Munich

Munich is way, way too much like Shogun Assassin. Anyone who remembers the opening monologue from the latter probably knows what I'm getting at. Cultural illiterates may recall some choice lines from an unseen video in the final act of Kill Bill Vol. 2. Frankly, I'd like to see Shogun Assassin right now, but there are no decent foreign/indie video stores in this wasteland. We're in small town mode right now and do I ever feel like Johnny-come-lately for not seeing Munich sooner. Despite over-wraught tropes of the Assassin's reluctance, I don't see anyreason to disabuse folks of the notion that this is Spielberg's best film. It should also be required viewing for those who think that psychological damage doesn't follow from too much existential rambling and perceived moral failings. ("No, Sally, drugs won't do that to you; that's what happens when you sell your soul to the nearest Hegelian Nation-State.")

My real attraction to this film is the starkness of the Munich attacks which Spielberg uses to maximum effect by spreading it throughout the film and thus rehabilitating dull scenes and creating some sense of climax in the final act. I was a mere child when I first learned of the attacks in one of those History Channel specials which I thoroughly misunderstood while camped out on the bed of my parents' hotel room in 1988. I distinctly remember seeing the hollow eye-sockets of one of the terrorists as he leaned out the window of the Olympic complex and wondering if he was not a grotesque corpse being manipulated by an even more sinister character that the TV cameras wouldn't let us see.

This creates a comforting parallel to the various shootings and bombings throughout Western Europe and we're treated to some astoundingly profound dialogue suggesting the audience confront the following propositions:

1. Explosions and shootings are particularly disturbing if they happen in rich neighborhoods as opposed to deserts.
2. The Middle East is mostly composed of deserts.
3. The only violence one should be disturbed by will result in a dead prostitute in an open housecoat.

addendum non sequitur
Okay, time to listen to some Libertines. Also, James Frey is a very pathetic man. My memoirs are gonna be published as "fiction." No legitimate claims of breached confidence and the guilty parties will never wash the stench of suspicion from their sticky fingers.