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Grindhouse: A Thematic Study

I really, really, really liked Grindhouse for many reasons that I can probably only effectively communicate to you orally and/or non verbally. But this is the written word, so alas, I must force myself. Meanwhile, you will have to imagine my excited gesticulations.
I do a lot of pointing, and thumbs up, and punching motions, karate kicks, Elvis arm moves, and touchdown dance type shit when I talk about Grindhouse. It’s that type of film…for me. You asshats who didn’t like this film…go away. We cannot relate to each other. You are Goldilocks and I am a three bears. We have nothing in common except for maybe the love of porridge, which, in my case, is self-pleasuring.
Spoilers are not being taken into account so if you care about that sort of thing, turn down your volume or don't click to see more after the jump. For those of you who have courage, beware for zombies and hot babes await...
Zombies scare me. Always have. But the Planet Terror Zombies did not. I think it was because they were bubbly. This made the movie easier to watch. I also liked that Fergie got killed off in the first five minutes. They ate all of her lady lumps. (it pains my brain cells to even type those two words)
Oh, how I wish that part was non-fiction and Rodriguez could've snuck in actual zombies to eat her and then he could just say it was an accident...that the stunt zombies got mixed up by real zombies and his SAG insurance would just pay everything off and the musical world would be a better place, but too bad for me it was only special effects.
I also liked how the girl's hand broke off in her car door. That was rad. I also liked how her 8 year old son shot himself in the face. That NEVER happens!! In every other horror movie, they'd be dragging that dang kid along until the very end of the movie where he would be the SOLE SURVIVOR because every director is too pussy to kill off the kid!!! Just look at ALIENS!! Stupid Newt should've been WAY dead, but oops there goes the storyline.
Then there's also that Moe-haircut albino girl from Poltergeist that got stuck in a T.V., but of course, she lived in the end and didn't get shot in the head. So mad props to Robert Rodriguez for killing an 8 year old boy with a gunshot to the face. I also enjoyed the doctor's office scene with the diseased computer screen and the bubbly tongue popping incident. Which also means that I must've REALLY liked the hallway scene when the bubbly face goo-slime gets wiped all over the doctor's face...which I did!
I also liked everything about Rose McGowan's one leg, and the crazy twins, and Rapist # 1's melting balls, and Said from Lost cutting off guy's nuts and putting them into jars and getting his head blown up while I watched NOT through my fingers! There was so much other stuff I loved I can't even remember it because it probably exploded my mind.
Yes, everyone will tell you the fake previews were super funny and they were, ESPECIALLY the one by Hostel's, Eli Roth, called Thanksgiving. He rules for even making a trailer that disgusting and hilarious. If the gods truly have me in their favor, it will become a real movie. I would watch it 33 times.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Quentin's Deathproof might've been too slow for some...and maybe even me...but I know what he was trying to achieve and it was fine by me. The amount of hot T&A, muscle car chase madness and the literally KICK ASS ending in this film more than made up for it. Kurt Russell rules. The name Stunt Man Mike rules. Muscle cars rule. Stunt chicks who ride on the hoods of cars also rule.
The only problem this movie had were the missing reels and the fact that Quentin's film should've been first so it built up the pace to the level of Rodriguez's.
The allegory this narrative attempts to convey is obvious: the difference between the male and female orgasms. Planet Terror = Male orgasm: Fast moving, action packed, gooey, and somewhat frightening. Deathproof = Female orgasm: Slow going, too much dialogue, lots of build up with a phenomenal ending.
A film for the ages....I give it four stars.
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