By: Iris P. Concepcion
There are at least three Hollywood films currently showing that bear watching if only for their content value (Gulliver's Travels, Fockers, The Tourist).
I am a fan of this franchise film since Robert de Niro and Dustin Hoffman pit each other's acting skills like you would two giants grabbing a lone planet circling around a stage. De Niro's Santa spiel and Hoffman's flamenco drift are equally hilarious.
It is also worth mentioning that I have enjoyed movie advertisements (for phones) better than the spate of trailers during this screening. They are salaciously cunning and understated.
Ben Stiller is one of my all-time favorite comedians: that dorky but cutting spiels. He has a deadpan motion onto himself that I could not exactly pinpoint where he excavates from. He delivers lines like a goofy sage. He does not come out fake nor manufactured. Seldom would laughing clowns comment on social conditions without coming too stand-offish; Stiller does this even when sleepwalking. He is brilliant and romantic and nerdy and perfect for this package of film rundown.
I enjoin film buffs to view this film if only to reacquaint ourselves with the beauty of having Moms, of having a normal family, of appreciating the innate goodness of people.
Try your luck; thespians of the world stage might just give you a peekaboo straight from a smiley chair.
Yes, I love Greg Focker. There is something Mary-ish about him. And he wants to have babies, tutoring himself about parenthood and pregnancy. Better than lounging in nocturnal places huh.
Forget the last sentence.I want to write like a mainstream beast.
I never knew John Irving was in town. He was looking for a location where kids are the circus performers.
He could try the tots here. They have suddenly developed communal fever. They are barfing like ferris wheel of cold, mumps, chicken pox, hiccups and perhaps, leprosy. the worst part of it all, they are freaking mad. The youngest removed her right slipper and whacked it into a pool of her sibling's newly-produced mouth cesspool. The slime got stuck into its sole. She said: "Wala na!"
True enough, the barf disappeared. This, while she is coughing like a lunie.
There is a way to give them medicine. Their fever subsided; they are speaking in tongues and they are already cutting papers, wearing crowns, oversized shirts and slapping each other's faces. They are chaotic as hell and if you think they could not change the face of the world in the future, think again.
The little tot will find a cure to stop this barfing; the crazy one will keep on megging; the rest shall just continually nag their mother to produce another baby that they could kick in the butt, again.
I think they would be wrestlers. or muscle curators. Or boob peepers. Or professional mud lovers.
What I know of is they speak forth the truth; they are funny as hell and they do not turn their revenge into personal vendettas. They, instead, construct skycrapers, busting bad men's balls and turning this world into a more buoyant and bouncing world.
"Thy lover's middle name is mean." ----Indelible Curious on Gamma Metamorphosis.