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Stage and Screen by Robby - "Salt"
15 years ago
General
BEGIN TRANSMISSION
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I sat outside the Holly tonight, waiting for 9 o'clock to roll around. Since Haven was busy watching The Bridge on the River Kwai in the dorm's media room, I decided to spend my free movie ticket on something that I wanted to do: see a movie. The movie they were playing: Angelina Jolie's latest popcorn paranoid thriller, Salt. From my experience, I do not want to watch it ever again in my entire life.
Sipping on my watered down Mr. Pibb, I kicked off my flip-flops, kicked my footpaws up, and sat back as I, in a semi-crowded theater room, watched as we are introduced to the pretty chaotic life of Evelyn Salt (who's been fed gasoline by North Koreans so she can be Communist or something) that turns not so chaotic and turns chaotic again (much like Lisa's hair when she and Johnny are gonna have some not-so-kinky sex) when some defector blames her of starting this conspiracy to kill the Russian president. Soon, she's on the run while flashbacks show her that she's pretty much Russian and that she's been schooled on how to be the best American while being the best double agent since that smarmy US agent from Marathon Man.
Normally, according to Ray Carney's theory of the pragmatic aesthetic (the story and its characters make the film, not its morals, technique, mise-en-scene, or directors), this is a perfect film, if not so perfect from an analytical point of view, but how I saw it, it was this poorly-conceived Cold War thriller (that seemed to be 25 years too late) with extremely poor plot execution (not giving the exposition except at the most random of parts and with that, muddling the exposition to the point where it is shoddily ambiguous) and over-the-top situations that Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner could not have survived in. How could Ray Carney not see this coming? Oh, wait. He was too busy bawling about Brian DePalma and Quentin Tarantino too long to be reminded of this.
I can't say anything else about this movie - why did I see it? I want to die, Mom. Heaven has better movies and plus, I get to see Orson Welles and Joseph Cotten.
Sipping on my watered down Mr. Pibb, I kicked off my flip-flops, kicked my footpaws up, and sat back as I, in a semi-crowded theater room, watched as we are introduced to the pretty chaotic life of Evelyn Salt (who's been fed gasoline by North Koreans so she can be Communist or something) that turns not so chaotic and turns chaotic again (much like Lisa's hair when she and Johnny are gonna have some not-so-kinky sex) when some defector blames her of starting this conspiracy to kill the Russian president. Soon, she's on the run while flashbacks show her that she's pretty much Russian and that she's been schooled on how to be the best American while being the best double agent since that smarmy US agent from Marathon Man.
Normally, according to Ray Carney's theory of the pragmatic aesthetic (the story and its characters make the film, not its morals, technique, mise-en-scene, or directors), this is a perfect film, if not so perfect from an analytical point of view, but how I saw it, it was this poorly-conceived Cold War thriller (that seemed to be 25 years too late) with extremely poor plot execution (not giving the exposition except at the most random of parts and with that, muddling the exposition to the point where it is shoddily ambiguous) and over-the-top situations that Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner could not have survived in. How could Ray Carney not see this coming? Oh, wait. He was too busy bawling about Brian DePalma and Quentin Tarantino too long to be reminded of this.
I can't say anything else about this movie - why did I see it? I want to die, Mom. Heaven has better movies and plus, I get to see Orson Welles and Joseph Cotten.
