July 22nd, 2002

Carravaggio

confessions of a biehn addict


Hidey ho. Happiness is a fistful of videos from the Michael Biehn ouvre. And weren't the co-workers so amused at my girly squeals when I rang up the vid shop and found out they had, or allegedly had, some of the vids on my hit list. Twas shocking day on Friday but I scored a biscuit, two choccie bars and a tazzo (of naked Homer, now firmly attached to my fuzzy wall at work), just to cheer me up, and it worked.

I should probably be doing something more with my life than sitting around watching bad Michael Biehn movies, but I just can't think what. Especially as I've not had a weekend off in ages, an almost totally slobby couch tuber weekend, and, fuck, it was fun.

First up was actually the other Michael, Mr Rosenbaum. I dug out my copy of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil because I could not, for the life of me, remember him in it. I was watching it to work up to watching MB playing sexy white trash in Mojave Moon, and I forgotten Jude was sexy white trash in this one. Jude was always playing trash in his youth. Ah, those were the days. You just have to watch Jude in this flick and see how easily it was to slide into Spike-dom. What is with my bad white trash boy fetish? Maybe because I grew up with lads like that. Ah, they're all probably in prison now. Anyways, I actually enjoyed the movie a lot more this viewing, no doubt as I'm not quite so bothered by freaky weird Americans any more (giggle). MR played the tiny, tiny role of Jude's gay mate. One of these days I'll see MR play somebody entirely straight. One of these days.J

Alas the dreaded lurgy caught up with me again so I went to bed early (I'd spent several long hours in the backyard feeding the birds so there wasn't an afternoon session anyway) to have fretful fever dreams of html coding and work stuff. So I woke up and watched Mojave Moon. That did the trick. Very happy MB dreams after that. Oh yeah JJJ. If he snogs like that in real life, somebody is very happy J. Mojave Moon is exactly like a bad 80s Australian movie, and the director was Australian, so that tracks. If you ever want to know what an avocado farm film is, ie a film so bad it's written off as a tax loss, deliberately so, then look no further. MB is supposed to be playing a complete whack job but alas the lad doesn't know just being himself is usually psycho enough so we get one of his worst ever performances. He's end of the pier panto bad, but so damn fucking hot that I watched his bits several times over. I'm so shameless. So sad that his vintage years were wasted on bum fluff like this (more on Michael's bum fluff later J).

Next up was Jade, trying very hard to be 90s noir and pretty much suceeding, except David Caruso really can't carry the film. He lacks a certain screen holding gravitas. I think at the time it was supposed to be wicked naughty but these days it's tamer than anything you'd see on Buffy. My boy showed up wearing scary cardigan like jumpers. Much squealing in horror. He looked like Sam Neill, and Sam really ought to lay off the cardys if that's the first thought that popped into my head. Worse, his character seemed to have only the one naff jumper, so either he only had the one dreadful grey/blue jumper, or a whole wardrobe full of them. He only showed up in a navy one later as a visual cue that he was a Bad Cop. Hello, plot clue about to be hammered home as my boy's wardrobe gets progressively darker, climaxing in black leather (yum). MB redeemed himself by walking over to the filing cabinet to fetch something. Oh baby, work it. There was also a hello Michael moment when he got up from the briefing table. Was that? I rewound the tape and yes, there it was, wonderfully lit by the streaming sunlight. How sick am I but then they did a zoom in on DC's puptent of joy in a later scene so maybe it was a deliberate part of the scene, like the porno evidence he was reviewing was really working for him. Whatever, I'll just sit here and do my trig calculations J. Of course, being a Bad Cop he gets taken out in the end in a rather good death scene, at least, MB down on all floors looking wild and bloodied with that gold cross swinging from his neck was working for me. Note: in 3/4 films MB's character bit the big one. He has the worst character mortality of all my boys. Only Jude Law & Sean Bean come close.

Next up: The Seventh Sign. It has been decades since I've seen this flick. Saw it in the cinema and everything, sad bitch that I am. Again with the scary jumpers but it's the 80s so I must forgive him those and the Miami Vice suits. He's so young and purty, especially when bathed in heavenly light at the end. AND, his character desn't kick it. Nope, it's Demi Moore who mercifully goes into that good night this time. I was going to rent the Seventh Sign a while back when I was riffing bits for a Wes fic, but decided just to use my fuzzy memories instead, less plagarism, more homage that way. They were going on about all the sings of the apocalypse, blah blah woof woof but when they got up to the bit about the sparrows vanishing it spooked me a bit because all the sparrows have gone, not just from my backyard, but from every city in the world. See:
Silent warning? Sparrows are vanishing throughout Great Britain
. Freaky.

Okay, back to my boy as a Bad Cop in Conumdrum, sent to me by a dear and generous yet anonymous friend in the UK. Thank you! Lots of pervey eye candy to behold - and how! Not needing to use my imagination quite so much now thanks to the lovely soft porn bit in the middle of the movie. Oh Michael, just as nice sans trews, I see. And I think the peach jumper from Seventh Sign makes another inexplicable appearance. Oh dear. Still, not bad for a telly movie, lots of Michael doing a competent job, though I think his shocked look needs work, although his character wasn't really shocked so maybe that's the way he was playing it. I liked the drunk, unhappy and sexy scenes as well as the bad arse bad cop scenes. Nobody does it better, well, actually Sean Bean does but I'm watching Michael this week J. It was vaguely amusing to seem him tooling around what I think was Vancouver to the old Mark Snow X Files music. I kept expecting fluke man to turn up J.

Then it was over to the ABC for The Way We Live Now starring young Matthew Macfadyen, an actor I first spied in Warriors. I predict a few big Hollywood flicks in that boy's future, and soon (and, hey, I've got an eye for horse flesh). So, that was my weekend. Now for the boring worky bits of my life. Sigh. Still, I had fun, even if, according to the newspapers, preferring to curl up by onesself and watching favourite videos again and again screams Asperger's syndrome. All well and good, doesn't get people cutting me any slack though, which makes weekends alone with the tv (friend, teacher, not-so-secret lover, to paraphrase Homer) even more appealing. Feh. Enough about real life. Memories of MB dreams are going to get me through today, I hope. I have nasty projects to finish (I did get some fun fic writing in on the weekend though. Lots of Chris scenes, funnily enough). Heh, They're playing Sexy Boy by Air again on triplej. Excuse me while I drool over the one pic of my lad I brought with me today, as a talisman.

Ha! Just found up I didn't stuff up last week. Twas evil Dept using non compatible software that did the deed. It's all fixed now, including my battered self esteem - male manager tore strips off me and I don't deal with that, at all. Speaking of self esteem, aside from the mention in Film Review, I also scored a mention in the letters pages in SFX #93. This pleases me, not for my own personal glory (far from it) but to have off site archive proof that I existed. You see, after my Dad died mother destroyed all evidence of his existence in the house and his work was buried or credited to others, and much the same started to happen to me - most distressing. My web sites can be deleted and my notebooks burned, but a mention in a British magazine or two, well, there's proof I was here, small and ecclectic though it maybe.

Just went and blew a bomb on a new skirt for the weekend. I know what you're thinking: didn't she pay $100 for a skirt to wear to these parties just a few months ago. Uh huh. And the fucker fell apart the other Sunday, thus flashing my faded pink cottontails to the CBD. What a treat. My fave shirt has also decided to suddenly unravel so I was sans party frock, and well, I couldn't have that. Besides, it's so very pretty, it actually fitted and it was on the right side of $100, though as I had to buy a new shirt I guess the outfit it gonna go over that. Man, these weekends are expensive. Nice break from the office though. I'm feeling restless today, probably because I'm feeling a bit better, and I amused myself so over the weekend. Yes, I realise I never mentioned the plot in any of poor Mikey's movies once. Not once. Plot, what plot? Like, who's watching for the plot? And in half of them, would you really want to be?


 

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