Independence Day: Resurgence Is The Worst Movie Ever Made

Ah, why, did you, you, see this, ah, terrible movie?

Ah, why, did you, you, see this, ah, terrible movie?

Independence Day: Resurgence is the single worst movie I have ever seen in my entire life, and the only reason I’m mad about it being a flop is because this means I have no one to talk through the pain with.

“But Libby,” you might say, wise reader that you are. “You knew it was going to be stupid. Why did you go see it?”

The same reason everyone goes to the movies in the summer: Air conditioning.

You see, it’s about 700 degrees in the second floor walk-up apartment Ian & I call home, with 200 percent humidity, and that’s with two fans running.  It is too hot to eat.  Too muggy to sleep.  There was one escape, and that was to the movies.

You must understand one thing about me–I LOVE Independence Day because I love Bill Pullman, Jeff Goldblum and the 4th of July.  Before work got in the way, we used to have extravagant 4th of July parties, with Fizzball, a potluck dinner and an annual viewing of the film (with Rifftrax, obviously).  I gave President Whitmore’s iconic speech at my friend Eeon’s wedding and he gave it at mine.

I’ve stepped away from movie reviews of late, but I have to share this one. Otherwise, it will eat my soul.  There are some spoilers in here, but who are you kidding, you’re not going to see this crap-pile anyways.

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Sin City: A Dame To Kill For

Plastic Clive Owen is a better Dwight than Josh Brolin could ever hope to be.

Plastic Clive Owen is a better Dwight than Josh Brolin could ever hope to be.

Tonight I will do the exceptionally stupid.

Tonight I will watch Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For.

Yes, again.

Let me explain:

I’ve spoken before about how Sin City is one of the most important films of my 20s.  But the story I don’t often tell is this.

A Dame to Kill For got my friend Jason & I back together.

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Why I Don’t Leave Negative Reviews

Pictured: The Internet

Pictured: The Internet

I have friends that leave reviews constantly.  Liked the restaurant we ate at? Write a review on Yelp.  Hated the movie we saw?   A full rant is up on Facebook that night.

The phrase “Everyone’s a Critic” has never been truer.  Between Amazon and Yelp and, I dunno, MoviePoopShoot, everyone can tell you exactly what they think about everything.   Especially when we hate something.  Then we cannot shut up about it.

Me, I’m opting out.  I am no longer leaving bad reviews.

For me, writing a bad review is bossy.  It’s saying, “I’ve decided, in my infinite wisdom, that no one else should like this book/bar/movie/album because it did not please me.”  But tastes are subjective, and people have every right in the whole world to enjoy Ready Player One or The Force Awakens, even if I didn’t.

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On Writing “Rough Night in Little Toke”

61mfW7jxH8L._SX326_BO1,204,203,200_You kids, with your fancy animes and your Crackles and your CrunchyRolls, you don’t know how hard the rest of us used to have it!  Back in my day, we had to get anime from a CATALOG.  Specifically, the Viz catalog, which arrived every so often (quarterly, perhaps?) at my house on Park Place.  It was a happy day when it arrived, filled with treats from far-off Japan, Ranma 1/2 and  Akira and manga, so much manga, plus a lot of filthy stuff that came with a big fat NOT FOR KIDS bar across it.

I devoured that catalog.  This was back when anime came in clamshell VHS cases, 2, maybe 3 episodes at a time.  And that shit was NOT cheap — I think I paid about $30 for All Purpose Cultural Cat Girl Nuku-Nuku, my first anime (purchased from Tower Records).  Years later, I would buy the entire series on DVD for $6.  Times have changed.

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On Missing Girls & Why I Can’t Listen to Eric Clapton

The Back to the Future soundtrack is the sound of happiness.  If you don’t love “The Power of Love” than you are an inhuman monster and we have nothing to talk about.

But on a weirder, darker note, I can’t listen to Eric Clapton’s “Heaven is One Step Away,” on the A-side.  It’s a halfway decent song (I’m not a huge Clapton fan anyways) but it’s linked in my brain, the way that music gets, with two tragedies.  The first, knowing about Clapton’s son Conor, who died in a fall from a window and was the inspiration for “Tears in Heaven,” a song that I feel bad for deeply hating.  The second is an incident that had a fundamental impact on my life, one that has stayed with me well into adulthood.

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A Think-Piece for Future Day

Christopher Lloyd Back To The Future

About a year ago, I had to admit to myself what I always secretly knew was true — that for as much as I loved Star Wars as a kid, Back to the Future was my pick for the Greatest Trilogy of All Time.  It wasn’t an easy thing to confess; much of my teens had been devoted to obsessive Star Wars fandom.  I fell in love with my first boyfriend because he too loved Star Wars, back before Force Day, back when you had to special order Star Wars Insider and hope to find old figures at a garage sale.

But that relationship ended and he got Star Wars in the breakup.  It seemed too childish to me, too goofy when I watched it and remembered the endless scenarios my sister Hilary & I would create in our backyard.  It was a part of my life I could remember fondly, but I just don’t care to continue fawning over the same way I don’t collect Pokemon toys or dress in goth clothes.  If I do see the new one, it’ll be because friends wanted to go, and it certainly won’t be opening night.  I’m just not that fan anymore.

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De-Stem Your Prose: Writing Advice from SIDEWAYS

“They didn’t de-stem, hoping for some semblance of concentration, crushed it up with leaves and mice, and then wound up with this rancid tar and turpentine bullshit.” Miles  (Paul Giamatti) Sideways.

This is my favorite way to describe over-wrought prose.  Back in college, writing “leaves and sticks and mice” in the margins was a shorthand among my friends to cool it on the adverbs and get back to the action.  Too many writers use miles and miles of description to give their story some semblance of depth, when in reality, the character has spent the first three pages getting dressed.   Yes, description is important, but leaves and sticks and mice do not good wine make.

(A variation on this comes via Nick Mamatas, genius; “I’ve seen more first pages ruined by socks and coffee than I care to count.”)

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