Just watched this flick, what am I supposed to think about it? Was it actually good, or was it 'artsy good where you're socially pressured to say it's good'-good?
Why the fuck did the girl look like she was about to cry the whole movie? Why does the dude look utterly confused in every scene?
What's the moral of the story? What am I meant to get out of it? What are the 'deep' implications?
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It's great and Katherine Waterston is beautiful
I don't know, the nipple tips looked a bit too puffy for my taste, but the rest good yeah
She has brilliant nips. And apparently the film is about CIA flodding the streets with drugs
can't you think for yourself?
no..?
[incoherent mumbling]
----
The plot is so similar to The Big Lebowski that I wonder if that (which came later) was a Coenized Inherent Vice.
It was bad. He did his best. The novel is even more dense and has more stuff going on. Thomas Pynchon rocks even if he is a CIA MKULTRA spook.
Doc is probably based off of Pynchon's own person during the writing of gravity's rainbow supposedly beachside in california with a lot of drugs and television during the late 60s/early 70s
Also he should have shot Vineland. It has less events and characters. He supposedly originally considered it and couldnt figure out how to shoot it. I'm assuming he means because almost nearly the whole thing is a "flashback" and I'm pretty sure everyone is dead by the end except for the anime-duo tier soul adjuster characters. I still think it would have been a better movie.
have sex
Its funny, its entertaining, but it fails at everything it tries to do, except make me laugh.
>MOTO PANEKEKU
>And apparently the film is about CIA flodding the streets with drugs
huh?
most Pynchon revolves around inscrutable forces beneath the surface level of society.
I feel like PTA could've gone more political than he did, but he settles for a boho stoner hang-out comedy. But it isn't funny enough to to be comedy and it isn't experimental enough to be formally interesting, so it wallows in mood and texture.
The movie did a horrible job at portraying this don't worry he tried
The greatest pleb filter of the decade
>Why does the dude look utterly confused in every scene?
Because he's a dumb stoner who can't follow what's going on despite everyone explaining the plot to him
Its not very good.
Found the pleb
Making a Pinecone book into a movie is a tall order to begin with, so I actually went in with the expectation that I had to cut the scriptwriter some slack, which I did.
I found the movie entertaining, but the book is way funnier than the actual movie.
It's a masterpiece. PTA is God.
>the moral of the story
the absolute state of tv watchers
Post Modernism: The Final Chapter
David Foster Wallace and Tao Lin stood around their elaborately footnoted map of Thomas Pynchon’s house.
“Are you sure about this David?”
“Dammit Tao, we’ve been over this again, how can we become the world’s greatest pomo authors if Thomas Pynchon’s still alive?”
“I know, but eliminating his map?”
David Foster Wallace slapped Tao Lin in his chubby little face.
“Are you in, or are you out?”
“Uhh- I don’t-“
“You called your book Eeeee Eee Eeeee Tao, Eeeee Eee Eeeee. How can you succeed in a world where Pynchon exists with a title like Eeeee Eee Eeeee?”
Tao Lin clenched his fists.
“I’m in David. But if you ever mention Eeeee Eee Eeeee again, I’ll end you”
Crickets chirped outside Tao Lin’s Toyota Camry.
“Here’s the place.”
In front of them stood the imposing walls of Thomas Pynchon’s fortress of solitude.
“Get the rope.” Said David as he stepped out of the car. Tao Lin hurried to the car’s boot, and pulled out a long black thread of rope. He chucked it to David who attached a metal hook to its end. He then threw the hook over the walls and it stuck tight. He yanked it, then started to shimmy up, leaping over the wall and landing with a tennis-shoe silenced thump.
“The coast’s clear.”
With this, Tao Lin also scalled the wall, He rolled over to David Foster Wallace and took out their map. Wallace took out his LED light and shone it over the diagram.
“The backdoor’s over there. Once we get in it’s through the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hallway and then it’s match-point for Thomas.”
Keeping low, they moved at a crawl towards the sturdy stone alcove of Pynchon’s back doorstep.
“Jiggy the door Tao.”
whose feet
Made the mistake of watching that with my dad.
Tao Lin took out a styrofoam Starbucks cup. Cracking it open, he took out a lockpick and screwdriver.
“This is easy David.”
“Almost too easy Tao. If Pynchon’s security this lax, I’m surprised that Burroughs didn’t bet us to the punch decades ago.”
The door soundlessly swung open and they crawled inside.
“Get down David.” Cried Tao Lin and he threw David Foster Wallace to the ground. In the air above them flashed three deadly crossbow bolts, which slammed into the door with a meaty thunk.
Above them, the intercom crackled into life.
“Welcome to my home Mr. Wallace. You must be over the rainbow to step foot in my domain”
Tao Lin was looking around frantically.
“The jig’s up, David lets get out of this here.”
“I’m not ready to give up now Tao.”
“You’re lucky to be alive! Come on, the Pale King will sell fine on its own.”
“Don’t bring up The Pale King Tao, don’t you ever mention the Pale King!”
With that David Foster Wallace barreled through the kitchen.
“Dammit.”
“You better help your friend Tao-Lin, or he might find himself in a world of pain.”
Ahead, Tao Lin could hear David’s frantic cries for help. Taking out his knife out of its boot holder, Tao Lin turned the corner to find David Foster Wallace in the slimy grip of a giant octopus.
“This wasn’t in the plan David!”
“Give me the knife!” cried David Foster Wallace as he viciously gouged at the octopus’s eyes with his one free hand
Tao Lin threw the knife and it whirled through the air. David caught the knife in one hand and tore it through the octopuses’ fleshy ‘head’. Writhing in pain, the octopus wheeled in pain, dropping the writer onto his feet. Tao Lin leapt forward with his icepick, and with one swift move thrust it into the octopus’ brain.
“This is so going in my blog.”
The housetrained kraken spasmed on the floor for a full minute, then stood still.
“You might be the most impressive writers yet.”
“You’re not as smart as you think you are Pynchon.” Cried back DFW.
“I never said I was smart, only creative!”
With a mechanical click, the floor beneath Tao Lin and David Foster Wallace swung in like a trapdoor. David desperately grasped for the ledge, and Tao Lin managed to grab his hanging ankle, leaving them both hanging precariously from the side. Looking down they could see vicious metal stakes sticking through the basement’s cold concrete floor. Scattered around the room was a number of skeletons, the one directly below them still wearing a cowboy hat.
“Cormac. Pynchon you bastard!”
“Tao, even my serving arm can’t keep us from falling from much longer. You have to do something now.”
Tao struggled to pull himself upwards to see anything that might save them.
“The octopus!”
Taking their rope, Tao Lin threw it with all his might. Above he heard the claw sink into the octopus’ flesh. With a ferocious pull he sent the octopus flying past them and into the basement below. With that Tao Lin jumped off the wall and landed on the octopus’ thick body, the metal spikes unable to reach him.
“Come on down David.”
Once David Foster Wallace was too standing on Pynchon’s pet octopus, Tao Lin threw the hook back up, where it stuck fast on the staircase’s bannister. Swinging across a row of spikes and pulling themselves up, the side of the basement’s wall the carefully ascended the stairs.
At the end of the pictured lined corridor was Thomas Pynchon’s room, and beneath the floor, crude black smoke was flowing out. A rumbling started to shake the house.
“What the hell’s he hiding in there?”
“I don’t know Tao, but from the feel of things it’s gonna be a lot harder to eliminate his map the longer we wait here.
With that David took a step forward. As he put his foot down, a vicious throwing star feel out of a picture’s mouth, skimming the glass of David’s glasses.
“Dammit!”
Looking down at the floor where David Foster Wallace’s foot had rested, Tao Lin saw a sea of tiles, each one with a piece of fruit drawn on in steady, identical hand.
“You steeped on an apple.”
“Apple, apple- Of course!” cried DFW and he leapt forward, hopping from one leg to another.
“The bananas Tao, only steep on the bananas!” he shouted over his shoulder, getting ever closer to Pynchon’s door. A red glow flickered underneath now, and the closer they got the louder the noise became, and when Tao Lin joined DFW by the entrance to Pynchon’s inner abode, it was an ear-filling roar.
“Lets do this.”
Bursting through the door, Tao Lin and David were confronted by the giant metal arrow of a V2 rocket sticking jutting up through the floor. Settled in a leather armchair bolted floor level, was Thomas Pynchon, his head hidden behind a darkly tinted goldfish bowl, a chilling grin drawn on in crimson pen.
“I’d love to stay and chat with the only authors who’ve ever made it this far, but as you can see, I have a flight to catch.”
Laughing manically, the V2 started to slowly ascend, stabbing through the room’s high ceiling like it was made of paper.
“Goodbye David, Mr Tao!” cried Pynchon as he left them behind in a storm of black exhaust.
Coughing and shielding their faces from the searing heat, David Foster Wallace and Tao Lin could only stand helplessly as their enemy made his escape.
“After all this, we couldn’t even lay a finger on the guy!” cursed Tao Lin, bringing his fists to his face in rage.
“It’s not over yet Tao.”
David Foster Wallace ran to the window and ripped it open. He reached down to his belt and pulled up a gleaming black pistol.
“Give up David, there’s no way you can hit him now.”
“I hit service lines smaller then this back in Indy.” David replied, squinting up at the rocket’s thruster-lit outline. Sweat soaked his bandana. He steadied his hands and fired.
Tao Lin and David stood in silence for a moment, holding their breaths, and in the next instant the dazzling orange explosion of Pynchon’s rocket lit up the night. Splitting into pieces it fell to land sizzling in the ocean below.
“Write in hell you bastard.” Muttered David Foster Wallace and he let the gun fall to the garden below.
Fin.
idk is this the kind of movie where it's fun to look at and enjoy the aesthetic, but the content is boring?
No, it's ugly and boring.
I will never not laugh at the greatly deserved ridicule of this hack fraud. DFW will be remembered by posterity as the most incompetent snake oil salesman western literature has ever produced.
The only sincere act of his life was when he kicked away the chair. His life was nothing but a series of ironies and lies predicated on the the joke that is new sincerity. The big punchline was the creaking of the rafter and the piss trickling down his leg to the floor.
his epiphany that the only viable thing for him to do was to kill himself was the best thing to happen to literature in 30 years since he began writing because behind all the self aware gimmicks and self help books and the drugs and the audience pussy there was no discernible talent
Just watched it for the third time last night. Its a great movie and beautiful to look at.
Don't worry about trying to follow the plot that's not the point.
It perfectly captures the melancholy and confusion of changing eras and getting older. Getting left by an ex love that you can't let go of. Getting left behind by an increasingly confusing modern world.
I also love the use of the two Neil Young songs during the scenes where he remembers Shasta.
This movie might not appeal to people who haven't lived long enough to experience some of the feelings this movie evokes though.
Fag