By falafel j. pickren
“Fuck Hollywood. Â And fuck this virus. Iâ€™ve stopped caring. Â We never really even see it, but itâ€™s the best actor in the film so far.”
Itâ€™s probably incredibly trite to start of a review of Soderberghâ€™s ContagionÂ with the phrase: â€œit all starts with a cough.â€ Â But it does, and boy does Lady Martin look haggard.Â And fucking loud. Â I wondered if they wanted to effect a pandemic of deafness.
What do you get for having cheated on your husband in a hotel in China? Â You get to be the index patient for a disease. Â Perhaps itâ€™s my Southern upbringing, but I also know to cover my mouth when I cough. Â That and how scripts by Scott Z. Burns almost always instantly offend me.
New thing I learned: there are 3.3 mil people in Minneapolis, and only .2 more in San Francisco? Â Cue the â€œa virus should come with a threatening soundtrackâ€, seemingly designed by The Chemical Brothers or Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (Cliff Martinez,Â is this you trying to stay relevant?) and Matt Damonâ€™s cheatinâ€™ wife returns home to infect their young son and capitalize on her being born into theatrical celebrity. Â â€˜Cause weâ€™re so lucky. Â I wanna say something about White America, but they have white idiot celebrities in Europe too.
Hereâ€™s some thought smoke. How many things do you touch in a day? Â Being OCD, Iâ€™m pretty much covered. Â But Kate Winslet teaches us that we humans touch our face 2 to 3 thousand times daily, and 3 to 5 times â€œevery waking minute.â€ Â Further thought smoke: what would you feel when everyone around you starts dying and you donâ€™t know why? Â Disoriented and dreamlike? Â Is it like the snap anger I incur when Iâ€™m subjected to hearing people masticate on film or Jude Law wear an Aussie accent? Â And is that how he seduced the nanny?
Yeah, Iâ€™d probably get sick in an Asian market. Snake penises are sold there for consumption.
I thoroughly enjoyed watching Paltrow attempt a siezure on screen. Â The same performance must have been used to communicate to the socially retarded Chris Martin when she convinced him to marry her. Â Ultimately, the performances in ContagionÂ underwhelmed me. Â Per usual, I surmise the best moments were employed for the trailers. Â Like the scene where Matt Damon learns his wife, Paltrow, died in hospital. Â The pathetic excuse for an actor/doctor relays as much to Damon, citing that â€œsome people get a disease and live, some get sicker and die.â€ Waitâ€¦ cause Damonâ€™s response isâ€¦ â€œbut we had pizza.â€
So, Mr. Smart PhD doesnâ€™t reckon an autopsy would provide any more useful information on wifeyâ€™s sudden death (it was either a bug bite or herpes, Mr. Smart Dr. suggests; inferring she expired from encephalitis). Â Next, Shelly Duvall makes a brief cameo (not really) and we get to watch as the frozen-faced mother of Apple has her scalp removed and her brain drilled = good frigginâ€™ times!Â The image of a slab of scalp flopped over her face with her tongue slightly protruding and looking better than ever is accompanied by two new doctors speaking brilliance to each-other: â€œShould I call someone?â€ Â â€œCall everyone.â€ Â Ya think? Â You donâ€™t wanna grab some pizza first? Â Who doesnâ€™t crave pizza when among the tomato-y scalp of a deceased human?
Next new thing I learned: fomites.
But jeez how this script’s atrocious. â€œBlogging isnâ€™t writing, itâ€™s graffiti with punctuation.â€ Â Is this you being cute, Burns? Â By the way, I fucking hated The Informant.Â But at least some actual acting and storytelling were involved in the making of it.
So viruses canâ€™t actually survive a few days in a box, birds are already weaponizing bird flu, and people will always spread diseases without thinking cause nobody covers their mouths anymore when they cough. Â Thatâ€™s how stupid we are. Â And Marion Cotillard, our epidemiologist,Â doesnâ€™t think we actually landed on the moon.Â Â And poor Damon never suspected flaphead Gwyn wasnâ€™t really that into monogamy. Wow-wee, the twists in this gem!… that and the idea that an epidemiologist would look like Cotillard!
Also, I was confused by Eliot Gouldâ€™s characterâ€™s plotline. Â And I actually wasnâ€™t high, so I canâ€™t fathom why. Â Then we learn that bat and pig dna sequences are found in the mystery virus. But no worries, cause a surgical mask, goggles and hairnet will protect the rest of the pores in your forehead, cheeks, and neck from the contagion. Â Odd how that works. Â Or is it that Iâ€™m highÂ now? Â I would have to be to consider reviewing a film that allowed dialogue such as â€œsomewhere in the world, the wrong pig met up with the wrong bat.â€ Â But the blueprint for the virus made such a pretty genetic ballet of bent copper wires?
Sex in hazmat suits. Â Thatâ€™s where myÂ brain goes, of course. Â That and the thought of an epidemiologist shaking hands with people being stupidly amusing.
Some fun, fantasy viruses:
1. The orgasm virus.Â This might also imply an empty airport, which is hardly an unpleasant thing, Mr. Virus.
2. The cool â€œSorry, Iâ€™m unavailableâ€ cell phone message virus.Â I once had me fucking up Sammy Jacksonâ€™s soliloquy from Pulp Fiction as an outbound message, and the effect was divine. Â Nothing beats a fun and creative answering message, except for maybe the preceding fantasy virus.
3. The great skin epidemic. Â This is more for those of us with already decent skin who have to look at the freaks. Â And that is a joke.
4. Â The realizing your full potential epidemic. Â Can be a subsidiary of #3.
5. Â The world peace contagion. Â Those of you whoâ€™d rather be uploaded or live forever first fucking irritate me. Â We ought to attain a breed of universal abolition before thatâ€™s even worth it, but thatâ€™s another rant. Â And Kate Winslet eats Taco Bell, my ass (or her capriciously monitored one.)
You know itâ€™s a tepid movie experience when Jude Lawâ€™s the only one putting any effort into earning his criminally inflated paycheck. Â Even if his characterâ€™s rebel-blog is called TRUTH SERUM NOW. Â A little too reminiscent of Seinfeldâ€™s â€œSerenity Now,â€ meaning Iâ€™ve stopped taking this movie at all seriously.Â Next the American government prepares for rioting, so long as all the important folk are subterranean.
Then more bad lines, i.e. â€œThatâ€™s a bad day to be a rhesus monkeyâ€â€¦ meaning the day when a vaccine for this airborne hell begins testing. Â Jesus. Â And this guy gets his movies made, and I donâ€™t â€˜cause I write a little too Shakespearean. Â Fuck Hollywood. Â And fuck this virus. Iâ€™ve stopped caring. Â We never really even see it, but itâ€™s the best actor in the film so far. Â I wish the way Damonâ€™s character is immune to MEV-1, I was immune to Demetri Martinâ€™sÂ pointless presence and bowl cut.
Glimpses of civil decomposition; administrative ineptitude turns â€œabsenteeism in law enforcement,â€ while Jude Law â€” social networking upstart â€” valiantly roams the streets of San Francisco like Pinocchio in a puffy jacket, then in a puffy diaper mask, his manipulated, stereotypically bad, Austraulianmanâ€™s teeth gleaning with spinach seemingly lodged permanently in the gums. Â Food is scarce now, but in the fattest country on the planet, is that really such a bad thing? Â I say eat the likes of Kate Moss that make a living being unhealthy and give everyone else complexes.
Iâ€™ll spare you more and skip straight to the close. Â How will they cure it? Â Put it in the water supply? Â The timely bureaucratic method? Â Weâ€™ll never know. Â What we doÂ learn is how hormones will spread diseases faster than a fomite, and that mall music survives a plague much like cockroaches. Â And so we shake hands to show our enemies weâ€™re not armed.
Eventually aÂ birthday-lottery is enacted for the selective inoculation of civilians, and I feel like I shoulda done a hit of E and brought glow-jewelry before seeing Martinezâ€™s â€˜Club Contagion.â€™ Â Funnily enough, I didnâ€™t touch my face once during the watching of this film.Â Day 135 and everyones out and about again. Â Course, the armed military dudes are out too. Â And the puffy orange diaper suits. Â U2 leads us in a barfy formulaic moment at the obnoxious daughterâ€™s makeshift prom = gay.
Last new thing I learned: that I havenâ€™t mustered a shit about anyone in this movie and Iâ€™m one of those people whoâ€™ve actually cried from an advertisement. Â I say Soderbergh wasted the Tattoo camera, with its 5K image resolution and itâ€™s uber digitalness the way he wasted an opportunity for non-pedestrian cinema. Â What about the thought-horror a human might experience when he knows heâ€™s infectedâ€¦ Â or any other more esoteric attempt at narrative? Â No, we return to the bats that infected the pigs and the Chinese market where the over-commercialized daughter of an actress and director gets paid to seem friendly. Â Only, Iâ€™ve just paid to seem entertained.