Oh Man, Two New Polls? Give It Up!

Yes, I have added two new polls to this blog, even though I still have one going. I’ve dragged out my superhero poll for ages because I’m enjoying watching the battle between Christian Bale and Robert Downey Jr. so much, though I am predicting a late flurry of votes for Halle Berry, whose involuntary reaction to a blob of catnip moved me so much in Catwoman. Though I should end it soon so as not to clutter the sidebar so much, I felt compelled to gauge the opinion of our readership now that the summer movie season is ending, and what better way to do that than by starting two new polls, for favourite and least favourite films of the past few months.

I’m genuinely curious about how people felt the season went, and so please ignore my childish namechanging and give me some hard data. I know The Dark Knight split opinion down the middle (not helped by the pre-release enthusiasm), and some were angry about Indiana Jones (though I thought it was probably not as horrible as The Last Crusade). I also know that one regular reader will be tempted to vote for Hancock as worst summer movie about fifty times. Don’t do it, man!

Anyway, I am aware that this blog is getting awfully busy, but I hope to rectify that soon with some nifty XML alterations that will get rid of this dreary Tic-Tac Blue template. That will, of course, involve effort and understanding of code, so it won’t be happening too soon, but it will. As demented genius AV Club commenter Z0diac M0therfucker would say, “THIS SHIT IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE”, as former Police 5 host Shaw Taylor would say, “Keep ‘em peeled,” and as Diddy would say, “Vote or die.” (Apologies to Sean Combs fans if I got his name wrong; I lost track of it a couple of years ago and even Wikipedia is unclear, if you can believe that.)

Don Draper Watch: Juvenile Snickering Edition

While visiting family in the US, we made an effort to see the truly bizarre Step Brothers, a very funny movie that feels like it might be the final stage in the Ferrell/McKay/Reilly comedy experiment, so effectively did it stretch narrative logic and audience sympathy with its wilful disregard for the rules of storytelling, hewing close to them only to satirise them (at least, that’s how I saw it). It was not quite as good as we had hoped (though perhaps good enough to silence some crazy haters), and it’s already been eclipsed as comedy event of the year by the genre-bending brilliance of Pineapple Express (aka the American Hot Fuzz), but memories of it are still making us laugh; I’m still occasionally saying, “Boats and Hos” with no prompting. Plus, the finale, spoofing happy cinematic final act resolutions with Dada-esque rigour, was worth the ticket price alone, and it finally made us totally embrace Adam Scott (aka Palek The Vulcan Inseminatron from Tell Me You Love Me). His insane performance as Ferrell’s asshole brother is possibly the highpoint of the film.

After the film we conducted a post-mortem (punctuated by uncontrollable giggling over Richard Jenkins’ dinosaur impersonation), and realised we needed to rewatch both Anchorman and its “sequel” Wake Up Ron Burgundy for, like, the trillionth time. Due to complications in life (i.e. playing Half-Life 2 and Mario Kart Wii) we only managed it this weekend, and it was much fun. As we are that type of couple that enjoys randomly quoting films we love in out-of-context ways, Canyon has been shouting, “I’m gonna… rip the lid off of it!!!” ever since, and I’ve been saying of just about everything in the house, “It’s the pleats, it’s an optical illusion,” referring of course to Ron’s explanation for why he appears to have an enormous erection while talking to his soulmate Veronica Corningstone.


So why am I bringing this up now, and what has it got to do with Mad Men?


Holy Secret Beatnik Sympathies, I don’t think that’s attributable to the pleats. My God, Don’s packing! No wonder everyone defers to him. This sight totally distracted us for the next few minutes of screentime, which is probably a good thing as not long after that the recording went flooey and we missed the rest. Damn. I guess our modern machinery is no match for Don’s fearsome 60s-era genitalia. As for the rest of the episode, he amused us greatly with his weariness and existential ennui caused by too much booze and sex and not enough spiritual and aesthetic nourishment.


Poor guy. Truffaut! Hurry up and make Jules et Jim! We want Don back on top, and pronto.