Inglorious Basterds

I saw Inglorious Basterds a few weeks ago. It was good. Really good. Edge-of-the-seat-gripping good. Quentin Tarantino can just do things with a camera and two actors in a room that give me chills, that make me laugh with delight at the wonder of their construction. The symbolism in this film was absurd, abstract, fantastic. (In one scene, my brain kept shouting, "Why is there cream?! What does the cigarette mean?" I have a fully-formed hypothesis on dairy, whiteness, and parallelism [the first and last scenes, although completely different, have excessive parallelism], but don't want to spoil it for you.)

Most movies are a little formulaic and predictable. This man has an unexpected style -- I never know what is going to happen next. I am often surprised (especially given Tarantino's predilection for extreme violence).

Go see it.


This post's theme word: rhubarb, "a heated dispute; a brawl." Delightful! Unexpected! Symbolic?

Punkin ale

That is not a typo.Yet another in my delightful exploratory series, "Alcohol Inexplicably Named After Animals It Does Not Taste Like."

I wish they made pumpkin ales year-round.


This post's theme word: cacography, "bad handwriting" or "incorrect spelling."