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Hot Bot (2016), a recap (part 1 of 8)
Oct 1, 2018
The Day the Earth Stood Still (2008) (part 10 of 11)
Klaatu hears a rumbling noise that turns out to be approaching helicopters, and Helen, Klaatu, and Jacob scramble to leave. On the way out, Helen asks John Cleese what to do. “Change his mind”, he answers. “Not with reason, but with yourself.” In other words, flash him some cleavage! Or, if that doesn’t work, go find Kyle Chandler and get him to flash him some cleavage!
The choppers are already at the house, so everybody runs off into the woods. They cover a fair amount of ground before Jacob breaks away and veers off into a small clearing to shout and wave frantically up at the helicopters. Helen pulls him back under the trees and is all, what the hell? Jacob spitefully reveals that (gasp!) he’s the one that tipped off the feds. He screams that they should be killing the alien, like his dad would have, but Helen finally yells back at the ungrateful imp that his dad is gone.
Just as Jacob is looking all stricken, a soldier appears behind Helen and grabs her, and yoink!—they’re both reeled up into one of the three choppers. Jacob stares up after it, and his face is all, “I didn’t mean to sic the entire American military on you!”
“Oh sure, like I’m going to fall for the old ‘There’s a paratrooper repelling from a helicopter behind you!’ routine.”
Klaatu appears and the two remaining helicopters train their laser sights on him. The pilots receive permission to engage and take out the target. So Klaatu, now that his life is directly threatened, is thereby allowed to fight back, according to the abstruse Hollywood by-laws governing Good Guys Killing Good Guys Who Think the Good Guy Is a Bad Guy.
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Mark "Scooter" Wilson
Mark is a history guy, a graphics guy, a guy for whom wryly cynical assessments of popular culture are the scallion cream cheese on the toasted everything bagel of life. He spends his time teaching modern history at Brooklyn College, pondering the ancient Romans at the CUNY Graduate Center, and conjuring maps and illustrations for ungrateful bankers at various Manhattan monoliths. Readers are welcome to guess at reasons why he's nicknamed Scooter, with the proviso that all such submissions are guaranteed to be rather more interesting than the truth. Mark lives in the Midwood section of Brooklyn with a happy-go-lucky, flop-eared dog named Chiyo who is probably, at this very moment, waiting patiently for her walkies.
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