The Agent

I thought I should introduce you to Night of the Blog's field reporter, The Agent. The Agent is just as he sounds: a mystery-cloaked person (whose true identity will remain hidden so as to protect and maintain his nifty-cool anonymity) who collects information for Night of Blog. This is a photo of the Agent. Yes, a photograph.

Anyway, look forward to secret reports from The Agent... soon?

Cue ominous musical swell.

Shaken to the Core

I was under the impression that my orange juice was safe-- a haven far removed from a turbulent world of many uncertainties; a peaceful respite in a time of violently shifting paradigms. I believed that.

Until I saw this.

I have always considered myself a logical yet accepting human being, firm in a foundation of intellectual concrete yet fully capable of acknowledging quantities not yet comprehensible within the limits of man's cognitive capacities.

But this ... this blows the pot wide open, spilling it's contents onto the floor.

Why is this "orange grower" (I'm assuming he is so quantified) staring at this arm? What is so fascinating about the said appendage? More importantly, who is this arm connected to and what does it want? Why? The flood of questions this image aroused were legion and I readily admit I sobbed openly upon casting gaze on it's colorful composition.

I awoke a believing man. Now I doubt everything.

Pictures From Around the World!

This, ladies and gentlemen, is a Mongolian Toilet. Enjoy.

"I'm the King!"

It's time for another Brazen Motion Picture Boosterism!

And yes, if you were wondering, there are other Brazen Motion Picture Boosterism things out there. In the wild. Where they belong.

This weeks Boosterism is for a lovely as-of-yet-not-released moving picture called In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale. It contains all sorts and brands of cinema virtue, including but not limited to:

1.) The seraphic presence of Sir Burt Reynolds, who has not yet been knighted but should have been, like, a billion years ago.
2.) A cut-rate budget most likely intentional so as to sing the merits of independent film and the daring visions of autonomous auteurs.
3.) Said auteur Uwe Boll whose German upbringing and sassy smart accent alone inspire great bundles of confidence. Give the man a gift of peduncles-- it is the very least you can do.
4.) After having purchased a ticket for this sumptuous yarn of dungeon sieging, one might also feel so inclined as to procure a vessel of popped corn. This would be for personal consumption during the siege.

These scrape but the surface of the many dozens of reasons why the good people of this earth should see In the Name of the King. Suffice it to say, it will be an exhilarating experience-- one for the keepsake books-- when it hits theaters in January.

Why Am I Not Serious?

I'm ashamed.

Okay, so I'm not ashamed; I'm insane.

Like hundreds of thousands of other Americans with nothing better to do on a Saturday night, I went and saw the cinema-film I Am Legend, starring box-office sweetheart, Will Smith. The thing is, I didn't come for the Smith. No, I came for the laughs.

You see, before the iMax presentation of I Am Legend there is a six and a half minute sequence from next year's The Dark Knight. And, according to the online community, the sequence would be our reintroduction to the Batman's age old nemesis: the Joker. I knew about this before hand, and given my slightly sick and unabashed love for all things Gotham I absolutely had to see it.

And see it I did. Barely. I kept clapping and hooting the whole damn time. I was like Augustus Gloop in the chocolate store: elated to the point of spraying joy fluids on all the delicious candies, effectively rendering them inedible for all the rest of the children. It wasn't pretty, and I'm certain I've new enemies among the cineplex-visiting elite. Perhaps even some elderly ones and newborns.

But it was the Joker! And he is so... so... awesome!

Help.

Rollin' with Dylan

I am unable to thing of a more intelligent inaugural post for the Night of the Blog brand blog so I am reduced to plugging a film that I recently watched: Todd Haynes' I'm Not There, otherwise known as the Bob Dylan movie.

Be aware; this is not a music biopic ala Ray or Walk the Line or any of those other "-make-music-get-famous-do-drugs-sink-into-despair-before-ultimately-making-a-triumphant-return" kind of movies. I'm Not There is basically a two hour avant garde piece-- an experiment in experience rather than a cookie-cutter tribute to a legendary star. The film might not make a lot of sense, but neither does all of Dylan's music. In fact, I'm Not There might be the most logical kind of Dylan film: the kind that leaves the audience with the power to draw from it what they will.