Friday found us staying in and watching a movie, the latest box office catastrophe perpetrated by Mr. John Woo, Paycheck. A most ironic title for a movie based yet again on a Philip K. Dick story, who himself spent a large part of his life searching for same.
Slopped by
sarcasmus
at
1:24 PM
“…it’s hard to resist your own substance, you’d like to stop all this, give yourself time to think about it and listen without difficulty to your heartbeat, but it’s too late for that. This thing can never stop. This enormous steel box is on a collision course; we, inside it, are whirling madly with the machines and the Earth. All together, along with the thousands of little wheels and hammers that never strike at the same time, that make noises which shatter one another, some so violent that they release a kind of silence around them, which makes you feel a little better. You give into noise as you give in to war. As the machines you let yourself go with the two three ideas that are wobbling about at the top of your head. And that’s the end. From then on everything you look at, everything you touch is hard. And everything you still manage to remember more or less becomes as rigid as iron and loses its savor in your thoughts.” Celine, Journey to the End of the Night
“It’s not that I like the empire—I hate it—but there’s nothing I can do about it right now.” Luke Skywalker, Star Wars
1 comment:
Actually, Paycheck is pretty good in its way. Not quite enough humour or terror to actually seem like a Dick fiction, but Ben Whatsishead is enough of a doofus to be one of the Horselover's protagonists, unlike, say, Tom Cruise. Harrison did OK, by being a clever-but-outclassed dumbass, but lacking that kind of real acting, I'll settle for Affleck everyschmucking. Though the car chase is a bit much.
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