Gladiator 2 (2024).

A quarter of a century has passed since the Gladiator premiered all over the world. I was 24 years old at the time, working in Singapore. I had just started taming myself as a cinephile, a movie nut, or a celluloid freak, if you will.

 I had watched Russell Crowe in LA Confidential before and saw a magazine cover proclaiming that he is the next Brando. You kidding me? I watched Gladiator later, and my jaw dropped. He is a mix of the classic Hollywood stars like Heston and Mitchum, plus Brando and de Niro. The dude has it.

 Plus, he made me cry. I cry only to Tamil films starring Sivaji Ganesan, Kamal Haasan, or Rajinikanth. But Russell Crowe? Dammit, man!

 Now, fast forward to the 25-year mark, and the same director, Ridley Scott, released a sequel. A goddamned sequel. Nobody asked for it. The hell is wrong with him? When it was announced, I just facepalmed and said, it ain't gonna work.

 And watching it, it exactly was how all of us (yeah, many were facepalming to the point that their mothers couldn't recognise the kids) had imagined. It's not as good as the first.

 But is it bad? I never liked almost all of what Ridley Scott has directed since the first Gladiator. Even Napoleon was a snoozefest.

 Now that Crowe's character kicked the bucket in the first film, I had nothing to look forward to in this film. I told myself that it's going to stink so bad that I would crawl my way back towards the movie theater exit.

 But.

 Yes. But.

Lately,  I had this habit of watching important films on big screen right after lunch. Yeah, you get sleepy, and will the film engage you? My favourite director's film failed that test.

 I had pasta, Marinara, then apple pie. I walked in, knowing well that I was going to have a great nap. Early YouTube reviews were, well, negative. So what.

 But whaddya know. I was engaged. Marinara failed, and so did the goddamned apple pie.

 You see, when they announced that Denzel Washington was gonna be in this movie, I went, “Oh, come on!”. I mean, he is a great actor, but he ain't no Meryll Streep, the chameleon of a performer. Washington basically does a lot of grimacing, lip-smacking, shit, and stuff. No. He is more of an Eastwood kinda performer, limited but knows how to draw the gun and hit the target.

 Yet, I can see why Scott chose him. Thanks to Washington's performance in Training Day (2001), dry, negative, and, as they say in the industry, typed against cast, he was a triumph in this film. He is the livewire. Without him, there is no film.

 Look, I had always had this opinion, if I may, that Denzel is overrated. He is mostly himself, but in a classic sort of way, say, Steve McQueen—a great actor who always brings magic to each film.

 And that is exactly what he brought to the film. Take him out, and the film collapses like a frameless circus tent.

 There are one too many Collesuem fight scenes, which may bore some out, but they are intriguing. All the onscreen performers did their best, and I was so overjoyed to see Connie Nielsen again. Never aged (there is a flashback scene where I suppose they did about 17 minutes of work to de-age her). I fell in love with her in the first film, and well, I injured myself this time. Oh, she's a great actress too.

 The Mescal and Pascal dudes did their job well. I think the whole thing about connecting to the first film is a bit of a whacky con job just to satisfy the fans of the earlier film, with even clips with Crowe shoved in (it could have been dealt with with just dialogues alone), but what the hell?

 Yet, I liked it. It's not going to be a classic like the 1999 flick, no way. But watched on its own, it has its own merit. It's alright. But unlike the first one, I do not think I would wanna rewatch it. And despite that, 
I shall just give it a thumbs up.

 

 

Red One (2024)

Just posted a rather short review of Wicked. Now here comes an even shorter one.

Whoever thought The Rock would be a great movie star, maybe prophetic. But if they thought that he is the next Schwarzenegger... feggedaboutit.

As much as you can complain about Arnie’s acting, the man still had some stuff in him. With exception of heavy drama, he works well in any given genre.

That is not the case with Dwayne Johnson. He has probably three sets of expressions, and I am very generous here. I could never understand his so-called "charisma." He is too annoying, begs for attention, and, hell, annoying. And I hate the fact that he is well known for his eyebrow schtick. Have you heard of Sean Connery?

The film is stupid. There, I said it. And almost all the critics out there hate it. The premise of Santa Claus being kidnapped could have been worked into an awesome adventure fantasy flick instead of another vehicle for The Rock.

J.K. Simmons is fine as Santa. I liked Chris Evans, but his “whoa” looks can be grating at times, but he did fine with whatever material he has.

So, there you go. I think this is even shorter than my Wicked review. The critics already created a bomb crater for this missile to hit.

Wicked (2024}

I, for one, am not a fan of fantasy flicks; no Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings films were too heavy handed to me. I only watched the first two anyway.

And that, plus musical? The only Hollywood musical I enjoyed was The Blues Brothers (1980) and a slew of the pre-1960s stuff. Boy was in for a treat.

I didn’t quite enjoy myself. Sure, the production design was fabulous, and the CGI deployed is apt, considering the subject matter. But it was a drag, up to the point the two leads, played by Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande, meet the wizard, played with such relish by the one and only Jeff Goldblum.

Basically, being the sweet musical that it aspires to be, there is not much conflict, not much obstruction, in what would be some sort of road journey—after all, this is an adaptation of a book that is a prequel to The Wizard of Oz. A sort of origin story to the Witch, that is. Except that she is supposed to be... Wicked, yes, and...evil?

It’s boring as hell, except Grande managed to be cute and funny and steals the show here and there, as if that is necessary. Goldblum, is Goldblum... He is a delight even when reading a phone book (don’t tempt him; he is such a crowd-pleaser).

There’s supposed to be a part two? Ugh…

 

no p.A.I.n no g.A.I.n: AI and penmanship: Part 2

It has been more than a year since I wrote the first part. At that time, there was, what in Malay we’d say desas desus (hearsay) about the capacity of artificial intelligence (AI) invading anything and everything except your physical orifices. Or so, I hope.

Being a writer, I gave my pointers there, mostly pooh-poohing—or is it pooh-pooying? Damn. Let me check my browser co-pilot, an AI app, of course. It says:

“… The correct expression is "pooh-poohing." It means to dismiss or belittle something. The phrase is often used to describe someone who downplays an idea or concern in a dismissive way.

Have you heard it used in an interesting context recently?”

I hate it when it ends with what looks like a hook for continued conversation, the sort you do with some hot chick. Or, dude, depending on your orientation. Anyway, in that post, I mentioned this:

Features with interviews, unless written in Q&A format, can never have the flair that a writer who throws her character in the mix when fleshing out the page detailing the encounters to the readers, who will see the colour and taste the flavour the author had intended in the piece.

This is where, in fact, I welcome AI. It is going to separate the real writers from hacks.

This agrees with this fabulous quote:

To be an author, you must be a human. The threat for students and researchers is really the same—overrelying on the technology. — Rose Sokol, PhD, publisher of APA Journals and Books

Thank you, Rose. I owe you a bouquet of... roses? Let me see AI try to write a dumb joke like that.

Now, since that post, a lot has happened. Sadly, those instances have countered my argument that writers are immune from the threat of artificial intelligence taking over their job. Guess what? I am bloody wrong, and we can look at the examples concerning scriptwriting alone.

Here’s the list (again, courtesy of ChatGpt):

There have been several notable short films and feature films produced using AI-generated scripts. Here are a few examples:

"Sunspring": This was the first short film created from an AI-generated script, written by an AI named Benjamin using a recurrent neural network called LSTM.

"The Safe Zone": Created by Filipino entertainer Richard Juan, this short film was both scripted and directed by AI, with ChatGPT providing the script and instructions for camera movements, lighting, and wardrobe.

"The Frost": A short film by Waymark, where the script was written by Josh Rubin and the visual scenes were generated by OpenAI’s DALL-E 2 model.

"Date Night": Developed using GPT-3 by Built In, this short film showcases a unique approach to narrative storytelling through AI.

"It's No Game": A sci-fi short film starring David Hasselhoff, with a script generated by a neural network.

Now, the good news is, none of them were headline makers. Which is reassuring. 

I would still think that writers like me are safe from all of what I do (career and passion-wise) being taken over by AI.

AI. cannot make similes and metaphors, which are as useful as toilet rolls during diarrhoea (see what I did there), which are also creative, or as my case here, terribly cringeworthy. AI-generated stuff would be as dull as British soap operas (except the actresses, of course).

But as mentioned in the previous post, many branches of the writing profession would die. Like how human arms have been replaced by robotic ones, simpler writing tasks will be totally taken over by AI. They will be looking at the direction of creative writers next, but there is no way they can come any nearer.

I mean, no AI can stoop low to make films like The Underdoggs, starring Snoop Dog. Never heard of it? Then you got my point.

Happy 20th Anniversary Grouchy Days.

Like most husbands and male lovers, I am afflicted with anniversary amnesia. Yes, I started this blog on 29th October 2004. I shoulda been talking about this instead of some shitheads named Trumps or something. 

But throughout those 20 years, I have had quite a ride. Wrote about my marriage, the birth of my son, then... you will notice the conspicuous gap between 2015 and 2019. Dark days, my friends, my alcoholism, subsequent submission to rehab, and in 2019, I was out. Let me see what the first thing was that I wrote: Ah, a movie review. How typical.

Like teens maturing into old men, right after a few months, I asked myself this question: Why do I blog? The rumination, which I recorded of course. I mentioned this: “You see, a long time ago I had wanted to become a columnist. An important columnist who dedicates his weekly column addressing socially critical issues like why the armpit needs bushes of hair.”

But most importantly, I said this: "I want a site to reflect on my own life and bore the hell out of the visitors. I want a log book where I can look back and say, "Men, was I that bad in writing?"
No, twenty years ago, Rakesh. You are alright in writing. You just suck in life. That was what had happened the last twenty years. The horrible ride.

Yet, I kept at it, not regularly. As and when, being such a lazy ass. But I have done quite a variety of styles, or genres, if you prefer, in fact. I’ve had in the site film reviews, op-ed stuff, parodies, or was just talking shit. But they were very fulfilling—er, not the shit part. Those posts were my gym training for writing muscles.

Here comes the vain part. I want to congratulate myself for having maintained this blog for that long a period. Even my marriage didn’t last long, much less my relationship with many cats (haha, a joke, you didn’t see that coming, did you?).

So, here’s to you, Rakesh, for another 20 years unless you are run over by a steam roller by then.

 

Old Grouch Fable Collection pt4

Our Feature Presentation

The Fox and the Grapes

A Fox named Cox one day caught a sight of a beautiful bunch of ripe grapes hanging from a vine over the branch of a tree like the bossom of a dame in an old painting. I should remind you dear readers that we continue to refer to him as a Fox named Cox because in the near neighbourhood there was a duck named Cox. We don’t want confusion with the Coxes, you see. Why are you giving me the dirty look?

Anyway, the Fox named Cox noticed that the grapes seemed ready to burst with juice, and the Fox’s mouth watered as he licked his tongue about his lips, thinking of how he would suck the very juice. Hey, wait a minute. It is beginning to sound dirty. 

The bunch hung from a high branch, so the Fox named Cox had no choice but to jump for it. The first time he jumped, he missed it by a long way and landed on his ass so hard that he may have lavatorial issues for several days, said the medical observers.

Right on, then, the Fox named Cox now walked off a shorter distance and took a running leap at it, only to fall again on his ass. “Anymore ass and ground meeting, Fox named Cox will have to defecate through__" I had to shut the observer off and send him back to Arkham Asylum.

And there you go. Fox named Cox was trying again and again till his ass looked like what exactly Flat Earthers had imagined the world looks like. 

Finally, he just sat down, tired, and looked at the grape with disgust.

“What a fool I am,” he said. “Here I am busting my chops just to reach a bunch of sour grapes that are not worth gaping for.” Or was it “gapes that are not worth graping for”? Gotta check the notes 

Whatever it is, he walked away very, very scornfully—dejected and feeling like shit—which is something this narrator can never understand. How does one qualify that statement, feeling like shit? Is the person saying he feels that he stinks or that he has felt shit delicately and understood what it is like, which is exactly like a loser fox? I don’t know

Moral: Just because you couldn’t marry a princess doesn’t mean that she suddenly becomes an ugly witch who doesn’t deserve you. You just couldn’t get her. simple as that, so eff off. 

Our lesser presentation (Budget constraint).

👠🔋🧵🥊✈️🚲🍌🐈‍⬛🤘

Goatherd and the Wild Goats.

It was a cold, stormy night when ghosts—oh, hang on. Different genre. 

Well, it was one cold, stormy day actually, when a Goatherd drove his goats for shelter into a cave. While hanging about freezing all their collective butts off, a number of wild goats also entered without even knocking because, you know, caves ain’t got no doors. Man, that is a hilarious joke, said nobody. Sorry.

The shepherd was, of course, delighted. Here are some assets walking right up to his lap—only not literally, or he would not be able to reproduce anytime soon. But there they are. With them onboard, the shepherd started feeding the wild goats really well. As for his own original flock, he fed the scraps just to ensure those sons of guns were alive enough.

When the weather finally cleared and the shepherd led all the goats out...dammit...whaddya know! the wild goats scampered off running to the hills. 

Disappointed, the Shepherd groaned “So much for gratitude, after feeding and treating you well,” said that whiny bitch. 

One of the wild goats heard that, reversed (no, not actual reverse; goats can’t do that; they don’t have R gear), turned and said, “Hah, you want us to join your flocks,” pausing for dramatic Shakespearean effect and continuing, "We know that if some new goats come in, you treat us like shit like how you did with your own goats." After spewing some profanities, that goat too left. 

Moral: Just because you got a new set of friends, relatives, or playmates (not the Playboy ones), you neglect the old ones, or would you? Damn, it’s humbling to get these lessons from future lamb chops and mutton varuval. Anyway.

A Tail of Fox 

(Actual title of this fable is Fox and the Tail.) I was just being…er, never mind.

A fox caught its tail in a trap and lost all of it, and there he was with bare butt walking around, not sure how to show its face in the fox community.

But he had an idea—to put up a bold face. So he called the other foxes for a general meeting. The others were confused. Is it election time? Has any fox chick run away with a cat or something?

The tailless fox started preaching about the uselessness of the tail. “Look, if you are chased by a dog, it can just reach your tail and bite the shit out of it. Why do you even need one?” he launched.

Plus, he also lamented that animals with tails can’t sit on their asses properly because of the bloody tail in the way. 

Listening to all this crap, the oldest, wisest of the foxes shook his head sadly and said, “You lose your tail, you lose your tail. That’s all. Don’t try to hide your shame by glorifying the lack of an ornament. In another word, why don’t you go and...” At that time a lion roared or something, so the profanity was gladly muted.

Moral: There are always some knuckleheads who are just too happy to bring you down to their level when their shortcomings are too glaring. Just tell ‘em the same thing the wise old goat said. 

 Old Grouch Fable Collection pt1

 Old Grouch Fable Collection pt2

 Old Grouch Fable Collection pt3

The Trump Card: Why The Americans Want The Orange One Back.

The US presidential election results may surprise you or, as with this writer, not. But what made Americans to go back to that orange guy, who had a shot at one term and did badly enough to not get second term?

Frankly, I don’t care one way or another about the US presidential elections, especially the now concluding contest between ex-President Donald Trump and the current vice-president Kamala Harris. But I should. What happens in the US reverberates across the globe (or platform, for the flat earth believers). It affects all of us. For one, the winner’s mug that’s gonnagoing to appear day in day out on newspapers and media portals online, and I would have preferred someone better looking, a gal especially. Too bad, Harris.

So, we are back at seeing the infamous Republican candidate Donald Trump’s bloated face and the roadkill hair for another 1460 days (that’s four years, by the way; stop scratching your head). What does this say about the US or A?

Since many of us do not follow these sort of news - our source of news usually comes from phone screens through social media shares (when our friends and family are not preaching on moral values). The only representation of the US for most of us are the celebrities, sport folks and fast food.

Speaking of celebrities, folks from these damned screen trade and music business have traditionally been leftist, big fans of the Democrats. Watch how they cosy up with the candidates, and we saw how ex-president Obama was too comfortable with Hollywood, even appearing in Saturday Night Live, a show notorious for its political satires that had often relentlessly poked more fun at the Republicans than the others. And now, it looks like Alec Baldwin has a new set of work cut out for him. Famous for satirising Trump through his performance on SNL, he himself had thrown his support towards Harris’ direction.

I mean, look at the overwhelming endorsement from Tinseltown and the recording industry, backing Harris. You will see big names on that link. And surprise…surprise! Even Trump's fellow party member, Arnold Schwarzenegger (Conan the Republican, as the media used to label him), said good stuff about Harris and slammed Trump for some “unpatriotic” stuff the latter has resorted to or has remarked about. Yes, the Austrian born knows a lot about patriotism, which he can regale in Austrian accent.

It was almost a no-brainer that, at that point of time, everyone thought that Kamala Harris is going to have the cake and eat it too, and Trump is the loser goofball with unpopular policies such as the immigration issue that smacked of racism, as some criticised.

But whaddya know? At the time of this writing, with two states left to be called, Trump has 295 electoral votes, while Harris has 226. Indeed, Harris has already conceded the 2024 presidential election to President-elect Donald Trump 

Interestingly, the analysts are unfazed by Trump's lead. Some of them are very certain indeed, having noted what had failed the last four years. “Donald Trump has been elected president again because the future of American democracy was not on the ballot in 2024. What was on the ballot was the record of a failed administration led by President Joe Biden and Democratic candidate Vice President Kamala Harris,” says Jonathan Tobin, the editor-in-chief of JNS.org, from an analysis piece in the Newsweek magazine. 

“As it turned out,” he continued, “a majority of Americans didn't buy the smear that Trump was an authoritarian or a Nazi or that the only thing mattered in determining our future as a nation was a Capitol riot that was falsely inflated into an ‘insurrection’.”

In my own personal observation for the last one year at least, there is the rise of conservatism in that country, especially in the media, such as podcasters and commentators from conservative front like Ben Shapiro, Matt Walsh, Candace Owens, and a host of others. Even the provocative, wildly popular podcaster Joe Rogan lent his last-minute support to Trum, something that the latter kept bragging about during his campaign rounds. 

One thing I suspect that may have taken place is the backlash against the rise of the woke culture that has been permeating the US, no thanks to those very celebrities mentioned earlier. Not to mention, overtly, the trans rights issue that sort of crosses the boundaries, irking even more detached disinterested blokes like me. 

All these contributed to the rise of conservatism, not only in the US but all over the world. It’s not surprising to find more folks returning to their religious roots, with Islam being the most popular one now and no matter which faith—the conservative route is the way the majority of the world population is taking on currently as religious nationalism is definitely on the rise.

Let us also not forget the assassination attempt, where, though the assassin was not within the earshot, still got Trump’s ear shot (thank you) that created waves of sympathy for the old man (surprised to note that no one brought up conspiracy theory that it was staged for publicity except these two women, I suppose)

There have also been complaints that Trump is going to be the first president with criminal charges hovering over him like a death drone—currently standing at four criminal indictments in four different cities as he reclaims the White House, totaling in 91 felony counts among others.

The US, which prides itself on being modern, open-minded, so on and so forth, is a nation of murderers and lots of other horrible stuff that I have covered before in pursuing the argument that it is not a great nation. Hence, this time, it deserves the comic relief leader it has chosen. It's going to be a great time for stand up comics, and the comedy circle in general.

Look, the current guy, Biden, who’s going to hand over the baton is basically a zombie and will not be missed. Obama may be good, but he is boring—he is just a nice guy, a supposedly virtuous family man, and, again, dull as dishwater.

Trump, with his criminal cases, his penchant to stick his feet in the mouth, and being inappropriate, rude, and dumb—incredibly all three at the same time—makes for great content, traditional or social media. I, for one, am really looking forward to his years as the president of the most decadent country in the world at the moment. Come on, for being the greatest nation in the world 18% of US adults (approximately 57.4 million people) are illiterates.

I am glad that Kamal Harris didn’t win. Gosh, if only she did, the amount of bragging by the Indian community world over, as if she is directly related to and have cooked Biriyani for them, would be unbearable. Welcome back, Donald Trump; and boy, are we in for great fun or what.

Violence A-stray!

There is an expression in Tamil, or should I say, a way of saying someone was shot mercilessly: “nadu road-la nayee sudura mathiri suttAngga” roughly translates to “was shot like a stray dog in the middle of the road.”.

The community of animal lovers and animal rights activists were up in arms recently with the news of the shooting of Kopi the stray dog in that exact manner. Okay, I am not a dog person, but how can I hate those guys? I see them every morning when I leave to work; they are about as harmless as butterflies. 

Also, the endearing thing about Kopi that got him popular was that clip of him playing with my people, little kittens. That “aww” factor. Cat and dog folks unite over that clip. 

Sure, stray dogs do get shot now and then, but they mostly don’t make it to the news. The authorities “slipped” when this time they picked the wrong creature to mess with. This time, it’s personal.

Issues of animal rights, abuse, and wrongful killing aside, what really worries me is the use of firearms. This is Malaysia. Gun law is such that owning one can get you in prison. If the authority can wave their weapons about and start shooting in the street, what would stop him from being dumb and start shooting at folks? Or if the bullet ricochets and hits some guy on the street right between the ass cheeks? What justification will these so-called authorities have for having produced a second arse hole? Because they are one?

So, I see two issues here. The freewheeling attitude behind the attempt to rid strays with costly and collateral damage-causing firearms, and the issue of animal rights itself. The stray animals are living, breathing creatures, just like human beggars and the infirm living by the street. 

Yes, there have been issues where strays have attacked little children, but I am coming back to the same issue: there shouldn’t be any strays in the first place. Men domesticated wolves and bred them into shapes and sizes according to their whims and fancy. They have the responsibility to take care of these creatures. 

Cats are quite independent; don’t give two hoots about human beings. But not dogs... their attachment to humans is legendary for centuries, and there are so many great tales out there about their loyalty and sacrifice. Plus, their usefulness extends to the authorities, and we should be grateful for their services—whether the cops, the customs department, or even the military. Their less than useful relatives do not deserve to be shot in the streets like that. Where’s the gratitude, human? 

Of course, when I said people were up in arms about, I meant all the outcry occurred mostly only online. When a bunch of folks decided to hold a rally protesting the incident, only two turned up, the organisers. So much for all the noise online.

Soon, the whole thing will die off until another stray gets shot. There are a handful of true animal lovers and organisation which will continue to monitor and make noise at the slightest sign of another act of abuse or handing out of street justice like this.

Anyway, fret not, the noise has gone to the parliament, and I do hope that they come up with something. Not that the current bunch of parliamentarians are the brightest and the best; there’s a whole bunch of red-nosed circus inhabitants in there, but let’s keep our fingers crossed. Something should come out of this. 

Come on, Nabi Muhammad S.A.W., despite Islam’s certain cautiousness over some animals, including dogs, did say: ““If someone kills a sparrow for fun, the sparrow will cry out on the Day of Judgement, ‘O Lord! That person killed me in vain! He did not kill me for any useful purpose.'” There are a whole bunch of quotes in that link where the Prophet talks about cruelty against animals. 

Judgement awaits these perpetrators.

Through The Teeth.

How was yours today?

I thought I should write this because this is an important moment in my life and a certain issue has to be addressed.

It was triggered from the poem I posted in my What’s App status sometimes back that I was going through today:

Lying Arse

Voice out

your frustrations.

But not to the

already exasperated.

Lie your way

out of your ass

But not to liars who’re

much too fast.

But everything is about

Situation, time and Place.

For every move is a

A hot board game of chess.

In any event, just

Don’t step on the mess.

That was left behind

When you were a pest

- RKP 24/04/2024

An acquaintance who saw the status chatted me up and asked, “What have you done?”. She meant, of course, why this, and, well, what have I done to pen that? I responded as follows (the parenthesis is for Tamil word):

“The point being the last four lines. The lies we told in the past will be the shit we step on in the future. Consequences (are always there). Law of nature (they’d say), (likewise) karma, Newton's law of motion, etc. But your past lies will be your present regret and future foil. Charles Dickens Christmas ghosts (like)”.

I would say over the last couple of decades, I have lied as little as possible, in real life and online—the latter of course depends on the content. As those who have read my blog posts and online articles may have noticed, my reviews are honest, while satiric pieces have b.s. all over them—but that is the whole point of satiric writing - telling deadly truth with light hearted b.s. 

But we cannot live without lying. Let’s say you have had massive diarrhea and made major deposits in the lavatory, and as you walk into the office, one of the colleagues whom you are not too close with asks you, “How are you?”. Are you going to regale him with the tragic tale of your overworked sore ass? Of course not; you will lie through your teeth and say, “I’m fine; how are you?”. Though he may have hit and run a cyclist that morning, naturally he’d say, "Fine.”

Then there are the professions. The first ones that come to mind would be politicians, lawyers, or a combination of both, because that one brilliant ability which is to pull stuff out of the ass is inherent in those two vocations. 

In asking the question as to why we lie to the ChatGPT, it gave a general answer. I followed it up, and this is what I got:

Sometimes ChatGPT really carries your balls, ain't it. Hope it's telling the truth. 

The word "fibs" in the last sentence means “lies” of course. On google search, this turned up at the top:

Synonyms for "to lie" include:

• Fib (informal)

• Tell a lie

• Be untruthful

• Stretch the truth

• Bear false witness

• Not tell the truth

• Fabricate

• Prevaricate

• Be economical with the truth (UK, humorous)

• Not tell the whole truth

• Tell a white lie

Why have I shared the above? Well, lying is such an important activity that it has sired so many synonyms and similar words, expressions, and slangs. 

Coming to what lying would mean to any individual, I like this explanation from this article: 

“Lies may be divided into two distinct motivational categories: prosocial lies that are constructed to benefit others; and antisocial lies that are selfish.”

To even expand it further, there are lies to hide some bitter truth, there are lies to self-elevate, there are lies because you gotta sell something that does not really measure up, there are lies because you don’t want to pursue certain subjects and move on, and there are lies because the one you are about to deceive does not need additional info—need to know basis only. You want to avoid them like plague. Except, usually, plague comes to you.

There used to be some sort of patron saint of non-lying (as opposed to The Truth, because who the hell knows what that thing is), called Harischandra. A king known for telling the truth and holder of values like honesty, integrity, and selflessness, the poor bloke had to face a shitload of challenges, issues, and stuff.

Aside: Raja Harischandra was the first Indian silent film... which is technically a lie, because India was not India till it was 1947, right? End of aside 

And of course, speaking of lying through the teeth, how about nose? Everyone knows Pinocchio’s story. Though I suspect it is an allegory about male sexuality insecurity, the more he lies to a woman he is attracted to, the better chance the hard-on will be put to good use. The nose hard on. Like Pinocchio. Arr... you know what I mean.

Which is why to live a life without telling a single lie is like taking a roller coaster ride on an ordinary railway track. The worst lies are the ones you tell yourself. But what the hell? The business of motivating others has been minting moolahs based on this premise. To feel better about yourself is to continue lying and believing in it.

What is long, hard and full of mucus?

Not to mention, lying is a direct proffession that folks believe and swear by. You see, the most sincere, hard-working, selfless astrologists make a living by dispensing personal prophecies to their clients. These prophecies are nothing but lies, of course, but believers usually bend the truth to the shape of those prophecies and convince others that those were accurate predictions. That is self-deception at its best.  

There are lies that evolve into conspiracy theories because it suits agendas. There are lies that gather more and more lies, solidify themselves, and become the truth, as those who set aside time daily for prayers will tell you. They then share those lies with others, and all of them coagulate into a dangerous group of people that is responsible for this:

If every religion is not lying, this would never have happened. But you just got...to...lie, ain’t you?

Which is why truth can only remain a pursuit and a journey only. Just like life, because the ending is where the real truth is, nothing is permanent—everything—wealth, family, love life, relationship, power, pets, memories, and that large block of chocolate you thought you could save up for days to come. Nothing lasts forever. This truth is so shatteringly terrifying, we might as well live a life full of lies, perform in front of others, and bow out of life's stage gracelessly and never to appear again.

Seriously, remember the first sentence I wrote above? I lied. To save your scrolling, I wrote: “I thought I should write this because this is an important moment in my life, and this has to be addressed.” To refer to the pix up there, it's absolutely bullshit!

I wrote this post because I was fucking bored and wanted to post something, anything, in my blog. Thanks for being deceived, suckers. Hahaha

Vettaiyan (2024)

When Eastwood’s Dirty Harry came out in 1971, the critics were appalled by the fascist approach celebrated in the film. Is he a hero a cop or freewheeling vigilante dishing out justice in his own terms? The film was a huge hit, but the debate remained in the politics of the film. Why the violence by cop is celebrated? Ain’t that hypocritical when cops should be defenders of peace in the first place, not the other side of the violent criminal coin?

The producers followed up with a sequel, Magnum Force, where this time Harry himself faces off with the a bunch of rookie cops who does the very thing, idolising Harry, and performing vigilantism as they find fit.

And when they explained that to him, Harry says, “I’m afraid you misjudged me”.

That is basically what Vettaiyan set out to do, to penetrate both side of the debate. The title character, played by Rajini, is an “encounter” specialist, a cop freely killing thugs as he finds fit. These encounter specialists are basically ones with unofficial “licence to kill”.

Yet the film does not seek to glorify it as the climax proves. Vettaiyan’s approach and the wrong consequence forms the first half of the film.

Unlike Eastwood’s Harry who continued with his way in the next three sequels, Rajini’s character is struck by his conscience when that one “encounter” was realised to be a mistake.

He then vowed to the family of the guy he killed to find the actual culprit and works his way to a somewhat satisfying ending. That is the second half.

First and foremost, director Gnanavel did a splendid job of balancing this “message” platform with Rajini’s stardom, and laudable especially by not going overboard on the latter.

Speaking of the balancing act, he deals with the “encounter’ culture and the money minting education coaching business (here we say tuition, I suppose), which burdens poor families where some students even resorted to suicides.

Tough subjects but Gnanavel tackled them with equal fervour ensuring that there’s both justification and error on the police violence part and pointing out the capitalism poison that pervades the education business.

My joy was the performances. Everyone was on track. The gals, especially Rithika Singh whom I adored in Iruthi Sutru, a real life Mix Martial Arts queen, who gets her share of ass kicking and the supporting roles by Rohini, Abhirami.... and Manju Warier who plays Rajini’s wife and whom you ain’t gonna mess with. And of course, Sudha Vijayan who's character the entire film is centred on. It wonderful to see strong performances from the gals in an industry that usually treats actress like a showcase item. 

Then there was Amitabh Bachcan whose role could have been done by any other character actors but he was the moral gravity of the film and let’s not forget, he is our Superstar’s superstar. After Nadigar Thilagam Sivaji Ganesan nobody can make Rajini’s character shrink in admiration, respect and devoted like he does here, and both of their scenes together lend to the seriousness the conflict discussed in the film.

Then, there’s Fahad Fasil…what a scene stealer…and he is indeed a thief in this movie. A hacker. And made into an ethical hacker by being Robin to Rajini’s Batman. Their relationship forms the best part of the film, if I may add which will tear our heart out when the inevitable happens towards the end.

I want to come back to the use of Eastwood comparison. Now, his earlier films celebrated vigilantism through the coo movies and random violence in the westerns. He atones for it in the excellent Oscar awards winning Unforgiven (1992).  He kept at it in film like Gran Torino (2008).

I find that similar attempt in this flick. Rajini started out as a hero doing vengeance flick from the late 70s right through the 80s.

Here his character has to grapple with conscience on that approach. And I loved it that the Rajini I admire, Rajini the actor is made full use when his character is beset by emotion, reacting terribly to the earlier vigilante attitude and repenting by setting the wrongs right. Fantastic performance there, the subtlety in his approach always confirms me this: when he is not doing stylish shit, the self glorifying characters, the man can pull off brilliantly in playing conflicted characters.

That what makes this film work and kudos to Gnanavel for bringing that outta Rajini.

I love this film. I really do.

Old Grouch Fable Collection pt3

 

This bugger's story is the best, right at the end. Yes, there's violence.

The Bear and the Two Travelers

Two men—let’s call them Jim and John—were travelling together, walking through a forest despite the fact that taking a bus would be cheaper and safer. By the way, their real names are Reginald and Thanggaswamy, but it saves me time if I call them Jim and John. Shit, now I wasted time typing all that. Damn

Upon reaching the thickest part of the forest, suddenly a bear appeared in front of them.

"Boo,” said the bear.

Terrified, Jim quickly climbed the tree, while John remembered that bears do not attack or eat dead creatures. Quickly, he fell flat on the ground and held his breath. He tried to recall the faces he saw in the coffin and put up the appearance of a serene corpse. He did keep his mouth gaping open so that he could breathe through that. Clever feller, right?

The bear came to him and started sniffing him. God knows what Jim ate, but the moment the bear smelt the mouth area, it gagged and vomited heavily.

“Deyy, what did you eatlah, lah? That’s some stinky piece of shit breath you got there,” cried the bear.

“Oh,” said Thanggaswamy, his voice emerging from the leafy branches, “he had nasi campur with tempoyak, sambal belacan, ikan masin, and durian for dessert.”

Hearing that, the bear rushed to the tree, actually climbed it (it did a quick Tree Climbing 101 course during the summer break), and ate Thanggaswamy.

Moral: You know…there’s a racial stereotype right there if you noticed.

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The Milkmaid and Her Pail

Patty the Milkmaid was going to market carrying her milk in a pail on her head. In Tamil, Patty is Granny. But still, in English, patty is that meaty thingy between buns. But did that bother Patty the Milkmaid? Nope.

Despite the fact that she has yet to get royalty from the condensed milk company, Patty had dreams. While carrying the pail, she started calculating as to what she would do with the money from selling the milk.

“I'll buy some fowl from Farmer Brown," said she. Actually, Farmer Brown offered to give the fowls for free, for which he said, “I can show you something even more brown; you get it, huh? Huh?”. The horny bastard.

Nah, Patty ain’t falling for it; besides, she already made deals with Farmer Abrahamovic, who sells geese. A geese in exchange for pus... Anyway, let's get on with the story.

And so she continued with her fantasy. The chickens, she imagines, "will lay eggs. each morning, which I will sell to the parson's wife.” Wait. Who?

“Parson,” she told me.

You mean, person?

“Parson. A priest, dum-dum. What kinda narrator are you?”

Well, that’s embarrassing. Anyway, she continued, “With the money that I get from the sale of these eggs, I'll buy myself a new dimity frock and a chip hat." Yes, dear readers, I too have no idea what the hell they are.

She went on, “And when I go to market, won't all the young men come up and speak to me! Polly Shaw will be that jealous, but I don't care.“

Wait, Patty. Who is Polly Shaw, a character? Out of nowhere. Patty ignored me and continued, That arrogant wench:

“I shall just look at her and toss my head like this.”

And as she spoke, she tossed her head back, the pail fell off it, and all the milk was spilt. So she had to go home and tell her mother what had occurred.

"Ah, my child," said the mother, "do not count your chickens before they are hatched."

Moral: Wait, the mother explained already; why do you want it from me? Though I don’t know about chicken thingy, Patty deserves it for calling me dum-dum.

 

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The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Once upon a time, blah, blah, blah… the usual opening, there was a wolf that was hungry like an err. Wolf (Yes, I stole that from Duran Duran). As it trudged along by the side of a field, it spotted a fleck of shops.

Oh wait. Hang on.

I meant a flock of sheep. It licked its lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, and that little droplet thingy at the back of it.

“This will be what they say, sap-sap-suey...easy peasy.”.

But the wolf was wrong, because taking care of the flick of shape...err...the flock of sheep was a shepherd and a couple of dogs. The dogs look like they had eaten the entire buffalo for breakfast and are still hungry.

“That would be a bad move,” thought Wolf, who does his thinking in English though its mother tongue is Romanian.

As it wandered around hungrily, later, it encountered the skin of a sheep that had been flayed and thrown aside. I know this sudden twist in the story is so convenient, like in old Tamil films, but bear with me.

So, it put the sheep skin on and strolled down back to the fluke of shape—aww, come on—I meant, flock of sheep. But guess what... remember the skin was flayed... yeah, the owner lamb was there and identified.

“Motherf_ is wearing my goddamned fur, the cheek,” it thought in one of the Slavic languages that I hadda google translate.

The lamb then began to follow the Wolf in the sheep's clothing, but dammit, the wolf caught her and made a meal of her. Soon, the wolf was serially killing the others. Reports appeared in the New Sheeps Times with headlines like:

Lamb Killing Own: Police Baffled, Surprised, Shaken But Not Stirred.

Actually, the story ends here. With the message being about not getting deceived. But I did see another version that has apa nama tu, an alternate ending.

That version had the shepherd thinking about having lamb varuval or something for dinner and decided to slaughter one of them in the flex, I mean, flock.

He picked up the knife, and so happened he got hold of the wolf in the sheep’s clothing and killed the goddamned wolf. The rest of the sheep were shocked and ashamed. Shocked because of the killing and ashamed because, well, they have been taken for a ride by the wolf, haven’t they? And so they all fled and lived on their own, the fur growing so thick and round that they no longer walked but rolled and rolled and rolled...

Moral of the story. I don’t know. Go to the barber regularly, I suppose.

Old Grouch Fable Collection Pt 1

Old Grouch Fable Collection Pt 2

Old Groucho Fable Collection Pt4

Old Grouch Fable Collection pt2

The beginning of 1485 Italian edition of Aesopus Moralisatus (From wiki)

Note: Hopefully I can do more of this. The first part was written in 2011....a sequel 13 years in the making. You can find the first one here.   

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Tortoise and Hare 2: The Hare-y Vengeance.

Ever since he lost to a tortoise in a race, the hare was a broken...hare He vowed that he would have another race, correct the whole damn thing, and win this time like he should have in the first place.

Therefore, one day he went looking for the tortoise and found the later chewing on some garbage.

“Hey, tortoise,” he greeted the tortoise, who at this point had given up on swallowing a crumpled mineral water bottle.

Tortoise spat the crumpled plastic out and said, “I have a name, you son of a bitch. It’s Murray.”

At this point, this narrator is ashamed for not even checking up on those names. What’s yours, Hare, I asked.

“Harry,” said the Hare before adding the “duh!” and rolling its eyes.

Harry then confronted Murray and said, “Hey, how about another race?”.

Murray snickered and said, “You think you're gonna win this time?”

“Hell yeah,” said Harry. “I ain’t gonna do no sleeping no more.”

“That’s a shitload of double negatives,” said Murray. “Alright, let’s try it out.”

“Cool,” said Harry, looking at me. “Hey baldy, you wanna be the official; start the race off.”.

“Sure,” I said, producing a.44 magnum (the most powerful handgun in the world). Once they were in the starting line, I shot the monster of a revolver upwards, making the blast sound that deforested a few acres. Immediately, Murray, shocked by the explosive sound, jumped and turned over to his back. Harry, seeing that, laughed uncontrollably.

And it happened. The bullet I shot in the air returned, and the kinetic energy knocked the shit outta Harry, who didn’t die, but has enough brain damage that he thinks he is a gay dolphin.

As for me, I was arrested ala Alec Baldwin for the "accident.”

Moral: Always check the revolver chambers for live rounds.

 

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The Butt Ugly Duckling

Once upon a time, about 3 in the afternoon, a farmer had a duck. He had the same duck at 2.45 pm too, but what the hell?

The duck laid ten eggs; it was the quota at that time, apparently because the decimal system was just invented and implemented alongside the metric system; there was a strict regulation of laying eggs in tens. Any number lower or higher would result in well... crips braised duck legs with aromatic vegetables.

Soon all the eggs hatched; one by one the ducklings popped out and immediately started quacking incessantly till the mother smacked them with her wing. But wait a minute.

The tenth egg cracked, and out came one ugly mother of ducklings. It’s so ugly that the mother felt guilty about the secret rendezvous she had with the neighbour’s drake.

The other ducklings started laughing at this ugly duckling. So, did the farmer. They even had a sit-com laugh track to enhance the scene.

Unable to take it, the ugly duckling ran away and ended up in the city. It was adopted by a dude who turned out to be a plastic surgeon. He performed surgery on the ugly duckling, and voila! It still looked ugly. The surgeon, realising he had failed, became an alcoholic and sent the uglier duckling packing, and the duckling travelled, gathered experience and wisdom, and grew up to become an adult—still an ugly duck—with all that knowledge and world-wise insights, he became a highly sought-after guru, calling himself Swami Vaatthanandha, though he was later implicated in a sex scandal, but that’s a story for another day.

Moral: Don’t overcompensate and stay away from gals if you are a Swamiji.

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The Fisherman and the Fish.

There was once a fisherman whose whole livelihood currently depended on the investments in several companies's. All the companies folded because they were scams. So, the fisherman was back fishing anywhere he could—the sea, the river, the pond, the neighbour's  kitchen, anywhere.

One day, he caught a small fish. The fish….fearing for its life, yelled, “Please leave me, kind sir. I am, but too tiny; you can’t even make fish and chips outta me, let alone steamed Chinese style. Drop me back in the river. We can become Facebook friends. In fact, let me grow; I will become big and fat, and then you have something for the entire family. You can drop by this spot, say, in a year’s time. Let me go!”

The fisherman’s jaw dropped. A talking fish!

“Well, fish. You are talking about the future. I just lost shitloads of money on scam investments. You think I’m gonna listen to you giving me prospects, you son of a bitch?”

The stunned fish that really pleaded for its life, “Please, sir, let me go. I don’t even taste good; you can wiki my species.”

But the fisherman had an idea.

The next day, he set up a stall at a local market and brought the fish in a bowl and started yelling, “Come on over, come on over. A talking fish. For some measly sum, it will predict your future.”

The fish and the farmer lived happily ever after, prosperously…well, not actually. The fish, feeling miserable being used like that, one day jumped out of it’s bowl and into the toilet bowl to kill itself. Though the farmer who used the toilet, not noticing the small fish, had flushed and sent the fish straight to local sewage. The fish lived there henceforth and made friends with tubifex worms—or sludge worms, as they are popularly known.

Moral of the story: I just learnt there’s a creature called Tubifex worm...damn and eww….

Old Grouch Fable Part 1

Old Grouch Fable Part 3

Old Grouch Fable Part 4