In the grand tradition of larger than life action icons uttering quotable one-liners, I was half expecting Clint Eastwood to deliver his famous "make my day" line while mocking the neighborhood ethnic thugs in Gran Torino. Alas, he didn't.

But Gran Torino makes up for the lapse by going overdrive with the ancient, cantankerous, scarred warrior/soldier transformed into neighborhood "I still have the mojo" sage storyline. Did I say lovable racist pig as well? Yes, He played that as well.

But don't get me wrong. I loved Gran Torino (highly recommended). It's the kind of film action heroes do well when they get too old to play Rambo (Sylvester S, please take note) and still look cute. But unlike other action flicks where the old hero lives to get the girl, this hero goes to his tailor, gets a nice warm shave, takes a soak in the tub and puts on a show that demonstrates how to change the world by lighting a smoke. Clint makes my day even without uttering it.
 

In The Dark Knight, Batman insists that Harvey Dent is a saint, thus causing a celestial identity crisis of DC proportions.

All this because the Batman wanted to boink his childhood girlfriend so badly he was willing to fight off the mob, wipe the smirk off the Joker's face and live happily ever after.

Then again, so did Superman (gave up his powers to shag Lois) and Spidey (ran out of web to spin). But then they didn't get Chris Nolan to direct their movies, and thus missed out on the utterly cerebral treatment for a rather banal human crisis. It's like having Einstein write a physics equation on the phenomenon of ejaculation, and still make it an enjoyable experience.

Yes. Even superheroes can get horny at times. 

I've been amiss in my movie watching this year. Let's see. Cars and trucks with secret lives, an alien with a bad flea problem and a rodent wishing to be in Hell's Kitchen. Harry Potter and the demon barber, canine zombies and powdery eggs, summers in Taiwan and Pan in Naziland. Talking polar bears and Nikole Kidman, resurrected pirates, neophyte golden showers, a knocked up Izzie and Prada wearing demons. Hmmm... did I miss anything?

I missed seeing any of the best pic flicks this year, except for Atonement which I found to be small feet in big shoes. By the end of the movie, all I could manage was a huh? that was it? 

Somehow, even with the resolution of the writer's strike, the Oscars this year still felt a bit lacklustre. It looked rushed. Except for the opening montage, all the other film clips were disjointed. And the sound system sucked big time. Anyway. Maybe I can still get to see the rest of the nominated flicks.

On a day I was hoping to be left to my own devices, I spent the entire day mooning over the computer. Really, email is the bane of every working man's free time. How am I supposed to get any cleaning done around the house when I am tied down with answering emails? Worse, I had to head back to the office today as I forgot to bring home the power plug? Grrr...

So while I was busy tapping on the computer, I popped a DVD into the player for some background noise (I never work well in silence). The DVD was called "A Streetcar named Desire", that black and white flick featuring a very young (and buffed) Marlon Brando. Between soundbites of very thick southern accent and very dated acting, it struck me how beautiful Marlon Brandon was when he was at his prime. Beauty is truly fleeting, considering that the Marlon Brando forever stuck in my brain is that from the hideous "Island of Dr Moreaou" (and I don't even mean the freaks they used in the movie), all fat and pasty and weird. 

I wasn't really paying attention to the plot as I was more listening to the movie than watching, but I found the over the top acting so vaguely familiar. Halfway through an email, an epiphany struck me. The acting reminded me of the kind I see on Singapore TV drama these days. Blame email for giving me visions.