Indian Runner may hold the key to Sean Penn’s decadence. His fear of Frankie, of what Frankie means, and ultimate embrace of the brother who is cowardice and pusilanaminity in the face of Frankie.
“I am the message.”
Yeah. One has to admit, great movie. Of course, Sean Penn put himself against the wall there needlessly, perhaps humanity as a whole did. Frankie could easily have just joined society and become a father. Many such figures exist in Venezuela. Where they are simply scoundrels and carry that as, as Nolan would say, a ghost for their child. But in it’s not as simple as that, I’ll give you. Vzla is different.
Still and all. And Frankie’s last monologue. There Sean Penn’s knees already buckle, and the buckling is called commienism.
It’s a tie for the title. The Mule and The Unforgiven.
One shows the furthest extent of his reach in the magnifiscent art of cinema, the other the fullest extent of the magnifiscent art of cinema’s reach in him.
My great aunt, or rather a cousin of my grandmother’s, was the daughter of some insanely rich people. They were a little crazy, she was home schooled and they were sort of puritan. The day they died and she inherited all that money, she went ahead and bought herself a house right next to Clint Eastwood.
Gringos are reasonable people. And I’m using gringo loosely to include Canadians, as I had a conversation with a I guess democrat today, but you know he spent some time in the US too, also did some time there, but anyway, including Canadians. They’re not fanatics. That’s just the college kids.
Things aren’t so bad. Trump’s work is largely done in terms domestic sanity, exposing the bastards has done its trick in a beneath the surface kind of way. We still need him though, a lot, for that geopolotics shit. Sensitive times, sensitive work.
But um. Gringos are reasonable. Shit, like Trump. Trump partied with the Clintons. He’s not angry at life.
