“Grizzly Man”: I vote Grizzly
Basically, fuck that guy.
Well, I don’t really review current movies because blog reviews are an arena for unabashed popularity whores, but there are a few movies that present themselves with a certain serendipity. In the spirit of my “Drunken Show Reports,” I bring you the “Obsolete Movie Reviews.”
Obsolete Movie Review #1: Grizzly Man or Three Hours of TV That Thickened My Bile and Armored My Balls
Oh God, how do I start with this display of nauseating delusion? Must I recap the the premise and narrative of this documentary? Ok… Soft headed, fame-seeking, failed actor with boundless enthusiasm and unwarranted confidence in his own judgement styles his own crusade for the grizzly bears of Kodiak Island. Nutmonkey of the first party breaks every rule of the Forest Service, every experientially evolved tenet of the aboriginals and every last instinctual vestige of common sense left in our pathetic species. He films it all for posterity; supposed documentation of his “research” and a perfect example of his pathological self-importance and our cultures ridiculous, egotistical, self-documenting skew.
There, that wasn’t too hard actually… Oh! Nutmonkey of the first party and his girlfriend get ripped to smithereens, pounded to mush and eaten by a bear that has no appreciation for our hero’s meta-philosophy and valiant struggle. Essentially, the bear just acts like a bear and gives Werner Herzog’s film a good ending.
For the time being, lets just assume that y’all have seen the film and this is critique rather than a “thumbs up, thumbs down” recap to help structure your leisure time at the mall. In the spirit of brevity and sidestepping well traveled ground, let me just spew on the major items of outrage.
- His whole life with the bears is an exercise in negation: every claim to stewardship, “protection” “loving” and “communicating”with his “friends” the bears is shallow, self aggrandizing shit. He insists on extending a human model of feelings to another species. Displaying no real grasp of the motherfucking food chain and the incontrovertible self assertions of the wild – its truths are not up for discussion or a vote! – nutmonkey takes a giant crap on the ecology and wilderness movements of which he claims to be a part.
- Not every forest service regulation is infinitely wise (just check out the log-lease arrangements made in the last century), but he ignores the basic rules about camp relocation and environmental impact, not to mention some of the basic proximity rules made for the protection of both man and bear. Fuck with the bull and you will get the horns, asshole.
- Why is everyone avoiding saying that he got exactly what he deserved?! “Oh I’m not saying that he deserved what happened to him…” Our society seems hellbent on shielding everyone and everything from basic consequence: institutionalizing incompetence and criminality, sanitizing childhood, safety proofing everything, endlessly seeking remonstration judiciated and mitigated by the courts, everyone insisting on “rights” guaranteed by some nonexistent benevolent authority… FUUUUUUUCCKKKK!!!!
Defend yourself, shithead!
Get on your feet and stay there! [“There is no fault but ones own.” – g. suave]
Get shot by a sniper: that’s just the cruelty of chance (probably).
Step into the street and get run over by a car: Hey, it was _you_ that decided not to look both ways. Here at Grouchosuave Industries we are big fans of consequence. Nutmonkey got off easy for all his stupidities. Hail Darwin!
- Guess what followed Grizzly Man on the tube…
A: One of those ‘I Was Attacked by a Varmint and Lived’ shows or, as I called it: “I Can’t Believe I’m Not Mountain Lion Butt-Margarine.”
Like insult to injury, American TV piled idiocy on top of hubris. Unsuspecting Canadians were being atacked by cougars while innocently walking their dogs on deserted fire roads. Barbecuing townhouse families were molested by coyotes who dared inhabit their own habitat. Every narrative bending over backwards to laud the valor of the attacked. Every example, in truth, displayed only the sheer luck (cougar missed the jugular by just a centimeter– etc.) or demonstrated the value of someone ELSE nearby who was better prepared with a rifle or a brain who then chased the critter off.
The capper: Alligator “attacks” human on Australian tourist boat.
Sittin’ on the couch with the FieldMarshall in GSuave Industries HQ, what did we witness next? Evidently, tour boats cruise around gator territory armored with high guardrails, the panels made of clear plastic so as to clearly see the ensuing bullshit; The S.S. Asshole steaming up on some pack of gators so tourists can then tease the gators with meat on a string.
This was too much. Action! was required to correct this grotesquerie; a bunch of dumb lardasses teasing an evolutionary marvel – a veritable survival masterpiece that vastly predates our own species… A wicked powerhouse, a model of vicious perfection proven by sheer longevity being taunted by a bunch of muttonheads that can barely operate their spinal columns.
We little valiant and outraged stewards of decency quickly formulated a plan to right this wrong.
We would train the alligators into a swift and effective fighting force:
Squads and brigades. An adaptive, stalwart phalanx armed with some real firepower that we would adapt to their body types.
In the above story, there was one renowned gator they loved to fuck with – a huge guy, a battleship of a carnivore. For the big guy, “The General”, I quickly sketched plans to install on his back a modified German ’88’ , the famed Krupps artillery piece of the Third Reich. Good enough for Hitler’s Panzerkorps – good enough for us and our gator comrades.
But how to subdue the cranky fucker long enough to install our giant leap forward in alligator technology?
I determined that it would take nothing less than the “Heroin Bat”: 42″ maple baseball bat studded with couple dozen 16 penny nails, each tip dipped in heroin paste.
I love it when a plan comes together.
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P.S. Oh . my. God.
As of today, we saw that our new neighbors that have just moved into the warehouse unit next door are accoutered with 3 or more useless little yip dogs. Ohhhh Lawd! When will this evolutionary clusterfuck end?!
“FieldMarshall! Hand me the Heroin Bat!”
- …cuz I need a laugh