Tuesday, March 02, 2010

Watch "Informant" and then take a good shit

(some plot spoilers)

Watching a brilliant actor portray pathology would be like watching a top athlete carry a licey bum through 3 miles of a leech-infested swamp.

It is a waste, a moral debacle. It is not art; it is cinema realite, European-style, scrounging up the worst in humans and splattering it upon a screen.

Such is the case with Matt Damon and the wretched "Informant," a movie about a pathological liar who ostensively is informing on the corrupt activity of his bosses but is instead about the maniacal self-delusion of a man who knows not what he does or why he does it -- for attention perhaps, but who knows? He's not the man on the white horse of earlier cinema. He's Quasimodo hurling shitballs from the flying buttresses of Notre Dame. He's incapable of telling the truth, incapable of a moment's sincerity, incapable of immersing himself in the connective tissue of reality and other people.

Damon is riveting and pathetic, a man caught in the abysmal gray fog of personal anonymity, perplexed by his own charade, causing perplexity in the few moral people around him, zipping through an infinitely twisted mental labyrinth of confused motivation and deceit with the purposeless inner dialog of the idiot savant.

Some reviewers of the movie have called Damon's character "bi-polar." No, he is modern, utterly confused with his own self-identity, amoral, narcissistic, entangled far down the jungle path of his own escapism and reeking destruction, confusion and mayhem upon the people who bravely deal with the real world.

As if the plot and drama of "The Informant" weren't abominable enough, we viewers are subjected to the simplistic device of voiceover, or inner dialog, that only a few movies in cinematic history have executed with any good effect (namely "Blade Runner" and a few others). It is "Catcher in the Rye" on steroids.

Here's one such nugget from Damon's character, who spouted 10 or more such meaningless nuggets throughout:

"When polar bears hunt, they crouch down by a hole in the ice and wait for a seal to pop up. They keep one paw over their nose so that they blend in. Cuz’ they’ve got those black noses. They’d blend in perfectly if not for the nose...

So the question is. How do they know their noses are black? From looking at other polar bears? Do they see their reflections in the water? And think, “I’d be invisible if not for that.” That seems like a lot of thinking for a bear."

OK, if you're high, sitting with friends and one of you comes up with this little insight, it's really funny. But the obvious purpose of this *during a movie* about a freight-training pathological liar is to highlight his disease, which, of course, is what this movie is all about (except the writer's own self-conscious Leftist attempt at cleverness). It's the lowest common denominator in art, the modern "empathy" for psychosis, the Leftist Hollywood projection of its inner turmoil and alleged superiority to hoi polloi.

The canvas equivalent of this putrescence is a neon pile of colorful shit. "Yes, yes, isn't it interesting how the purple dung segues easily, mellifluously, into the yellow worms feasting? Brilliant!"

Don't watch "The Informant." If you do, cleanse yourself. Take a good shit and then drink a glass of palette-refreshing wine.

Oh, and by the way, Damon is one of Hollywood's most vocal Leftists.

So FUCK YOU, Damon!

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