By 
One day I get a call from my Mama, sayin’ she just saw a movie so bad that she walked right out of the theater. What was the name of the movie, Mama? I asked. “Closer, she said, and it’s a dirty, filthy movie. I can’t believe Julia Roberts is in it. Oh, and that little Natalie Portman is in it, too, and she’s nekkid.” Course, that made me wanna run out and see it right away, but we only have 2 theaters here in East Biggs, one of ‘em shows Clint Eastwood flicks and the other shows Burt Reynolds. So I had to wait till I got this here DVD to see just what other folks were talkin’ about.
CLOSER is one of those films were folks just talk, there ain’t no car chases and gunfights or nothin’. They talk about how life sucks cause they don’t have their mamas no more, ‘cept they live in rich apartments and go to art gallery openin’s. Bwak, bwak, bwak, life sucks, bwak, bwak, hey go to bed with me, bwak, bwak, bwak, ok, let’s break up. Now think about them sayin’ all this in the Queen’s English (cause in takes place over there in not-so merry ol’ England) and you might get a headache. But turn on the subtitles and pour a few Captain Morgan’s and Coke’s and you’ll make to the hour and one minute mark when Natalie Portman’s in the strip club.
The plot, as best as I can remember it now with my head achin’, involves this feller, Jude Law, a real sad sack writer who runs into Natalie on the streets of London. Natalie stands out in the grey, drab London crowd ‘cause she’s a spunky American with red hair. You see all them fellers lookin’ at her little buns but for some reason she’s got a jones for Jude. She gets hit by a cab and then falls in love with the feller. For some reason, Jude don’t like Natalie, but we never find out why (unless it’s because she used to date Darth Vader). Oh no, once Jude meets Julia Roberts, a high falutin’ photographer who just got divorced, all he wants to do is dump Natalie and screw Miss Prune Face. This is where Closer becomes more far out than any Sci-Fi flick you’ve ever seen, my fellow cowpokes! You got Natalie Portman, a prime piece of Angus beef in her twenties, and Julia Roberts, the bitchiest, witchiest woman of the silver screen. I think if Roberts ever gave a genuine smile, it would crack the camera lens. What true blooded heterosexual male in the world would wanna fuck her instead of Natalie Portman? This feller who directed the movie, Mike Nichols, must be high on crack. You can’t act worth a bean, Ms. Roberts, take my advice and stay at home with your test tube babies.
And my advice to you fellers is to fast forward this flick ever time you see Julia, and then hit the Play button every time you see little Natalie. Hey, we ain’t gotta worry about jailbait laws, IMDB says she’s twenty-four now, and that’s legal in any country. The strip club scene is about ten minutes long and it’s worth the price of a rental. She ain’t truly nekkid, she keeps her bra and panties on, but you’ll be droolin’ just the same. ‘Cept she ain’t too convincin’ as a stripper, ‘cause her lap dancin’ leaves a little to be desired, and she’s got a bit of cellulite. But heck, you cowpokes wouldn’t toss her out of bed, would ya? And this ten minute scene is worthy of—ya guessed it, pardner—our patent pending Seven of Nine salute! Nuff said.
Closer (Superbit Edition)
Leave a comment