Posts Tagged ‘wolvy’

I’M WOLVERINE!

Friday, 8 May 2009

Got to the theater to see Wolverine! The Motion Picture 10 minutes late and was shocked to find the movie half over. What, no COMMERCIALS (the nerve of those advertisers) followed by three coming attractions for diarrhea-inducing romantic dramedies?

Walking up to the window to buy the ticket and on through to the lobby with the smell of fake butter coating everything I couldn’t stop thinking of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog at Comic-Con shouting, “I’m Wolverine! I’m Wolverine! I’m Wolverine!”

I couldn’t feel any more like a failure if I was wearing black socks with sandals and wielding a metal detector.

I entered the theater when Wolverine was in the tank (last seen in X2) about to be injected with cockamamium or whatever the hell. Suspense, for me, was nil. Of course during The Procedure the Bladed One’s heart stops. The military milf reading Wolverine’s vitals says with alarm, “Blood pressure, 280 over 160!” which is my normal blood psi., especially eating movie popcorn floating in butter.

Once Wolverine escaped (of course) the movie got a little more interesting. Were it not for Hugh Jackman’s considerable acting, this movie would’ve been like sticking your hand between the plates of a hot George Foreman grill. Did I say hand? I meant dick.

There was some kickass fighting (not enough) but being an old(er) fuck, I was thrown out of suspended disbelief by small inconsistencies rather than gaping plot holes. Example: the movie’s supposed to take place in the mid-70s and the sinister secret government agents were driving Humvees instead of Jeeps. Humvees didn’t go into service until the late 80s.

“Yeah, but they musta had the prototypes, being top secret and all!”

Shut up, nerd.

Also, if there was a raucous battle in an alley on Bourbon Street that shattered fire escapes and blew up hundreds of stacked boxes, wouldn’t there be at least a few dozen extras running to find the source of the rumpus?

And this Gambit fellow that’s all the rage, would you seriously sit down to play cards with a guy who could make the whole fucking deck float perfectly as if he had the mutant power of CGI?

I paid 4 bucks to see Wolvy and that was about right. I was more excited watching 16-year-old White girls with their bubble buttocks in shorty-shorts in the butter lobby. But then, I’m a failure. I have a right.