"Dad, the pale aliens-gay monsters-gaunt angels are here!"
The best moment in Nic Cage’s latest opus, Knowing, is in the last two minutes of the film, before the credits rattle the end of the line. Previous to that, he is trying to be the best father of a smart boy (it seems), he awkwardly points his finger, first to his gregarious son then to his heart, bingo—he is not just a good father, he is a cool dad, too.
I rose from my lazy boy and stabbed my seatmate for crying copiously. Then, as I sulked back, the cute boy is hauled by pale-vampiric-humans-who-could-be-angels-aliens-gay monsters-or-drs.manhattan-without-the-penis into a low-batting spaceship resembling stalacs in Planet Krypton. They cry once more and Nic Cage assuages his son: We will always be together, forever. I vomited anew. I closed my eyes, I should suffer no more. Then…it becomes interesting--Nic Cage is driving in slow mo in a panicking and rioting Manhattan, people attacking people, people looting everyone, people embracing each other and crying in fear. The only moving machine in that sea of mad people is Nic’s huge guzzler and no one seems to mind to ride with him or shoot him so they can have it and ride away from the city. We know the answer: he is Nic Cage, for Christ’s sake. Then he meets his in-laws to say sorry and embrace them so tightly. Come on, bring annihilation already! If today is the end of the world, with whom will you be? My in-laws of course! You are smart, my man.
The solar flares arrive and New York explodes in exquisite spasms. And Nic Cage is gone—his brooding, almost-crying look, his bad maudlin lines and all his trying to be a single dad with a brain being a professor in astrophysics in MIT. Don’t get me wrong, I dig Nic a lot, man. Waking Up The Dead anyone. Leaving Las Vegas anyone. And yes, when he was that biker guy who mutates into a riding skeleton man with burning skull. I totally dig him there but only when his head is already a raging carapace.
I rose from my lazy boy and stabbed my seatmate for crying copiously. Then, as I sulked back, the cute boy is hauled by pale-vampiric-humans-who-could-be-angels-aliens-gay monsters-or-drs.manhattan-without-the-penis into a low-batting spaceship resembling stalacs in Planet Krypton. They cry once more and Nic Cage assuages his son: We will always be together, forever. I vomited anew. I closed my eyes, I should suffer no more. Then…it becomes interesting--Nic Cage is driving in slow mo in a panicking and rioting Manhattan, people attacking people, people looting everyone, people embracing each other and crying in fear. The only moving machine in that sea of mad people is Nic’s huge guzzler and no one seems to mind to ride with him or shoot him so they can have it and ride away from the city. We know the answer: he is Nic Cage, for Christ’s sake. Then he meets his in-laws to say sorry and embrace them so tightly. Come on, bring annihilation already! If today is the end of the world, with whom will you be? My in-laws of course! You are smart, my man.
The solar flares arrive and New York explodes in exquisite spasms. And Nic Cage is gone—his brooding, almost-crying look, his bad maudlin lines and all his trying to be a single dad with a brain being a professor in astrophysics in MIT. Don’t get me wrong, I dig Nic a lot, man. Waking Up The Dead anyone. Leaving Las Vegas anyone. And yes, when he was that biker guy who mutates into a riding skeleton man with burning skull. I totally dig him there but only when his head is already a raging carapace.
