Across the Universe Is a Bad Movie: A Review

I just wasted ten dollars, and I want it back.

If you couldn't tell by the title of this blog, or by the subtle-as-a-baseball-bat-with-nails-in-it opening line, I do not find Across the Universe (or "Across the Universe" or Across the Universe or however the balls a movie is supposed to be referenced in text form) to be worth a ten dollar admission fee. Or a *free* admission fee, for that matter. In fact, if I discover that any of you have spent any amount of money to have this pathetic excuse for a film forcibly eye-rape you, I reserve every right to perforate your upper and lower torso with whatever rusty objects happen to be nearby. In order to keep my brain running at a level that came *close* to knowing what the hell was going on, I had to divert energy from my right foot. This movie sucks so hard, it put my foot to sleep.

Alright, now that that's out of the system, let's get specific. Spoiler Alert; I don't give a damn about revealing whatever I need to in order to prevent another catastrophe like the one I just experienced.

First: The plot. Or lack thereof.
This is what I pieced together from my torture in the theatre: An English guy (Jude) takes a boat to the States to meet his father, an ex-marine who, while on leave in Liverpool, impregnated Jude's mom, either with or, more likely, without consent. After meeting his father, he meets some guy (Max) and, inexplicably, gets really drunk and decides to stay in America a while longer. Like, forever (side note: His plan is later ruined when he is kicked out of the country). It could have something to do with Max's hot sister (Lucy). What ensues is a strange, disjointed tale of love, loss, war, revolution, singing, drugs, and weird circus-mutants doing the splits. I'm being told that, in order to appreciate this movie, one needs to have an appreciation for the Beatles. That's one possible explanation, one with a surprising amount of merit. Another is that Across the Universe is a shitty movie.

Second: The characters.
At best, the characters in Across the Universe are annoying. Except for Lucy; she at least has her hottie status going for her (she's still annoying, mind you). At worst, the characters in Across the Universe are annoying/stupid/inane/fucking crazy enough to drive me to murder. Characters are introduced, then killed literally minutes later. This is probably supposed to convey some sort of message, but it was lost in translation. The translation to movie, from steaming pile o' shit.
Oh, and a bunch of the characters are hippies.

Third: The singing.
I'm not going to say that the singing itself in the movie was bad; far from it. The quality of the characters' voices is probably the movie's strongest point. Unfortunately, no matter how well the cast can sing, it doesn't change how atrocious the lyrics are, in some cases. Yes, I realize that a majority of the retarded lyrics come from Beatles songs, so I might be treading on the toes of many a fanboy out there, but come on. It doesn't matter how successful the Beatles were. Success doesn't make the words "I am the walrus, coo-coo ka-choo" make any more fucking sense. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN. For any of you that have not seen the movie in question, and are not fans of the Beatles, a character in the movie *does* actually sing this. With a straight face, and perfect confidence in how much (little) sense he is making. It's right before the gang gets off the psychedelic bus and meanders through a field home to all sorts of crazy carnival creatures. Tall blue dudes and shorter, tan-coloured dancing freaks abound. Oh, and they meet up with one of their friends (Prudence) who mysteriously disappeared, and just happened to show up in a place THREE THOUSAND MILES from where they were, and join the circus. The group is then magically transported back to New York, their place of origin.

Finally: The utter impracticality of it all.
About that Prudence chick: While the then-Prudence-free gang is hanging out in their apartment/condo/loft/whatever, Prudence comes in from the rain by CLIMBING THROUGH THE BATHROOM WINDOW, without being shot, stabbed, or otherwise murdered by the people living there. In NEW YORK, for Christ sake. She doesn't even get yelled at. Or, for that matter, questioned as to why the flying fuck she just clambered in through the window unannounced. These are things I would like to know, if a stranger decided to come in through my window, and then drip water on my floor. Jude, ever the gentleman, grabs Prude a towel. Take notes, kids: If a stranger climbs in through the window, don't ask why; just grab them a towel (substitute sandwich for towel if it's not raining).
Also, people sing while playing basketball. NO ONE sings while playing basketball. It's impossible, it's impractical, it's stupid. It's bad enough that we have to suffer through these amazing coincidences, but at least TRY to maintain some level of believability, eh?

In closing: Don't see this movie. Or rather, don't see this movie sober in any way. If you *must* go submit yourself to this atrocity, first grab twenty thousand dollars. Spend said twenty g's on assorted drugs. Place said drugs in a blender. Place said super drug-tonic in a syringe. Shoot up, and enjoy.
Alternately, mix ice in the blender with your drugs to make a flavourful beverage named "Overdosuccino".
Or, you know, you could just not go see the movie.

Old People Cannot Drive

If there are old people in your vicinity, give them time to vacate the room before reading this. Tell them Columbo reruns are on TV; that should get them out right-quick. Or just take their glasses, or whatever.

I'm sorry if there are any staunch advocates of elderly drivers reading, but old people are TERRIBLE AT DRIVING. Actually, I'm NOT sorry if there are any of you reading. If you so badly want to waste your time, why don't you save yourself a lot of trouble and just vote for the NDP or something.
Anyway, back to the old people thing.
Old people cannot drive. Period. And as such, they should not be ALLOWED to. After the age of 70, I don't care if you pass every test, I don't care if you have better vision than me. I am taking your license away. I will then taunt you by pretending to give it back, only to snatch it away from your liver-spotted, arthritis-ridden hand at the last moment. I'm looking forward to this being one of my few victories on this front; Where once I possessed the reflexes of a cat, I now have the reflexes of a cat that has been shot up with enough tranquilizer to take down a raging wildebeest.

Just the other day, I was on my way to work--which, as it turns out, I ended up being late for--when I came upon my old arch nemesis: a red light (not to be confused with my new arch nemesis: pants). I would have pulled all the way up to the stop line, however my progress was impeded by a strategically-placed old-man-driving-a-car. The first thing that struck me, a near-perfect driver, as strange about this man's choice of stopping area was that he was fully 4 feet--approximately one midget--away from the curb, nearly over the dividing white line between right- and left-turn lanes. For my Milton readers: we were stopped on Wilson, coming up to Main street.
I let this pass without too much worry. This was Milton, after all; home of some of the worst drivers known to mankind.

What did get me worrying, however, was that even when no oncoming traffic could be seen, this person did not step on the gas pedal. After about 30 seconds of waiting, toying with the idea of smashing on the horn and waking this jackass up, an oncoming car slowly ambled up to the stop line, choosing not to run through the now-yellow light. I figured that the driver ahead of me was simply being very, very cautious. Or perhaps the law about right turns on red had been changed when I wasn't looking.

When, a full minute after our light had turned green and no movement was forthcoming from the car ahead, I officially started believing that he was dead. Then I noticed the passenger looking around, as if gauging the speed of the oncoming traffic. It took quite awhile for her to come up with "zero miles per hour". To be fair, she didn't have a calculator.

After confirming to myself that no, the law about right turns on GREEN had not been changed while I was asleep, I lost all patience and beat my horn like it owed me money. The driver finally began to lurch forward at a painfully slow pace, looking, in all honesty, as though he was going to head straight (which, for those of you who aren't familiar with the intersection in question, would lead him directly into a curb, followed by a sidewalk, followed by a field, followed by a scenic view of Rona, followed by train tracks). Finally, when it seemed all hope was lost, the vehicle swung right (and ending up in the wrong lane, but I'll let that one slide). I gunned it, turning 'round the corner and accelerating like a madman. In the process of passing the incompetent driver's car, I glanced over and saw a couple who must have been at least a thousand years old. I'm sure that if you added their ages together they would be older than time itself, at least.
Then I rolled down the window and flipped them the bird.
I don't care how old you are; being flipped the bird is the universal punishment for incompetent driving.

The worst part of this story, however, I have already mentioned: that jackass made me late for work.

So, in conclusion, the next time you see an old person reaching for car keys, do the right thing: don't think. Strike.
Failing that, I'm sure the Columbo thing would work in this case too.