Put the mask on NOW!
I want to murder a lighthouse wickie
And bury him next to me
I want to slaughter a lighthouse wickie
Right by the side of the sea
He'll polish his knob with a cry of glee
A scrimshaw mermaid on his knee
I want to butcher a lighthouse wickie
Won't that be okay?
We'll find a head in the old cistern
Drink turpentine by the shore
We'll invite the mighty Kraken in
And one-eyed seagulls by the score
♫...Hey kids let's go clear together
Dianetics taught us techniques that will wipe our minds forever.
We'll kill some Body Thetans tonight so stick around
You're gonna see H-bombs blow volcanos right off the ground
Say Johnny and L. Ronnie have you seen him yet?
Oh, but he's so spaced out
Xe-Xe-Xe-Xenu and the Clams
Oh, but he's weird and he's horrible
Oh, Xenu he's really mean
He's got e-metered boots
Wears a pressure suit
You know I read it…
This never fails to fulfill my minimum daily requirement of sea shanties, 18th-century naturalism, male bonding, primitive brain surgery, excessive port drinking, vile-looking English puddings, Jonah curses, floggings, violin/cello duets, and the hearty kicking of Napoleon's bony little ass.
A triumphantly adult entertainment in every respect. Thank you, Messrs. Crowe and Weir. May we please have another?
I get why this film resonates so much with a specific demographic of nostalgic old hippies, and aging baby-boomers who feel creatively stifled by their careers, but its central message of tuning in, turning on, and dropping out was a tad outdated even when it was originally released, and it certainly hasn't aged like a fine wine since.
But what really chaps my ass are the 1-dimensional strawmen authority figures that director Hal Ashby sets up as Harold's obstacles on…