palace of winds

See, the thing with The Aviator is that it’s completely masturbatory. And while there’s nothing wrong with masturbation — well. Here’s the thing.

The only time you really like to watch someone else masturbate is if you’re getting off too. Or, I guess, if you expect to shortly. It has to be interactive masturbation.

And, for me, The Aviator is like this totally average-looking guy with maybe one really annoying feature like he’s got bad breath or a gum-smacking habit or he’s really blonde, and he’s so into himself that you could puke and he turns his back and whips it out and it takes him three hours. So it’s like, no thanks. Completely un-hot.

So why is everyone so ga-ga over the movie? Why all the noms? I mean, I give you DiCaprio because he acted his socks off, but the movie sucked. And then it hit me.

The movie is totally Hollywood masturbation. They’re all so clever so witty oh here’s my secret history let me make a movie about it that Makes No Other Kind of Sense.

There are movies that make lots of different kinds of sense, and these are the best movies. And then there are the movies that make just the low kind of sense, and these movies (in general) I hate. And there are the movies that make just the high kind of sense, and some of these movies I like because I’m in with their secret history, and some of them I like because they let me into the secret history. But The Aviator doesn’t bother to let anyone in. It turns up its nose and insists on its one kind of sense.

Maybe I just take such great exception because I’m so used to being derided for being culturally unaware vis-a-vis movies and music. And this is an entire movie that excludes people who haven’t some prior knowledge.

And, when I’m trying to be charitable, I think: Perhaps if I’d gone in with a different mindset.

Then again, perhaps not.