So I saw Thor with my stupid friends

My friends aren't actually all that stupid. They can walk around and talk and things, dress themselves, exist and not get hit by cars (yet, knock on wood), and that makes them more intelligent than most labrador retreivers.

So, when the call came to see "Thor," I, considering myself to be a fairly decently well cultured and discerning labrador retreiver when it comes to my time, energy, and the much more hard to come by "money" as it is known among the riff-raff, I politely declined.

Then they said "But it's saturday, and you don't have other plans."  And I sulked a bit, like I'd just brought in a dead bird as a gift only to be chided about it, licked myself for a while, then drove northward to witness the power of the mighty "Thor."

I think I'm dropping the "dog" metaphor because it has ceased to amuse me. Here's a breif list of other things that have recently ceased to amuse me within a few minutes:

People who use "bunny ears" to emphasize, rather than indicate a quotation
Life, generally,
Thor, God of Thunder (the movie. he's quite nice personally)

So, I arrive, high as a kite, because fuck if I'm going to go see Thor sober. I, of course, as a high person, tend to share things.

Not personal things like daddy issues or herpes, but rather my weed. So, as I arrived at my friend Beau's house, (Yes, his name is Beau. Yes, I tell him all the time it means "pretty" in french. Not handsome, specifically "pretty." Yes, that's incorrect, but he hasn't figured that out yet, so it continues to be amusing.)

I began to proffer my weed around like a be-candied parent on halloween, offering my friends the chance to focus on just how nice the popcorn tasted at the theater, rather than having to subject their entire psyches un-sheilded to the soul-fuck that would be "Thor, God of Thunder." They, however, being mostly 30, and also being quite lame, declined, which set a bit of an awkward tone for the rest of the evening.

Now, internet, you may be wondering exactly why I'm so down on "Thor, God of Thunder." Couple of things:

I had no idea Thor was even a comic book until the TV started rubbing a large blond man's pectorals in my face repeatedly, and therefor didn't have the childhood nostalgia factor to get my naughty bits all good and wet for it. Ha. It was fun to put those 2 things next to each other.

Given that, my perspective of the story became something along the lines of a 2011 pectoral-centric bastardization of an old religious figure, which is what "Thor" was to the vikings. It would kind of be like if in about 300 years, somebody made "Jesus: Zombie of Jerusalem" which, now that I think about it, I would totally pay to see. Please contact me for liscencing rights at sacreligion@gmail.com. Actually don't, I'm pretty sure that's the contact email for a Gay Club in Philadelphia. In which case, email if you wish.

Lastly, it's directed by Kenneth Branaughughugh, who is a classically trained actor. I, technically, am also a classically trained actor, albiet a much less prodigious one, and am fairly familiar with the works of Mr. Branmuffin. He likes to get a whole bunch of money together, and use it to masturbate right in your face. Which is all well and good, especially if you tend to be the type of person who likes to watch Shakespeare AND attend Sack-Religion, of Philadelphia, PA, but I'm only one of those things, and even then, only on thursdays when it's rainy and I'm feeling blue.

So, I expected Thor: Wad of Blunder to be technically impressive, as Mr. Br;alksdkfagoh (okay, joke dead) usually is, but fairly trite, shiny, and soulless. It's like...oh, what's it like? It's like getting a blowjob from a wife who no longer loves you. The steps are all there to bring the issue (which I'm heretoforth referring to my manparts as) to completion, however, because there's not HEART in it, it somehow becomes a sad mockery of what once was, or perhaps what could be.

That's the problem. Thor is not of the popular consciousness, so you could, say, do a very original story that is innovative, heart-felt, and moving (if you were Christopher Nolan, you could do it DESPITE the lead figure being iconic). Or you could try your damndest to make it look like that while giggling atop your giant pile of money. And we're back where we started.

So, the movie begins:

Thor, who I will hitherto refer to as Pectorals, is an arrogant asshole, mainly because he has a kickass hammer that can...apparently do whatever we could think of and fit within the special effects budget. Great. Favored son of Pirate Hannibal Lector, older brother to Emo Dead Fish.

Through an accident of fate, Pectorals is ejected from heaven-analog-if-heaven-were-designed-by-a-gay-world-of-warcraft-player onto "Urth" where he is hit by a bus by Nevernude, i. e. Natalie Portman.

I take special issue with Natalie Portman never being nude, because this is pre-poor-life-choices Natalie Portman, who was still VERY hot, and having Pectorals more shirtless than her generally is just a waste of a good couple of million dollars, cuz if you've ever seen Closer, or, fuck, Your Highness, she'll totally strip down. Again, I blame Mr. Branmuffin for another glorious missed opportunity.

Anyway, Pectorals is the equivalent of hit by a bus several times for the next fifteen minutes, just to show how human and relatable he's suddenly become, despite still being Hitler's version of the perfect man, and therefor terrifying to, well, Jews like me. I guess the arguement goes like this: Well, shit! I suppose I could get hit by a bus as well! Look at us, being almost the same! My God, I feel such a deep investment in this person's developement, and shall hold my pee/cellphone calls/google searching "natalie portman butt" on my smartphone until AFTER the film has concluded.

So, Pectorals cooks dinner with some people, and fights some government people, and is generally humbled over the course of three or four relatively unchallenging segments and about thirty minutes, which makes you think his Hubris wasn't terribly well rooted in the first place, and might not have been that big a problem if Pirate Hannibal Lector had just made him pick up around the house a few times as a child.

Emo Dead Fish does some things with CGI ice monkeys- again, was still pretty high at this point, not terribly clear what, exactly, but it turns out Emo Dead Fish is also an ice monkey, and I'm fairly sure it involved waffles as well, though I could be pretty wrong on that point. That's how interesting the whole thing was.

Anyway,  Dead Fish sends a big robot to kill Pectorals, mainly because he's afraid of the whole "Master Race" thing, presumabely, and after half an hour or so of housework, Pectorals sacrifices himself to save his friends in a way that would in no way prevent big robot from turning around and killing the shit out of his friends, but still, it was nice. In doing this, he regains control of his penis metaphor, and re-ascends to gay-Wow-heaven. He there ousts Emo Dead Fish, wakes Pirate Hannibal Lector, and breaks the rainbow bridge that they totally should have changed to something else so we wouldn't have another reason to laugh at them.

Also, there's a black guy with a sword who seems pretty baddass, but apparently it's a problem that he's black, because people are TRUE FANS of the comic books, and TOTALLY NOT RACIST or anything. To be fair, they're really just worried about the Asgaurd property values (ooh, I apologize.)

Anywho, for some reason at the end Nevernude and Pectorals stare up at the sky at each other, although both of them could be totally looking in the wrong direction, and probabaly are, considering that planets rotate not only on an axis but also around stars, and galactic centers and things, and then Sammy Jackson talks to Emo-Dead-Fish in disguise about a Cosmic Cube after the credits.

My stupid friends explained a "Cosmic Cube" to me on the walk home, and I shant repeat it here, because it is SO dorky, that should you read it, internet, your sexual organs will immediately consume themselves so you don't pollute the gene pool. I had to spend several hours talking mine down off the ledge with a nice girl who lives two floors down in my building later that evening just to balance things out.

So, what makes Thor: Rod of Under (not very good, I know, but there aren't many "Thunder" rhymes) truly an AWFUL experience rather than just a mediocre one, is that it has all the makings of a great film.

A likeable, but flawed lead, who is stripped of his power for his flaws, learns, grows, and ultimately becomes the man that both he and the Universe require him to be. Classic Joseph Campbell, heroes' journey goodness.

It even has some decent family drama, and interesting side characters.

The problem is that it phones it in. It dances the steps prettily enough, but the heart's not there. It's just going through the motions. And the fact that it KNOWS THE STEPS makes the dance even worse: it could have been a great film, it KNEW WHAT IT WAS DOING, but just decided the audience didn't deserve or couldn't grok the full monty.

This makes me want to shoot Mr. Branmuffin in the back of the head. With a supersoaker. Full of ink. Because FUCK YOU I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT RIGHT, YOU JUST SHOWED ME YOU KNOW HOW, AND ITS ALMOST LIKE YOUR MOCKING THE PROCESS YOU STUPID BRITISH GIT. Also, NAKED NATALIE PORTMAN! WE DONT HAVE THAT MUCH TIME LEFT!!!!!!

So in conclusion, the whole experience was a bit like watching the Patriots Play:

Technically impressive, slightly homoerotic, and lacking in soul.

To the Pats fans out there who just got mad at me: you know exactly what I'm talking about.