BBC is reporting the discovery of Kryptonite in a mine in Siberia.
From the story:
'A new mineral matching its unique chemistry - as described in the film Superman Returns - has been identified in a mine in Serbia.
According to movie and comic-book storylines, kryptonite is supposed to sap Superman's powers whenever he is exposed to its large green crystals.
The real mineral is white and harmless, says Dr Chris Stanley, a mineralogist at London's Natural History Museum.
"I'm afraid it's not green and it doesn't glow either - although it will react to ultraviolet light by fluorescing a pinkish-orange," he told BBC News.'
So it's pinkish-orange Kryptonite! As all Superman fans know, it's the green stuff that's truly harmful, but Dr Chris Stanley obviously wasn't familiar with the rest of the Kryptonite spectrum. While the effects of pinkish-orange Kryptonite has not yet been documented, we might be able to draw clues from its lithium content; perhaps it's a cure for Super-Manic-Depression.
4.24.2007
4.22.2007
Movie: Grindhouse
No spoilers.
D-, Z-, and I caught Grindhouse at the Parkway Theater in Oakland last night (8:30 show, 3 hour-long movie, woof). In case my gentle readers are somehow not familiar with the Parkway, it's a Speakeasy theater, which is to say there are couches and tables, they serve beer and pizza, and the audience is pretty much expected to get rowdy and into the film.
In other words, the perfect place to see Grindhouse, Rodriguez and Tarantino's homage to the 'sploitation films of the 70s.
There are two films here, Planet Terror and Death Proof, with trailers at the beginning and in the middle for that supersweet, supercheey, superdisturbing stuff the studios were cranking out in the 70s just for kicks and giggles. (The trailer for "Don't," for example, is sheer genius.) Of the two films, PT is the more immediately fun film, packed from the word go with zombie-licious horror and wham-bam-thank-ye-ma'am-Fu; this is not a film likely to surprise unless you happened to miss the 70s altogether, in which case, you'll still recognize all of the cliches from every derivative film from then to now. It's gross, it's loud, it's painful, it's funny, it's fun.
Death Proof starts off slow, and for those of you not familiar with the zero-sum karma rules of horror, you might start thinking, as I did, that good old Quentin has simply missed the mark this time. Talk, talk, talk. Will no one shut this man up? And then, just as you're about to really lose it, he cranks the entire enterprise up to 11. Then it slows down again. And then it picks up to the point where I was actually nervous for the poor characters. And then he jumps the amps to freaking 22, and the entire theater is roaring with approval.
Goddamn, that man knows what he's doing.
Grindhouse. If you don't own a 50" TV and have a grinch of friends willing to come over and drink beer and throw popcorn around your living room, see it before it leaves the theaters.
D-, Z-, and I caught Grindhouse at the Parkway Theater in Oakland last night (8:30 show, 3 hour-long movie, woof). In case my gentle readers are somehow not familiar with the Parkway, it's a Speakeasy theater, which is to say there are couches and tables, they serve beer and pizza, and the audience is pretty much expected to get rowdy and into the film.
In other words, the perfect place to see Grindhouse, Rodriguez and Tarantino's homage to the 'sploitation films of the 70s.
There are two films here, Planet Terror and Death Proof, with trailers at the beginning and in the middle for that supersweet, supercheey, superdisturbing stuff the studios were cranking out in the 70s just for kicks and giggles. (The trailer for "Don't," for example, is sheer genius.) Of the two films, PT is the more immediately fun film, packed from the word go with zombie-licious horror and wham-bam-thank-ye-ma'am-Fu; this is not a film likely to surprise unless you happened to miss the 70s altogether, in which case, you'll still recognize all of the cliches from every derivative film from then to now. It's gross, it's loud, it's painful, it's funny, it's fun.
Death Proof starts off slow, and for those of you not familiar with the zero-sum karma rules of horror, you might start thinking, as I did, that good old Quentin has simply missed the mark this time. Talk, talk, talk. Will no one shut this man up? And then, just as you're about to really lose it, he cranks the entire enterprise up to 11. Then it slows down again. And then it picks up to the point where I was actually nervous for the poor characters. And then he jumps the amps to freaking 22, and the entire theater is roaring with approval.
Goddamn, that man knows what he's doing.
Grindhouse. If you don't own a 50" TV and have a grinch of friends willing to come over and drink beer and throw popcorn around your living room, see it before it leaves the theaters.
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