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I’m a big fan of the old silent film Metropolis. While it’s not the best silent film ever made, or even the most important, it holds up really well today and it’s the first silent film I ever enjoyed.
But the way I enjoyed it was a little different than other people. My experience was enhanced by 80s pop music by the likes of Adam Ant and Pat Benetar. Disco maven Giorgio Moroder produced an earlier restoration in 1984 and scored it like a (then) modern movie. It was enthralling. I couldn’t pull my eyes away. To this day, this form of the film is one of the most memorable films of my youth.
This version is, of course, hated by film purists and has been out of print for most of my lifetime. I’ve long considered hunting down a (quite rare) laserdisc copy, but in the rare event I see one for sale, it’s quickly snapped up for hundreds of dollars. It just never happened, for obvious reasons. In the years since, the copyright to the film has been recaptured by the original German producers and a film museum in Munich, who have recently produced their own far more complete restoration (with scenes discovered well after Moroder’s version was made). The Moroder version seemed to have been left for dead.
Luckily, I was not the only one who felt this way. Now, a hardcore fan of the Moroder version has reassembled the film with far higher quality footage from the new restoration, reinstated Moroder’s tint and soundtrack, and even added a few of the additional scenes with other similar sounding Moroder music. He’s just about done now and ready to make this restored version available. I’m so excited I want to explode.
Between this and the new 100% complete version that was just discovered in July (and apparently headed for Blu-Ray release next year) this has been such an amazing year for fans of Metropolis. Happy happy happy.
Cat ears on your head
Puts the world on alert that
Goofy makes you hard
New slash fanfiction
Proves you’ve never seen a guy
Actually sad
Mounds of rippling fat
Jiggling vigorously
Convention Orgies
Naruto headbands
Alas, do nothing to make
Its wearer bad-ass
The Naruto staff
Unlikely to entertain
Your shitty ideas
At thirteen years old
Not sexy, brilliant or cool
Has a pretty mouth
I like your costume
But that character is not
Clinically obese
A really lame dirty martini resulted in nearly 24 hours of gastronomic instability, a sure sign that I ain’t a kid no more. That, and Absolut is really terrible shit.
On the awesome nerdy side of things, that last blog post? Done on my iPhone. In a cab. I am a gigantic nerd.
I have decided to write a blog for two reasons: first, to stave off the apathy that working from home has allowed to break into my life and make itself at home like a semi-abusive uncle that farts a lot and calls you a heathen for listening to pop music. Second, I find myself full of thoughts most days that seem interesting at the time and never seem to go anywhere. I figured it would be nice to have a place to share them, so that others may tell me that they are not, in fact, interesting at all.
Case in point: today I bought an iphone. Five hours in line to pay $400 (as I did not qualify for the cheap pricing, having bought a new RAZR only a year ago and having had it die twice in that time), spent mostly with nice, agreeable people. This included a big friendly Russian acupuncturist with bad breath and a few assorted nerds and normal people. Truth be known, I didn’t mind one bit. They made for occasional good conversation, shut up (most of the time) when I decided to escape by putting on my earphones, and with the nice weather and the atmosphere of a sunny afternoon just outside Central Park in the summer, it was just the day out of the apartment I badly needed. Even if it WAS 5 hours on my feet.
About a line length ahead of me was this group of unholy over-educated group of young adults. (I’d use the term “yuppies” if it didn’t both date me and include me.) They were loud, and discussing current movies. “Did you see Batman? Oh, it was good, but not as good as Batman Begins. And Heath Ledger? He was great. I heard he went nuts playing the role, that’s why he killed himself. He’s a method actor, you know. That’s when you basically live that character all the time! Yeah, I heard he didn’t sleep for weeks. Who’s that other actor who does that… uh… you know, he was in National Treasure. Nick Cage! That’s it.”
After taking in about as much of this inane and stupid banter as I could stand, I put on my earphones to silence it, tuning my iPod to one of the 3 songs I’m currently obsessing over. I examined them closely, and assumed they had to have attended a good, if not Ivy League college, and clearly thought the world of themselves. This was an assumption proved accurate when the proclaimation of one female in the group, “Oh my god, we are SO movie critics!” managed to break through the protective wall of my earphone. I looked down, noticing that one guy was wearing these obnoxious shorts, the kind they carry at Macy’s next to the penny loafers. White plaid shorts with leather sandals.
Nobody who wears shorts like that is a good person. These people single-handedly reminded me why I will forever avoid the suburbs. Catty, self-important know-it-alls. So, for that, I thank you. Mr. Asshole Shorts.
If you wear them, it is because you are a douche.
