"Damn. I don't remember droppin' acid before this flick, Alice."
"Maybe you're suffering from the same affliction as the man in the movie: no short term memory. Hee hee."
"I wish. Then maybe I wouldn't have ta remember that shitty piece of shit Joe Dirt. How the hell did I let you talk me inta that one?"
"I thought it was going to be a cute love story! And it was! Kind of."
"When's the last time you seen a love story where the main actor don't even get ta shove his tongue down the throat of the hot ass Sweet Valley poontang playing opposite his whiny shit. I guarantee Rob Schneider ain't gettin' any smelly finger off that Colleen chick either in his new waste barrel of a movie. Fuckin' Saturday Night Live is ruinin' movies. What happened ta stupid movies that you knew were gonna be stupid but ya went cause ya knew your were gonna get two or three tittie shots and possibly garden tour?"
"It was a sweet movie, Deathy. Except if I wasn't so nice, I wouldn't believe a lovable, perky, sexy woman like that would be interested in a scrawny near-man like David Spade."
"Now you're talkin', Babe. And the memory-hosed guy in this movie is fuckin' lucky, cause he can go see a mess like Enemy at the Gate and forget the last half of the film. I had my fuckin' hopes up on that one, babe. And you know the Dukes is flyin' when some spineless Hollywood writer thinks he can bend me over and bayonet me up the backside with a hastily thrown together ending to what was turnin' out to be a pretty good war movie."
"Deathy! Again, you hated a movie because there was a love story involved! You're so predictable."
"It ain't just the love story, Alice. It's like some big Hollywood fuckwit took a look at the script and went off. 'How is this going to appeal to the ladies? There ain't enough goin' on! We need more intrigue than just a couple of hotshot sharpshooters takin' each other on!' As if that weren't plenty of story right there! That gunfighter shit is great! The little guy who learned to shoot, turnin' the war around with the help 'a some tabloid journalist. It was great. And then you can tell when Mr. Hollywood started the fuckin' rewrite. Young twat falls for handsome hero. Hero's best friend falls for young twat. Young twat shrugs off his advances and goes for hero. Hero's friend betrays hero, gets young twat's little brother strung up. Best friend redeems himself through gettin' his bulb popped. Young twat mortally wounded, recovers, ends up with hero. Drive the General Lee into a fuckin' lake, Alice. It reads worse than a Junior High school girl's diary fantasies."
"You're right, Deathy. I do enjoy a love story but I hate it when only one guy can get the girl. Both guys should get a girl! Like, you never see Greased Lightning and Dirk Daring fighting over the same woman!"
"Fuck. The type 'a women they go for are so loose they ain't gotta fight over 'em. Besides, ya notice Brandon never gets any trim."
"Deathy, leave poor, miserable Brandon out of this. Why don't we get back to the movie? Didn't you enjoy the way the suspense was created? Instead of wondering what is going to happen, we already know because we see the pictures the guy takes to keep his memories. But we're kept intrigued by the events leading up to the guy's final Polaroid, which is the first thing we see."
"Yeah, it was done pretty good, Babe. A lot better than that fucked up Along Came a Spider. Geez. That movie was like Silence of the Lambs on Valium. It got me so doped up and tired that I wasn't able to review movies for a month and a half. That there was another one 'a these Hollywood shitstains that think the way to make a Hitchcock-like suspenseful ending is by making everything you've seen up until the last twenty minutes of the film completely wrong and not giving any clues that the guy we think is the bad guy ain't the bad guy. The guy who kidnaps the little girl is some shmuck who is on the screen for two fuckin' minutes. Oh yeah. Big fuckin' surprise. Big surprise anybody got paid for this cum stain of a movie. I've been more enthralled by my used Kleenex wads."
"That poor Morgan Freeman is such a nice man I hate to say he was in such a bad movie as Along Came a Spider. So, I'll just go back to Memento. You know what I really liked about it, Deathy?"
"Alice, ya know I don't read minds."
"Well, I liked how he was basically a blank slate, personality-wise. He was an Everyman. He represented the way we all live our lives: in a desperate search for truth, for something solid to believe in. His life is a list of facts and categorizations. If he writes something down, it becomes the truth. We live our lives with contradictions and shifting perceptions. Black and white rarely exist for us. We have memories that we sometimes doubt. He has a line written on a photograph. Objective proof of the way his life is. At the end of the movie, his truth starts to waver, starts to become uncertain and ungrounded. The center of his life is falling apart. The center that is the fact that his wife was murdered and he is looking to avenge her death. And the end of the movie is actually the beginning of the timeline. So we see him at a weak moment, his facts betraying him, his memories unsure. At the beginning of the movie, he was completely sure of his reality. Everything was neatly stated, filed, categorized on his skin and photographs. But this certainty in his truth only comes, as we observe during the movie, by his own manipulation of facts and his own exploitation of his faulty memory. He plants so-called truths on his photographs and skin that will drive him toward a fulfilling reality: the killing of the man who killed his wife. And as we see, it doesn't really matter who that man is because Leonard has conditioned himself the way they try to condition Sammy to remember which blocks to pick up by electrocuting certain ones. Leonard is conditioned to hunt for his wife's murderer. That's all he knows how to do. He's an automaton at this point. And even when he's presented with proof that he has killed someone before that he thought was his wife's murderer (the picture of him pointing at the space on his chest where he'll tattoo the fact his job is done), he burns it and proceeds to set up Teddy as the guy he's looking for. The final proof that he's not really looking for the murderer is at the end, when he closes his eyes to see if the world goes away. He pictures himself in bed with his wife with the blank space on his chest tattooed with 'I have done it.' He doesn't want revenge. He wants his wife back. That's when he'll finally get the tattoo on his chest that lets him know his quest is over."
"I don't know about that. Hell, I stopped listenin' to ya after 'blank slate'. But this was one wacky, fucked up movie. I actually like it, Alice. I liked how he was all paranoid. One second he's totally believin' in the Tats he's etched all over his body and the next minute, he ain't sure he can trust 'em. That was one whacked out fuckwad."
"He sure had a nice body, too."
"Hey Alice. You should get a Tat that says Remember to Blow Death Rock's General Lee, hunh?"
"Deathy! When do I ever forget?"
"Maybe I should get a Tat to remind me to kick Grunion Guy's fat ass. You realize he was tryin' ta read me a screenplay the other day that he'd written on squares 'a toilet paper? He started cryin' when he realized he'd wiped with the last chapter and he couldn't remember how the thing ended. How the fuck can you forget five fuckin' words? What a moron."
"Deathy, I'm so happy we agree on a movie again! This happens so rarely!"
it might happen more often if ya weren't taken me to Jovi flicks like Pokemon 3
or Hey Dude Where the Fuck's My Car? Actually, that Lost Car movie was pretty
"Made love? Is that your euphemismfor being ridden anally amidst popcorn and Jujubees?"
"Um, yes. Yes it is. Anything else you want to say about the movie, Deathy?"
"Yeah. Dudes, go take your chicks to this movie. It'll at least get you outta seein' Bridget Jones's Diary."
"Oooh! Can we see that next? Oh goody!"