10-12-2012, 10:28 AM
Die Reise Nach Kafiristan (Journey to Kafiristan) (Netherlands, 2001)
Lesbian movies suck. They really really suck. Especially if they're directed by a lesbian. The plot resembles nothing so much as nothing. Usually two gals take a road trip. To Kafiristan, for example. Though it's really not about the destination, it's about the journey. They'll drive across vast expanses of desert, or through endless rocky terrain. Mount Ararat will put in an appearance at some point. It always does in lesbian movies. One gal will chain-smoke and gaze moist-eyed straight ahead. The other will consult a map, or take notes, while nibbling on trail mix.
Sometimes they'll stop and have words with a guard. The guard won't know what to say or do. He'll mostly just stand awkwardly about, and the two women will pretend that he is denying them passage. Because this suggests conflict. Not that the story needs it. Heaven forbid. There's so much already. Such as the time the two women start to talk at the same time, and then they stop, because their words have collided, creating sparks of color in their deeply thoughtful minds. Or they'll reach for the trail mix at the same moment and their fingers will brush, and they will draw back, shaken to the core, almost unable to continue their journey. Yes, there's conflict. Conflict a-plenty.
And then there's the hot scenes. You know, where they're camped out, and one of them is standing on her head because, well, it adds color and texture to the tale. And the other steps close and tickles her belly, making her fall over, and they both have a good chuckle before going back to their smokes and trail mix.
Lesbians shouldn't be allowed to make movies about lesbians. They simply don't understand the subject matter, and they get it all wrong. It should be against the law, punishable by deportation. Send them back where they came from -- just south of the Doldrums near the equator. If a lesbian had directed My Dinner with Andre (as My Dinner with Andrea and featuring two lesbians), it would have been four hours long and never reached the appetizer. They would have greeted each other for lunch and that would have been it. A waiter might have wandered by, perhaps several times, only to be told they weren't ready to order yet. And it's questionable whether they would have gotten around to asking each other how they were doing.
Still, it makes for a great drinking game. You know, watching a lesbian movie directed by a lesbian. Every time something doesn't happen, you kick back a shot. It's a quick way to the floor for sure.
To be fair, lesbians do have a breaking point. They can be pushed over the edge. They can break. And when they do, their weapon of choice is invariably a machine gun, or perhaps a Gatlin gun. When they break, they know what they're about. They know they want to do some serious house-cleaning. They're not like men . When men break, they're not very thoughtful. They don't think ahead. They'll empty their weapon into a roomful of people and then go, "Gee, I'm out of ammo. Guess I'm gonna have to get some more." And that gives the police time to show up and spoil the party. Not so with a lesbian. A lesbian thinks ahead. She's got plenty of time to think, and she's thinking every step of the way, though you can't see it. And when she breaks, she's prepared. She's got stockpiles of ammo all around her. She's wearing Kevlar lingerie. She's got telescopic sights to take out SWAT snipers. She's got lesbian cohorts infiltrating the force to mow them down from behind.
World War III will be started by a lesbian. Mark my words. It will come to pass.
Though it did not come to pass in this movie.
Lesbian movies suck. They really really suck. Especially if they're directed by a lesbian. The plot resembles nothing so much as nothing. Usually two gals take a road trip. To Kafiristan, for example. Though it's really not about the destination, it's about the journey. They'll drive across vast expanses of desert, or through endless rocky terrain. Mount Ararat will put in an appearance at some point. It always does in lesbian movies. One gal will chain-smoke and gaze moist-eyed straight ahead. The other will consult a map, or take notes, while nibbling on trail mix.
Sometimes they'll stop and have words with a guard. The guard won't know what to say or do. He'll mostly just stand awkwardly about, and the two women will pretend that he is denying them passage. Because this suggests conflict. Not that the story needs it. Heaven forbid. There's so much already. Such as the time the two women start to talk at the same time, and then they stop, because their words have collided, creating sparks of color in their deeply thoughtful minds. Or they'll reach for the trail mix at the same moment and their fingers will brush, and they will draw back, shaken to the core, almost unable to continue their journey. Yes, there's conflict. Conflict a-plenty.
And then there's the hot scenes. You know, where they're camped out, and one of them is standing on her head because, well, it adds color and texture to the tale. And the other steps close and tickles her belly, making her fall over, and they both have a good chuckle before going back to their smokes and trail mix.
Lesbians shouldn't be allowed to make movies about lesbians. They simply don't understand the subject matter, and they get it all wrong. It should be against the law, punishable by deportation. Send them back where they came from -- just south of the Doldrums near the equator. If a lesbian had directed My Dinner with Andre (as My Dinner with Andrea and featuring two lesbians), it would have been four hours long and never reached the appetizer. They would have greeted each other for lunch and that would have been it. A waiter might have wandered by, perhaps several times, only to be told they weren't ready to order yet. And it's questionable whether they would have gotten around to asking each other how they were doing.
Still, it makes for a great drinking game. You know, watching a lesbian movie directed by a lesbian. Every time something doesn't happen, you kick back a shot. It's a quick way to the floor for sure.
To be fair, lesbians do have a breaking point. They can be pushed over the edge. They can break. And when they do, their weapon of choice is invariably a machine gun, or perhaps a Gatlin gun. When they break, they know what they're about. They know they want to do some serious house-cleaning. They're not like men . When men break, they're not very thoughtful. They don't think ahead. They'll empty their weapon into a roomful of people and then go, "Gee, I'm out of ammo. Guess I'm gonna have to get some more." And that gives the police time to show up and spoil the party. Not so with a lesbian. A lesbian thinks ahead. She's got plenty of time to think, and she's thinking every step of the way, though you can't see it. And when she breaks, she's prepared. She's got stockpiles of ammo all around her. She's wearing Kevlar lingerie. She's got telescopic sights to take out SWAT snipers. She's got lesbian cohorts infiltrating the force to mow them down from behind.
World War III will be started by a lesbian. Mark my words. It will come to pass.
Though it did not come to pass in this movie.
I'm nobody's pony.
