Bane needs a hug and a sandwich.

Caution, Minor Spoilers.

I’m not really a comic book guy.  I don’t think I’ve ever purchased one.  I may have read 3 from cover to cover.  I just don’t understand the obsession.  I do, however, seemingly love comic book movies; particularly the latest batch that have been released with accessible stories, solid acting, big budgets and amazing effects.

When I was reading about The Avengers in preparation to see it, I noticed how so many people were looking forward to seeing their childhood fantasy questions answered on the big screen.  Thing like “Who would win in a fight, Thor or Iron Man?”  That’s all well and good, but for some reason, I like to think of people with extraordinary abilities doing mundane things. Particularly villains since we get more of a glimpse into the hero’s life and usually there is a secret identity which is filled with everyday activities.  The villain, however, sometimes does not have a secret identity and can often times just be as evil as their day allows.  What consumes the majority of Megatron’s time when he isn’t on screen?  Do you think The Joker read “7 Habits of Highly Effective People” and wrote little notes in the margins about how it could be nefariously implemented?

This penchant for banality leads me to what I see as a major plot hole in one of the summer’s biggest movies.  I went to see The Dark Knight Rises for the second time last weekend.  There was quite a bit I didn’t catch the first time around because I was busy peeing myself with boyish excitement to see how the trilogy Christopher Nolan has magnificently pieced together would end.  Regardless, I was driving home, practicing my Bane impression (the voice is really just a lazy and more fluctuating Sean Connery) and it came to me as I was working out a bit where Bane goes to a karaoke bar and sings Aretha Franklin’s “RESPECT”.  Some background: the respirator that Bane wears (as explained in the movie) is the only thing keeping him from suffering unimaginable pain due to a torturous injury incurred at the hands of a pit prison mob. The prison doctor mended Bane, but the daughter of Raz Al Gul has the respirator made.

Side note: The doctors in the prison have to be the most amazing physicians in the world. These guys heal Bruce Wayne after a broken back and get him back to fighting weight in under 3 months using only a rope, a well-placed back punch and the sage words of a morphine addict.  These guys could cut recovery wards roughly by 2/3.  I’m sure that prior to their arrival, everyone in the prison had heart cancer.  Now, they’re all healthy as horses.

Back to it: Bane can’t remove the respirator or he get’s facial pain explosions.  So, how does he eat?  Wouldn’t each bite mean excruciating pain that would act as negative reinforcement to consuming a meal.  And, let’s look at this guy.  He doesn’t look like he’s missing any meals.  The only option I can think of would be protein milkshakes through tiny straws that can fit through the holes in the metal at the front.  I know that this is the meal of choice when someone breaks their jaw and has to have it wired shut.  Any other ideas?

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I need an efficient way to eat this hamburger!

Side note #2:  How dumb is Batman in his first fight with Bane?  If a guy has a respirator and you’re wearing a Kevlar fist, try punching the respirator!  You would think that this would be his weak point, particularly after every other one of your punches has been met with indifference and manly badassery.

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Films: Paul Blart, Mall Cop

The other day, I made the pronouncement to a co-worker that I had lost faith in humanity. I wish that it had something to do with the continuance of violence, intolerance or lack of understanding that drives wedges between nations, regions and even families, but it was something else entirely.

I lost my faith in humanity when I heard that the #1 movie in America was Paul Blart: Mall Cop. Today, I found out that it was the #1 movie in America for the second week in a row and I’m thankful that I don’t own a gun so I can’t put it to my head and welcome the sweet embrace of death.

As I stated the title, this was the response: “What’s it called?”
“Paul Blart Mall Cop.”
“What?”
“Paul Blart. Mall Cop.”
“I’ve never heard that. What is it called?”

It was then that I realized that the syllables don’t make any sense when they are stated out loud. Go ahead; say it out loud! “POLLBLART MOLLKOP.” Those aren’t real words. They sound like something that a fantasy dwarf should say in response to a kindly wizard’s query.

Not since Meet the Spartans have I had such a distaste for this country’s choice in cinema. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an art house snob. I’ll watch stuff with ‘splosions in it all day long, but really; a movie about a fat security guard who has to save a mall from crazy people trying to rob a bank? And while we’re on it, who tries to take over a mall? Worst heist plan since Tim Roth stuck up that restaurant in Pulp Fiction.

This news may have sullied the Inauguration for me. How do I reconcile that?