The Unenthusiastic Critic—my reluctant wife—returns for her first viewing of Robert Aldrich's macabre camp classic.
"'If you can paint, I can walk.' Well, he can't paint. And, by the way, that's not how science works, bitch!"
"Santa, just get your moody ass up and do your job! It's your job!"
Because when you fall in love with a movie-geek, this is what you get…
"Don't show me shit like this anymore. Seriously, don't do this."
"They’re hanging umbilical cords on trees. This is where you get back on your plane and let these people do whatever the fuck they want to do."
"At least pick up something to hit somebody with! I mean, white people live there: there's gotta be a golf club somewhere!"
"Let’s be real. You can’t detach this nostalgia and romanticizing of this entire civilization from the fact that it was born on the back of chattel slavery. So to ignore this whole piece of the narrative, and create this idea that you are the oppressed people is just disgusting."
"I’m not doing this. In the time it would take to watch this movie, the polar icecaps would be melting further, and we could all end up dying in a flood. And my last activity on this earth would be watching Gone with the Fucking Wind. And it would be your fault."
"So I think I’ve always just put Blade Runner in that Waterworld, Thunderdome type of movie genre, where people are fighting wars over pee, or using pee as water, or whatever. I don’t know."