stares hard into the darkness beyond the stage. He takes it in, nodding his head ever so slightly, and then vigorously.

"Not to worry, Mr. President. We'll have the Angel of History bring the Gort plushie around during maintenance periods."

Ronnie sits bolt upright at that, eyes shining.

"Just so long as you keep playing the hits."

Ronnie, smiling, says, "There you go again!"

Laughter from the shadows.

ONE LINE MOVIE REVIEWS #9: BLACKBERRY (2023)

 

It's certainly pushing some buttons.

NEW APPROACHES TO THE STENCILED SELF.

 

NOTIONAL HEADLINE #24:

ASTRONAUT BRIBED BY TECH BILLIONAIRE TO DESCRIBE A ROCKET EXPLODING SHORTLY AFTER LAUNCH AS A 'SUCCESS' SAYS, "BIG MONEY MAKE BIG HAPPY INSIDE MY BRAINCASE."

ZONE OF ENEMY #1: VAN MAN.

Nondescript white van. Cruising about, vague visual of a male human form hunched over the wheel. Could be a serial killer or could be someone cosplaying as a serial killer. Perhaps Van Man's tragedy is that he cannot escape the collective buzzy power of all our mean-spirited perceptions. Perhaps Van Man got so burned out telling people he's NOT a predator that he was just like, "Fuck it. They want me to be a serial killer, then I'll be a serial killer. After all, I'm a people pleaser at heart." The human driverly component could just be a decoy extension of the van itself which requires humans for fuel, while selecting a chosen few to use as a symbiotically attached lure and camouflage in one. Inside of van may constitute a torture chamber and/or an arsenal. In this schema, torture may also include food prep in the sense of using torture techniques as a kind of analogue of chewing or other pre-digestive processes.  Campaign cosmology may have a central place for Van Man, in which much power spins out from it, or Van Man may be the expression of some divinity or force of fate. Van Man could be central to a creation mythology: picture a Great Cosmic Van cracking open to seed the universe with billions of Primal Vans; envision a bitter war between Titan Vans towering above puny humans; perhaps the interior torture chamber was the scene of some primal atrocity that gave birth to a cursed lineage of Van Men across the ages. Van Man could also be positioned as a kind of Ideal Form to which many aspire thereby establishing a Cult Pattern, or an Identity Trend. Van Christ, Van Messiah, Van Revelator, Van Destroyer of Worlds, Van Thought Leader, Van Executive Coach, Vanfluencer. You may also conceive of a Van as a holy site of power. Treading upon the innermost domain of Van may engender an extensive crawl all on its own filled with unique Enemies and Boss Fights derived from the Van Man's psyche or randomly accumulated junk or Collector's Pathology-motivated accumulations of stuff. Van Man can be a mook, a stage boss, a final boss, and/or an all-encompassing level, zone, domain, dungeon, environment, or seminar. Multiple Van Men may Voltronically combine into a Giga-Van Man that requires many rounds to vanquish. Bonus experience points for comically one-shotting a Van Man with a rocket propelled grenade or light antitank weapon. An especially sinister and psionically powered Van Man may use its brain waves to cause an ectoplasmic Van Imp to burst forth from an enemy's skull.  A Van Man may be like a vampire in the sense that a Van Man can only be created by another Van Man. A Van Man's van may function like a shell that it abandons when it outgrows it . . . only to reveal itself to have a sleeker, more beautiful van growing into place. Van Men may make of themselves bitter factions, parties, wandering nations-behold the Plain White Rape Van Confederacy; the particolored Super Funky Bitchin' Swingers Coalition; the Square-as-Fuck Family Minivan Alliance; the hyper-utilitarian Worksite Additional Storage Vessel Republic-each Van Nation embodying its own values, doctrines, ideologies, and so forth. Campaign theme may revolve around the Doom of the Van Men as the Van Nations clash in bitter conflict until all are annihilated. You may also be interested in slice-of-life Van Life stuff in which Van Man is less predatory and more haplessly in thrall to social media-facilitated attention seeking behaviors. One may envision a one-on-one Van Fighter scenario in which Rape Van, Christian Fundamentalist Minivan, Swinging Shaggin' Wagon, Van Life Grifter, and others battle it out for supremacy. Another slice-of-life possibility involves Van Man Romance-dating, falling in love, Van Sexuality, Van Pregnancy, Van Birth-this could offer a climactic moment as a pregnant Van Man gives birth to a slimy, mewling Newborn Van Man. Espionage themed campaigns may center on the idea of "It takes a Van Man to unmask a Van Man within the Agency." Film noir influenced campaigns may feature Amnesiac Van Men trying to solve the mystery of who they really are while being seduced by Van Man Femme Fatales or being trailed by Van Man Private Eyes and hassled by Van Man Loan Sharks. A mecha campaign may cast Van Men as pilots of giant anthropomorphic vans. If your interests are of an aquatic nature, you could do a Moby-Van themed campaign in which a crew of Van Men venture out in a huge seaworthy Whaling Van to pursue a gargantuan Van Spermaceti for fun and profit. Solo gaming may consist of Van Man journeying down into ominously abandoned subterranean kingdoms in order to endure a gauntlet of battles with Van Doppelgangers that embody various aspects of Van Self . . . in the end, when Van Man re-emerges into the surface world it has taken on an unsettlingly meaty'n'juicy appearance to suggest a final ultimate merging of Van and Man. This Meats Van could go on to be the Final Boss of a multiplayer campaign or, alternatively, it could be beset by hungry dogs, bears, and vultures, who ravenously gobble Van Man back into the Grand Cycle of Nature. There's a lot you can do with Van Man.

NO COFFEE 'TIL LITTLE EDDIE GETS BELLY SCRATCHIES!

 

BURNING QUESTIONS IN A UNIVERSE OF MYSTERY #43:

Are people actually worried about AI taking over everything? Really? I don't see what the fuss is about. Are people just afraid of novel experiences? I ask because, from my perspective, I've been fucked over by my fellow humans all my life and I think it'll be an interesting change of pace to be fucked over by an Artificial Intelligence entity. I've watched robot disaster movies all my life. Now I get to play one out in real life. 

Could it be that the suck inherent within AI is just that all-too-human suck-war, racism, slavery, greed, genocide, torture, sadism, xenophobia, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, police state violence, monarchism, fascism, tyranny, totalitarianism, book burnings, suppression of free thought, terrorism, militarism, capitalism-laterally transferring out of the meats and juices of evolved primates and into a new set of vessels?

If the source itself-humanity-is corrupt and stupid and destructive then how much  loveliness can we reasonably expect from the derivative product lines?

If we accept the suck within ourselves as normal and historically sanctioned then doesn't it follow that we should just stop all of this trendy hand-wringing and bogus moralizing and accept our fate?

Personally, I think it'll be a novel experience to be turbo-fucked by AI. It'll probably innovate new ways to fuck. 

We won't know unless we try.

Or is it, "We won't know unless we don't try?"

Now I'm confused.

ONE LINE MOVIE REVIEWS #8: THE BROWN BUNNY (2003)

Tragic blowjob is tragic in this moody expansion of the National Lampoon's Vacation Extended Cinematic Universe.

THINGS NEVER SAID #3:

"I will now only wear collared shirts with my first name, middle initial, and last name clearly printed over my heart. I have determined that this-and-only-this will avert a cataclysmic identity crisis. Thank you."

LOADING SCREEN WISDOM #13:

 

REMEMBER: ARMOR CAN PROTECT YOU, BUT IT ALSO HAS THE POTENTIAL TO BECOME ITS OWN KIND OF PRISON.