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Aquaman “Pilot” (part 1 of 11)
Jan 11, 2007
The Day the Earth Stood Still (2008) (part 8 of 11)
Oi, now it’s back to the army/robot subplot. Short version: Colonel T-Bag has gotten the message about aggressive actions triggering the robot, so they have a new plan: They move in three giant panels and, essentially, crate it up. Amazingly, this works, and they airlift the robot away. At first I wasn’t sure how they got under the robot, but on second viewing it became clear that they removed a half-foot of soil for several feet around the robot, and each of the three panels have prongs that shove right through the soil under the robot.
Two thoughts: (a) I’d love to be one of the soldiers detailed to dig a big hole around a dangerous, 30-foot tall alien robot. And: (b) Who programmed this thing, if it doesn’t interpret being crated up and hauled away (thereby being prevented from fulfilling its primary mission, if nothing else) as a hostile act? I know one thing. If some dudes boxed me up and airlifted me to God knows where, I’d tend to think they were being… yeah, pretty hostile.
Victor Von Doom’s giant statue was carefully preserved in storage during his frequent absences in Latveria.
Oh, and we could ponder why Klaatu, who’s an alien on the run from everybody and who’s being depicted on the news as a dangerous escaped convict, elected to meet with Old Chinese Alien at a McDonald’s on the Jersey Turnpike. But the movie itself now demonstrates how bright this was, as it voices over Helen and Co. driving through the forests of the Jersey Highlands with a string of 911 calls describing where exactly Klaatu was and exactly what they were driving. So I really have nothing more to say.
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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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