Savages: Need a Hit?

Plus: Uh, Other Stuff. No? OK. Later.

* Oh, ya. Saw SAVAGES (2012), Oliver North—uh, Oliver Stoned‘s latest. Almost forgot. See, that’s the problem: this movie was gone from my head as soon as the credits were rolling, man, and it’s not cuz my shit’s got 30%+ THC content, lemmee tell ya.

Seriously, though, dude, how many timely premises can Oliver Stoned drop the ball on? I mean, that last WALL STREET movie was like smoking old carpet sweepings and cat hair with a “gotta love the rich” finale; this one starts lean and mean, hot and heavy: major onscreen balling with the FRIDAY NIGHTS LIGHTS dude but without the hair, ass-thrusting beyond what ‘R’ used to allow, banging our faithful narrator (oh, ya, there’s a narrator, dude) the hot blonde “O” (that’s her name, don’t wear it out) followed by Mex cartel snuff email (like, severed-in-half-heads booting around) which is, like, their idea of like a wedding invitation, dude! Awesome.

The snuff email invite is just before dude #2 with hair shows up all mellow and O gets it on with him, too, but it’s OK with FNL no hair guy cuz they’re bong bros.

Oh, ya, great bonging scene. With ice. Greaaaaaat scene.

Anyhow, where was I?

Oh, ya, so the snuff email cartel dudes are making the move on the FNL no hair and mellow botanist longhair and O, taking over their great pot empire whether they want it to happen or not and John Travolta is the bullnecked bullethead DEA agent dude and—oh, I forget.

Oh, ya, so the snuff email cartel is actually run by a CHICK, right, man? Like, hot Mexichick, Salma Heychick or something, and the WOLFMAN dude is her hitman—oh, ya, he was the narc in TRAFFIC, too, right, only now he’s gone rogue like, y’know?—and he’s got O in the SAW chamber, and it looks like it’s going to be BADDDDDD but it mellows and where was I?

Oh, ya, so, like, there’s only really, really two good scenes: the hit on the snuff email cartel dudes hillside stash, and when WOLFMAN and Travolta square off in, like, Travolta‘s kitchen, man. That was great. I mean, like, they just TALK, right, but it’s great. But they don’t talk about erotic male massages like in, uh, PULP FRICTION—I mean, if you count getting a sternum-wide blade plunged through Travolta‘s fuckin’ hand as “erotic male massages,” then OK then, right, that’s a big YES on Travolta getting an erotic male massage. Well, come to think of it, just maybe that IS considered erotic male massage in an Oliver Stoned movie, man. Then—uh, then—I forget.

Wait. No. Uh, FNL shorthair—oh, ya, like, he’s an Iraq War vet, I mean, like, an Afghan War vet—ah, what’s the diff, other than the quality seeds, right? Well, see, FNL short-hair hangs with his vet buddies, right? So he gets all in everyone’s face, while mellow botanist dude goes all Dick Cheney on everyone, like “embrace the Dark Side, Luke,” shit, with like a goopy dangly eyeball HOSTEL trip and torchin’ a dude and—only, like, I didn’t care anymore, cuz by then O was—oh, then there’s, like, two endings, or something. I forget.

Oh, wait, wait, I remember—ya, so O and Salma… wait, no. Never mind. It doesn’t matter.

Like, maybe it would have been better if I’da smoked five joints before stumblin’ into this clusterfuckuvamovie? Hey, wait—maybe Oliver North did make this movie, man?

[Revised & expanded from a July 14, 2012 Facebook posting.]

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