윤

I swear I’ve had this dream before, and by scaring myself awake with it, my subconscious was just reminding myself to cover up again. A strange woman had us cornered in a room with an axe, but I only pretended to be restrained; when she was convinced, I jumped her, took the weapon from her hands and returned it to her forehead. She hobbled into the street before collapsing and alerting her mates that we had escaped. A White jeep drove up and mine boarded, but I was late joining them and seemed bound for recapture or worse when my savior appeared (right on schedule) and heroically held them off for me. He gunned them down as they emerged from a doorway, grenaded the entrance, before falling himself. It had bought me some time, but was it enough?

Here are stories (now with descriptions, in case the links go down) of a dog-owner who also had Homer’s book of Canine Surgery and another—presumably not the same one, although that’d be hilarious—who shot back, on the same day I read this mini-series I somehow missed during my year off. Must’ve dismissed it because I never did finish Watership Down or the Secret of NIMH even earlier in my youth. Critics who nevertheless put it on their best-of-the-decade lists have bemoaned its brevity, lasting about as long as a Chipotle burrito, but I think any more and it would’ve overstayed the premise and diluted its impact. The shrapnel-like scenes of carnage can’t possibly be done justice in other media. Prove me wrong, Ralph Bakshi, prove me wrong!

[Thanks to my new Superfriends lunch gang at work, I’ve come up with details to flesh out my premise for that SVU-based fanfic to parallel my own, ah, rich life experience.]

In the criminal justice system, sexually-based offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories.

BENSON: You’re gonna love this, Elliot. Second case in the past two seaso—years. Victim is an Asian male, age indeterminate (between the dyed hair and the comic books on his shelves), found cold in front of a videogame.
STABLER: So he played until he died, I’ve heard that’s happening a lot lately.
WARNER: Yes, but that smell of urine from his pants? Usually these hardcore players at least keep a bucket handy. His pants are stained from it, but the floor’s clean. And his hands may be placed on the keyboard now, but roll up the sleeves, those ligature marks indicate that they’ve been bound recently. This man probably died elsewhere, and was moved here.
FIN: Seems all this online gaming stuff is just openin’ up whole new worlds for people to kill each other over.

[Opening credits. Break for commercial.]

I would so watch an episode of 老婆’s Taiwanese travel show if the comely gals had to sit through TGP and Machine Girl like I did this weekend. Probably cure them of their Japanophilia, real quick. I suppose with a history of チャンバラ, the hacking and goring are within cultural norms, if you can call them that, and this is surely just the 特撮 genre taken to the next level. One apparently on a ladder of psychological development where you sympathize with the grotesque Power Ranger villains and don’t recognize any censorship standards.

OldBoy blew me away and forever changed my impression of Korean cinema as overacted tear-jerkers (from all the overacted tear-jerkers Brown students used to screen for the community), so it wasn’t gonna happen again, but damn if their industry hasn’t gone insane. 추격자 makes last year’s serial-murderer drama H.I.T look like Hannah Montana, and is truly, finally, an evolution from Taxi Driver. It’s gonna be hard to watch The Dark Knight again after this.