Tagged: women
Her Idle Hands
In an EMS job (I just learned this during some yearly recurrent CBT), you have to be ready to respond at a moment’s notice. It can make things like “eating” difficult. For example, yesterday I was grazing successfully for the first six hours of the shift, and then boom!, got a call at 3pm, and upon completion of that one, almost having returned to base, got a follow-on call that kept me out until 1059pm. That’s eight hours, folks. Luckily, I carry two Clif Bars, (one regular, one protein) on my person and a Gatorade in the aircraft. Simply put, I survived. (Didn’t even have to crack open the protein one.)
Another aspect of the job is that you leave the office in disarray, not having time to properly cleanup when the call drops. That’s the stimulus for this post.
I was in the middle of some Psalm reading when the call came, the second and third Psalms.
I didn’t really think about leaving the open Bible for my counterpart pilot to see when he came on shift while I was out, but when I got back to the office, after my truly heroic effort to impose security and peace of mind on the public, I saw it again and couldn’t help but wonder if he snuck a peek. He probably didn’t.
But I like to daydream and the following is my daydream.
****
“I saw you were reading the Psalms, Pete. Did you leave that for me to see? You trying to convert me?”
“Ha. No. I don’t think it happens like that. And I can’t say I knew whether or not you were redeemed until just this moment.”
“Touché.”
Pause.
Then he began again, “Why do you read that book? I don’t see the point.”
“Well, it’s like this. First, it’s true. Jesus really is Yahweh, the God of the Bible, in the flesh. And the Son of God. And ‘Ya’ll need Jesus’ as the meme goes. All that is true. But the reason for reading it is best put like this.
“You know my ex wife kidnapped my daughter, right? I’ve mentioned as much, yes?”
“Yup.”
“Can you help me get her back?”
“Uh. Seriously? Or hypothetically? I mean, you know that I am ready to rock’n’roll Taken-style, just say the word.”
“Nice. But without using force. Can you help me?”
“I don’t see how I could. So no.”
“I agree. You can’t help. Don’t feel bad. I’m making a bigger point. Here are the facts. My parents can’t help either. My wife can’t help. My children can’t help. I have no friends who can help. Mediation can’t help. Lawyers, even if they persuade the judge, aren’t ‘enforcement’, and so they can only help on paper. And the Judge also isn’t enforcement, and so he/she can only wish to help. Finally, no law enforcement actually has time or concern to help. It isn’t exactly prime optics to yank kids out of one of their parent’s arms—not to mention domestic disturbance calls are known escalate so quick that no one is interested in being around for the fireworks, regardless of the principles and titles involved.”
“When you put it that way, I do not envy you.”
“Thanks. In any case, I hope you see why I might read the Psalms. Forget Jesus for a minute. Forget history. Forget all the nonsense we chatted about a few weeks ago regarding the misconceptions of the Bible being translations of translations etc. Just listen to this,
He who sits in the heaven laughs, the Lord scoffs at them.
“And,
I lay down and slept; I awoke, for Yahweh sustains me.
“When I see the world, when I see my little situation and extrapolate it out to others’ situations and even the biggest situations, like wars and such, I cannot find any hope. I mean that I despair. Truly. You don’t want to know. But these words—the idea they hold—the idea that the powers I see are not the highest powers, well, these words become my hope and my prayer.
“‘LORD: for whatever reason, there is no hope down here. In a tone familiar to you, ‘None can help me, no not one’. Can you? Will you? Prove yourself.’
“That’s why I read the Bible.”
“Hmm. I can’t say I will get there from here, but I hope it works. Let me know, will ya?”
“I doubt I could stop updating you even I wanted to. Ha.”
****
On the topic, do you want to hear what the mediator (would’ve thought he was supposed to maintain neutrality…) actually had the balls to say to me? He said, “I did want to tell you that I applaud you for trying so hard to stay in your daughter’s life.”
What does one do with that betrayal?
Umm…thanks? I mean, the only thing I ever did to “leave” my daughter was determine that kids cost money, and then apply for a job, accept the position, and go to work as scheduled. I will never understand how that has resulted in “losing” my daughter. Seriously, her mom has literally never worked full time in the last 18 years. Think about that. And the result is the kidnapping of a child, robbing me, and unilaterally influencing our daughter? Idle hands are the devil’s playground, after all, it seems.
LORD: for whatever reason, there is no hope down here. None can help me, no not one. Can you? Will you? Prove yourself.
Marriage and Family: Arty D vs. Louie Lah vs. C Frazier, A Corner-Joint Review of “Through the Magic Door”, “Passin’ Through”, and “Cold Mountain”, by the Aforementioned Three Greats
Sir Doyle’s book is a must-read for book lovers with a personal library (or bookshelf), but definitely can be skipped by all others. The best moments of it are of the nature of the best moments of all of life, which is to say, the best moments are those in which we unwittingly reveal our core beliefs. For this knight, it comes out in his statements about the barbarians or uncivilized (or the like) that still exist today, but of course we stopped labeling them as such pretty much when the likes of Doyle died.
Mr. L’Amour’s book was exactly what you would expect for an author whose works have sold over 300 million copies worldwide.
And then we come to Mr. Frazier’s masterpiece. Oddly, I first heard of Cold Mountain when in the USAF’s OTS in Alabama after college (you need a degree to be a US military officer, and need to be an officer to be a pilot), and had arranged the third of three terribly awkward and resoundingly terminal “let’s meet up since we spent so much time playing SOCOM together online” rendez-vous’. This online pal was a professor’s assistant or something and so I figured it couldn’t be too weird. And it wasn’t. But the only movie worth seeing after grabbing a bite was Cold Mountain. I figured it looked kinda like Braveheart, so I was a bit surprised how it felt so “Notebook-ee” when viewing with a veritable stranger. Not that I regret the meetup. Live and learn, I say.
I watched the movie later in life for whatever reason and fell in love with it. I bought the piano music even. I even, while in Denver, tracked down a “Sacred Harp” group and used to traipse all the way to it when I could, carrying H- in tow. I probably posted about that actually. H- was adorable at those types of things back then. If you haven’t been, the dozen or so participants sit facing each other in a square. And one person stands in the middle and leads the acapella singing, using a particular and simple arm movement to keep everyone on time. When it was H-’s turn, without blinking or thinking, she just stood up and went to the middle, arm at the ready. So funny and instructional. Form the kids, I say. They can do it.
That was close to a decade ago, and a dozen views of the film. As I looked for something to read with my wife (we started with “The Age of Innocence”), I picked up the book. I figured it had to be good if they made a movie. But I didn’t count on how tricky the English is. Most literate native speakers can handle it, if book sales and ticket sales mean anything, but I found that nearly every sentence contained so much meaning—and maybe just to me and my imagination—that I couldn’t read it to my wife and believe that she was following any of it. In retrospect, it was probably more the simple setting of the Civil War American South than anything else that I saw as the barrier. Try explaining the richness of that history to an alien. As I’m sure they (aliens) have—actually we all know they hold grudges longer than we of the West, how else can you explain Africa?—there is just too much passion and indignation and family, not to mention—or dare I mention—principle involved in that great war for the future of America to be captured by words. And folks who don’t interact with the land of America, just the fruits of America—in other words, “the rest of the world”—just can’t “get it”. They can’t. It’s parroting at best, and falsehood at worst.
How do the three relate? Whether Doyle had any idea he was doing so or not, the way his book ended lumped him into the category of the other two, by virtue of climaxing on the concept of marriage and family. I think Louise writes love stories because he knows women read more than men. Frazier wrote his because it was kinda family legend/history. And then Doyle somehow arrived at marriage and family because he randomly began his trek along his bookshelves at such a point that the end of his collection included Stevenson’s works, thus the platform to display awareness that Robert just chose to bypass marriage/family altogether when writing his classics. It lead to Doyle’s best line, “How many [men] go through the world without ever loving at all?”
Efficiency as Divine Telos?
Did I mention my mother-in-law is staying with us?
Well, one thing that has become crystalized in my marriage to someone outside the dominant culture on Earth is that without communication, besides all the obvious examples of the profound inability to experience good things, efficiency goes right out the window. This occurs all day, every day.
To hear it is like listening to “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” in the round, but the words are, “Oh, you didn’t mean that? I guess we throw it away.”
And verse two, “Oh, you didn’t mean that? Well, we can’t get that time back either.”
But, and here’s an instance of why I sought this marriage in particular, the question remains, “So what? If we had a perfectly efficient marriage, what would that indicate? Is that what life is all about? Efficiency?”
I say, “No.”
That’s Not Exactly How I’d Put It
So my mother-in-law is back with us for a short time before her return to Ethiopia. I believe I have mentioned to someone, maybe not as a post, that her stay with us is not as bad as I had imagined it could be. In truth, it gives my wife someone to talk to, and Ethiopians (or “abasha” if you want to appear “in the know” to them) seem to need people to be happy, far more than I do at least.
At dinner the other night sat my wife, her mother, my step-son, A-, and the two toddlers and I. Whatever caused the moment to develop, the toddlers were declaring that A- was the source of the problem. To hear this gives me great pleasure and my laughter indicated as much.
My mother-in-law asked her daughter, my wife, what was so funny and my wife tried to explain, but even a dummy like me knows this “joke” is very hard to translate. I gave my wife the tip, “Tell your mom that I have trained the two younger ones to always blame A-.”
My wife, generally one to laugh thoughtlessly when anyone laughs, stopped smiling as she realized that her mom might not like to know this fact. Her mom, point of fact, raised A- in the homeland from 1-8 until his father allowed him to join his mom (now my wife) back in 2018. Sensing this, I added, “Tell her that it’s because A- had it so easy for his first 8 years.”
A- surprisingly, and unsurprisingly, clarified, “9 years,” I think because he didn’t officially move in with me until 2019.
The mother-in-law didn’t appear to think it was as funny as I did and to boot she told my wife that, “A- did not have it very easy and he was a very good boy.”
This of course made me laugh even harder because it is patently untrue as measured by his habits/character etc. and the fact that it was now clear to me that “easy” and “hard” were not being translated accurately.
As you know, dear furinj (that’s the name for white folks), by “easy” I meant things like “A-went through life unmolested to the point of living a perfectly terrible balance of getting everything he desired, having no understandable cause-and-effect relationship to his life choices, and being emotionally and mentally neglected.”
My mother-in-law, of course, meant, “He was beaten, with implements sometimes, and while I regret that, he is clearly better for it.”
The next day, he and I had to get some of his grandma’s stuff out of our shed and you can imagine the picture. I would climb over things, begin to lift them or push them and expect that the boy would take note of his necessary role and “put in his oar” as it were. Instead, he moved out of the way every time, as if he was just there to watch. (Bear in mind, it has been four years of this. This includes when I get in the car and hand the pizza boxes to him in the passenger seat only to watch as he squishes back into the seat thinking that the boxes are going to accidentally bump him otherwise.)
We find everything; the grandma’s bags are now in the house. Now they need to be carried to upstairs. He grabs two of them as she watches. I know their language enough to count to ten and hear the number “hulet” which is “two”. So I put together that ol’ grandma is suggesting that he doesn’t need to carry two at a time—and I can attest that they were heavy. A- boldly insists that he can do it—a fact to be decided in real time.
I can’t help but chide him and comment, “Oh, I see. When grandma’s watching you turn into a strongman. Nice.”
A- responds in kind, “I was a good boy for nine years…”
That’s not exactly how I’d put it.
Life On Pitch
There was this kinda scary dude that came to work at the car wash I was assistant manager at almost ten years ago. He was scary in the “didn’t get out much, but had a strong personality” kinda way. Not violent, buuuut ya never knew what may trigger him.
One day I learned that his favorite Batman, keep in mind that the trilogy was already out—TDKR and the shooting happened in 2012—anyhow his favorite was Batman and Robin.
I know, I know. He had to be kidding right?
That’s what I thought and that’s when I learned that he was out there, in his own special way. The George Clooney Batman is simply terrible. More than that, this opinion of mine is universal. It is so universal that when someone declares that their favorite Batman is Batman and Robin—-and the trilogy is already in existence—you take them as a new friend who can deliver deadpan sarcasm with ease. I mean, here was a new best friend.
But then I learned that he wasn’t kidding. He started quoting it and everything. In a way, he was still becoming my personal hero because he clearly had no fear, but there is a thing call “foolhardy” when you’re juuust a bit too courageous.
Later, at another gig where I was assistant manager again, still retail (wink wink), I met a dude that was essentially a tough guy, or that’s what he was paid to be, and he burst my bubble, much like the B&R fanboy, by declaring in all earnestness (and being completely shocked that I dared disagree) that Pitch Perfect was the greatest movie ever.
Those two guys were remarkable. I have never met any others in their class.
All this to tell you that when scrolling for a movie to watch with my wife and 13 yr old stepson tonight, when I saw Pitch Perfect on Prime, I immediately pressed “watch now”.
This decision surprisingly provided the funniest moment of my life—or at least in serious contention for that penultimate experience—as my poor ETL (English as Third Language, and low vocab at that) wife and mother of my stepson (himself laying on the couch nearby) asking, “What is a boner?” after the “Toner” joke. Hahahaha. Can you imagine his awkwardness?
But the reason for the post, the catalyst carrying the muse, is the main character—not sure you need the summary—is a child of divorce that pushes people away, but eventually realizes that that is not the way to live. And she is cool and good at what she likes to do.
In short, this little movie has me in better than normal spirits about H- and her future. Can’t complain about that.
My New Years Plans
You’re wondering what ol’ Pete is doing for New Year’s?
Aww. That’s so sweet!
Of course, men don’t use sweet to describe things, so you know the following is not written by yours truly and therefore cannot be firmly located in the realm of reality. But let’s play.
I’m on night shift tonight, which means—same for any first responder I presume—that I am hoping the life insurance actuarial tables are accurate and you folks hold on for one more holiday tonight thereby giving me an easy shift.
During the day, I plan to finish up breakfast, write and read a bit over coffee and day-old-doughnuts, and then head to Little Caesars for the normal EMB, brookie, and soda. I plan to indulge in this meal fit for kings whilst asking the blacks if they have any answers to my problems—as the whites surely do not. In other words, I am finally going to watch Fences. I have been terrified of that movie since I first heard of it, but today is the day.
Then it’s off to a NSDR-induced nap (hopefully I make it to actual sleep), after which the rat race begins again.
How about you? What are your plans?
To “Anyone Who Would Listen”
I’m so fucking strong. That’s why Life can’t ever get to me. But as I drove home—daughterless—from the court-ordered, though in the main respect unsuccessful, transfer of child for Christmas (odd years are mine), I couldn’t help but think, “Man. I can handle these things because I’m so strong. But imagine if every, or even just a few, of these other schmucks behind the wheel were dealing with this blow. Surely it would destroy them.”
Good thing I’m strong. That’s all I have to say.
My ex actually answered the door. That was a surprise. I think it’s been over 5 years since I have seen her. I wasn’t sure if her father would make the protective trip like he did last time when she first revealed her desire to kidnap my daughter. H- was still innocent those few years ago and believed the lies they told her about his visit. Ah, the good ol’ days.
Let me just say, for the record, my ex looked terrible. She looked like she had lost her entire sense of humor. The years have not been good to her.
I, if I do say so myself, looked as good as I can get. I had a suit on. Blue, with brown belt and shoes. Grey polo underneath. My nice gold-colored watch. I was going for the “I choose the wrench” look. You know the one, right? End of “Good Will Hunting”? Matt Damon is explaining how his step-dad used to layout the tools from which he, as the step-son, could choose to get beat with? A hose, a stick, a wrench (or similar). Good ol’ loveable Will says, “No, I chose the wrench. ‘Cuz, ‘Fuck him.’” Yup, I want my gold-digging ex to see that she has more to take from me, that is, if she was only smart enough to figure out how.
Which brings me to why I even continue to breathe in air. It’s for moments of pure clarity that the clear mountain air brings to us on mornings like this one. Moments like I had on the drive home.
The Deputy I spoke to when I called in this “incident” told me she (lady cop) didn’t have to come out if I didn’t want her to. I told her I wanted as little drama as possible, but I did want a formal record of the non-transfer-event. The deputy continued to explain that the incident is recorded and she can text me an “incident number” that I can use should I file a motion for contempt of court etc.
Hahahahahaha. Ah, bliss.
If you missed it, that was the moment of pure clarity.
Imagine it. Me, a divorced dad, American citizen, filing a motion of contempt of court against my ex. Hahahahaha. Like that would do anything.
I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. While being terrifically strong, sometimes I think I am not that smart.
There is no enforcement! What is the judge, the Court, going to do? Slap her wrist? Lecture her? Make her pay a fine? I should be a freakin’ attorney for women. “Ahem… Pardon me. Here’s all you need to do. Nothing. You just do nothing. Don’t do a thing. Just think ‘rock on a flatland’ anytime you begin to stress. Don’t move. Not one inch. Got it? Good. Total for today’s chat will be $12,786.42–but don’t worry. He’ll happily pay.”
Now here is the interesting, truly fascinating, part. I used to know this! I did. In fact, I distinctly recall writing, and could probably search for, a blog post about the complete impotence of divorced dads in America. It was like 3 years ago, I think.
But then something odd happened. Hope was kindled. But apparently my iceberg of penguins is so full, that when Hope appeared, the Facts of Life had to drop off the edge, if there was to be room.
That, and the fact that, as a strong mother-effer, I have to say that I love proving it. I love flaunting it. Right next to “pure being”, I live to flex. And I love—I think this is why I married two weak women—I love getting punched in the face by puny little children. I feel like Tyler Durden must have when persuading Lou in “Fight Club”. I love it.
So I drove the hour to visit my longest-standing ward. Again, she looked terrible. But me? I drove home unruffled—unlike all the other folks on the road. God help them this Christmas.
Foucault’s Pendulum and Spheres and Earth and Friends and More!
Careful readers noticed yesterday that I used the words “pope” and “Copernicus” when dismantling Tesla-lovers’ desire to save the planet while they commute alongside me. I did this because my guided reading through the Great Books of the Western World has landed me in Ptolemy and Copernicus (and now Kepler).
I told a co-worker that I feel like I’m reading sacred scripture when I read these guys’ words. I mean they are it. These are the ones who tackled the big problems and won (and lost). I cannot emphasize enough how interesting and provocative the writings are—especially the ones that have been disproved. Just fascinating. For example, did you know that folks knew Earth was a sphere over 2000 years ago? They knew. And they knew through easy methods that even you and I can understand, the most simple being that during lunar eclipses, the shadow on the moon is always circular. And only a sphere object can do that.
Anyhow, in short, (because I know you aren’t going to rush out and get the set) Ptolemy (and many in his day, circa 100-200AD) thought the Earth was an unmoving sphere inside a larger rotating sphere which was lined with the stars and the other lights of the sky. To be clear, this is a ball within a ball scenario. Like if we go to a planetarium and lay back in the dome structure to “ooh and ahh” the night sky as projected digitally, that’s pretty much what they thought. I mean to emphasize that they did not see the night sky (or day sky for that matter) as “deep”. Had they thought to travel out to the lights, they apparently thought they would hit a wall/boundary. (Keep in mind, they didn’t conceive of traveling off earth.) This, of course, stands against everything we moderns believe, which includes that we can and will journey further and further and further away from the Sun/Earth or really anything out there.
With me?
Next, it was Copernicus who went through the Pope (and had to in 1543–life is so different today—so very different) to correct Ptolemy’s errant belief that Earth was the center of the larger sphere. The Sun was the center—and, put simply, for the reason that it makes the math simpler. Note here that Copernicus still did not believe that space went out and out and out. (He also showed other things, such as the Earth itself moves and this what makes the stars appears to move, not the other way around.)
In the guided reader, they make mention of the types of proofs that Ptolemy and Copernicus were concerned with and this is where it is mentioned that the Foucault Pendulum was finally invented and put to use in 1851. You can look it up yourself; I still don’t fully understand how it works. Maybe you will. But when you look it up, you’ll discover that these pendulums are all over the globe now at various science museums, and they report in to each other. It is this comparison of observations that is truly the mechanical proof of the rotational movement of the sphere earth.
This was a “Eureka!” moment for me.
To rehearse and summarize some of this trivia, Ptolemy really made his mark because he took into account past astronomical observations and added to them an extensive new amount of data. Then Copernicus did the same. (See the methodological trend?) By the time we get to Foucault’s Pendulum, we already have an established pattern of humans using other humans’ information, so the idea of sharing the results from these pendulums that are swinging all over the world is not entirely new.
Are you tracking yet?
(I enjoy leading folks to the conclusion rather than just bluntly stating it, but I’ll be blunt after one more clue.)
Put another way, Ptolemy alone didn’t suggest the Earth was the center and a sphere. Copernicus alone didn’t suggest the Sun was the center and the Earth rotated. Foucault alone didn’t prove that the Earth was a rotating sphere.
People need people! Get it?
We all have encountered Flat Earthers of late. Or most of us have. Guess what? They are alone. They have no friends. Even the others at the conventions aren’t friends. They don’t compare notes and use each others’ new and unique and accurate and confirmable measurable data to develop and defend their idea. They just bleat. Bah bah baaaa.
I am impassioned by this topic because a very good former friend of mine that I met at the seminary revealed his insanity when he one day decided to lob a joke about the earth being round into the fray. When I didn’t buy into his BS, he wouldn’t allow for any other topic of conversation to pass.
Keep in mind I told him, “I don’t care which mental construction of the universe you hold in your mind. I just think we should be able to talk about something else too.”
Nope. He wouldn’t move past it until I agreed with him.
I had invited him in for lunch in my seminary, Steinway-housing apartment. His wife and him (and baby) hosted H- and I for an afternoon meal and relaxing stroll at his place. We were at the seminary together. Man. It was/is frustrating. But it also proves my “newly learned” point. These folks have no friends. (Did I mention he was a green beret? Yeah. Unrelenting persistency does not always pay off.)
Anyhow. Crazy times we live in. The good part, as I have said and wrote time and time again, is we have books. I’m still with TJ, “I cannot live without books.”
Saving the Planet
“I’m kinda particular about these things. It’s really just that I have a rule. It’s only one rule, but it means that I don’t have many friends. I like alignment. The car is about travel, not about the environment. Get it? Buy whatever you want. Build whatever you want. But when you build a vehicle and tell me that you’re using it to help save the environment, I can only say, ‘That is too complex and too complicated (there is a difference) a goal for me to believe in. And if I can’t believe in it, then you can’t either because I am certain I have read more about it than you. And if you can’t, then you really haven’t even thought about the meaning of the words and are instead doing some sort of unthinking parroting or propaganda.”
Okay, I didn’t say that last bit. I didn’t attack. I ended my thought on the complex line. But I wanted to continue it here. For fun. Because I’m serious.
Life is weird as I get older. As a boy, a knife was sharp or dull. It was big or small. The basketball was inflated or needed air. The Bible was heavy. The pizza was good. The soda, too good.
Cars were fast. Motorcycles, faster. F-14’s even faster and the SR-71 fastest.
Now people drive a car alongside me on the road and act like they are, besides traveling, saving the planet. And, get this, they believe that I—little ol’ insignificant spec of a flesh on a forgettable rock floating through the universe—am destroying the planet.
There is a better way, folks. I am not destroying the planet. I am driving to work. Same as you.
So don’t tell me that your Tesla is somehow doing something more than carry you from A to B quicker than horses could. Don’t tell me that 20% (or is it 40%?) of all bad gases are caused by automobiles alone. Don’t tell me that America needs to act. Don’t tell me these things, not because they’re wrong, but because you don’t even know if they’re right.
You have no sources. Any sources available have no credibility. And there ultimately is no authority to judge the matter anyhow! We don’t live under the Pope. We don’t act by leave of a King. Musk does not need to be persuaded in order for the Sun’s insolation to reach Earth.
You, yes, you, neo-Copernicus, have only yourself to persuade and pat on the back. And you’ve done a bang-up job of it. Way to go!
Is that what you need to hear?
I’d rather talk about something interesting. There are so many interesting things to spend time considering. And not-a-one of them is your Tesla’s ability to save the world.
Boring.
More interesting already is a path of discovery on the topic of what you think you need to overcompensate for.
It’s okay. You can be an expert at your job, a good parent, and not save the planet. It’s okay.
Effort vs. Execution, A Joint Review of Equalizer 2 & Equalizer 3, by Antoine Fuqua
My wife mentioned that she wanted to watch the new Equalizer, but I couldn’t recall ever taking time for Equalizer 2. So we started with 2, and then moved to 3. “Decent and in order.”
Oh, and we have this new TV which does that thing where even Hollywood films appear like they are home videos. Know what I am talking about? Probably not. I have not found many who can see what I see, but having taken about 12 years off TV, I can tell that the image is far, far different than it used to be.
I bring up this image quality thing because it is part of the problem with Equalizer 2, but not 3. On these new TV’s, the CGI, if any corners were cut, looks terrible. Like it used to look before it got good and seamless, really, with the Avengers film. So 3 must have had a bigger budget—itself no surprise as they were probably caught off guard by how many went to see the sequel to a standard action film. Apparently, they were not monitoring Mr. Wick’s success. If they make a 4, I’d rush to see it because they will surely be in full stride (and direct competition) with John.
The story in 2 was also less than compelling. The start was great, but the moment we hear the “bad guy” stop pretending he is innocent, the movie, for all intents and purposes, ends. And this happened near the half-way point. And the CGI wasn’t even introduced until the end. So we went from worse to “worser”, to play off David Ayers’ Street Kings opening.
But again, we were only watching 2 to get to feel right about watching 3. And 3 delivered.
These two films (I can barely recall the first one) are incredibly violent. Shockingly so. So don’t think you should bend the rules with your kid and show them their first R-rated feature with one of these. You’ll regret it. But they do the right thing of making the bad guys really bad, and Denzel, well, he’s Denzel. And in 3 we got to see a CGI free Denzel film. Or one that had the budget to make it look like CGI wasn’t used.
You know what makes Denzel great? He’s almost a one trick pony. But the trick is the equivalent of harnessing the power of the Sun. He is so great because of how he, in almost every movie, can give a particular look which makes you sympathize whole-heartedly with his character. Of course his speaking and speeches are excellent. And who doesn’t want to move like he moves? And think like he thinks. But the silent look he gives is something that I want to never be able to produce. I don’t want that pain, that history, that store of feeling. I don’t want that library of unspoken, but not forgotten, words. But I do sympathize.
Final note: his other recent film, “The Little Things” is decent. Don’t skip it if you are at all intrigued.
Captain’s Log 