It begins with a drumming sound, pa-pum, pa-pum, pa-pum-pum-pum. It's arrhythmic, shaky, and it pulses with strange colors. What you see, it spins, quivers - the edges are blurred and your eyes dart around, looking, looking, you keep looking, and looking, and looking. And looking. Help never comes. It's a fucking heart attack, or maybe it's a bird a plane a movie called Birdman -- it doesn't matter any more, all you know is it's you or them, you or Alejandro González Iñárritu, one of you have got to go, and much like Alejandro González Iñárritu you are way too attached to you and your special-snowflake-selfness. So you think hey, I know, I can take the DVD out of the DVD player and I can eat it, I can grind it up between my teeth and chew it until I choke on it, and maybe everything will be better then? Maybe the room will stop spinning and the poison, the quickened pulse of bile burning your throat, maybe it will stop, stop, stand stock still, maybe? No no it spins, it spins, pa-pum, pa-pum, pa-pum-pum-pum, they keep chattering, the noises, the voices, the bug-eyes and the incessant I-Know-Better bullshit pouring out of every single orifice, it never ever stops, never not ever. This is what death is for monsters. Monsters that have it coming. We all went on a long trek through the wilderness, we fought valiant battles, we climbed the mountain and forded the river and slept on the hard stones and cried ourselves to sleep in each other's arms; many were lost on this journey, those we loved some and those we loved a lot and those we only kind of liked, but not really. We fought and we wound our way and we found the uniquely sparkly sword buried under the sands of time and Instagram filters; we tripped and fumbled our way through mazes and mutinies -- and we found it! We found the monster! And we killed it! And it is dead! And it is us, all over us, death and monstrousness, spittle and inanity, unceasing, rocking in our seats, pa-pum, pa-pum, pa-pum-pum-pum, unceasing, serious as a poodle in a miniskirt sipping on an apple martini.
You seem chill!!
No one has ever used that word in my presence
The Academy disqualifying this from Best Original Score is one of the best things that has ever happened.
"Hmm now for the women in this story. He'll have a daughter, and she just got out of rehab. To make that clear, she'll say 'rehab' a lot. And she wants Ed Norton's d for no discernible reason." "Great! Let's get Emma Stone."
I. Am. So. Confused... Can't tell if you liked it or hated it :/
where's the review?
So, did you like it?
For those who don't appreciate black humor just think twice as this is the only true humor, the rest is clownery.
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