Jarret's Frank Film Forum Reloaded

April 11, 2012: Many of you still write asking that I reinvigorate one of the Blah-ugh!'s most talked about features -- Jarret's FFF (or Frank Film Forum). As part of my ongoing pathological effort to make others happy, despite how much it drains me, once again I demurely succomb in a fruitless effort to please and make new friends (who STILL won't plug SPACE CASE, no matter how often I ask them).

Heavy-breathing readers will remember my concentrated analyses of such cinematic variables as Catherine Zeta-Jones's precarious dancing ability, Sean Connery's symmetrical chest hair, and of course Anne Hathaway's inability to act altogether. Toward that end, while I don't have one specific movie I'd like to laud or skewer at this time, I thought I'd catch you up on a few of my most recent filmagraphilogical experientialia.

To begin with, if you've never seen "Death Wish V: The Face of Death," you're closing yourself off from one of the more remarkable offerings in viewing pleasure (and I'm not just talking about the breast scenes). I won't directly speak to the production quality, directing or acting -- although the great Lesley-Anne Down (or is it Lesley Anne-Down?) holds her own -- hands down (or is it hands-down?), and Robert Joy takes a vibrant turn as the demented Freddie 'Flakes,' and appears far more comfortable in drag than I ever could.

More importantly, this is a movie that satisfies on a gut level, especially when bad guy Tommy O'Shea is thrown into a vat of what is either fabric softener or lye, and sizzles to death. Charles Bronson, who plays the legendary Paul Kersey, is clearly exhausted by the role -- he delivers his lines like he's ordering Chinese take-out at Wong Fu's -- yet his stone-carved face -- like a cigar store indian at a poker game -- does most of the acting for him, especially when he actually manages to visibly move a feature (like in the remarkable scene toward the end when he blinks).

All in all, this was a most enjoyable watch, and provided me with all the kinetic film satisfaction of rubbing a double-chocolate brownie on top of my head.

Another recent return to movie magic was my ninth viewing of "The Matrix," which I love very much, even though some of the acting is highly suspect -- I mean, what's with that guy Mouse?! And, of course, Keanu Reeves would be the first to rip his own precarious stylizations, which make even his most intense, intelligent and multi-faceted characters turn into benign California surfer dudes (NOTE: he's still in some of my all-time favorite movies, including "The Devil's Advocate" and "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure," and I love him dearly.)

But what a great movie is "The Matrix," beginning with the fact that it's all bathed in green. (I love green, and I especially love when people and foods are green, unless they're supposed to be green, or it's envy-related green, in the case of some people, and certain vegetables.) The best scene, of course, is the kung-fu fight, with that awesome music, but my favorite shot will always be the sexy Carrie-Anne Moss (or is it Carrie Anne-Moss?) elf-like in mid-air before she karates everyone and goes running around the side of the walls like a Bugs Bunny cartoon character ...

Needless to say, the two sequels were rotten, but I didn't see them in the theater, so maybe that might have helped make them better. (Although we both know it wouldn't have.)

Speaking of which, I rarely get to movie theaters these days. I used to think it was because I didn't have time -- (what with marketing SPACE CASE, my new alternative experiment in quality fiction, which still could experience the runaway success of that new movie with the kids who kill each other, providing my hapless "friends" start doing THEIR job and talk up the stupid thing! (I want that review, Holly!)) ...

But truth-be-told, I really can't stand sitting next to people in public places (let alone private places). I simply won't go to a movie or theater if I can't have an aisle seat to begin with. Worse, being cramped near strangers (or friends, for that matter) just gives me the heebie-jeebies. (Blame my mother, if you must, who taught me the myriad cautions relating to soiled humanity.)
So I'm more than happy to stay at home, open up a can of Clamato, and watch an uninterrupted (albeit skipping) DVD of my next film, wherein I can pause during naked shots (like in "Death Wish V: The Face of Death") and savor the quality.

Once again, I see I've gone on too long, so I'll put off the rest of this until later ... On a separate note, a special thanks goes out to all the daring individuals who took the time to offer support to this debacle I call SPACE CASE via FB.

Remember -- without your ongoing support, I'd be nothing, and I'm not even that much WITH your support, so imagine how important you are to me! God go with you, but moreso with me ...