Lately I've had a yen for watching movies based on real life. Regular readers of my blog know that my usual Netflix choices are documentaries, so watching movies based on real life isn't really much of a stretch for me.
I hate to say it, but I've been so disappointed! In the past few weeks, I've watched "American Gangster" and "Rescuing Dawn," two movies based on real life. Well, kind of sorta, which means actually, not really.
It's kind of hard to figure out what part is the real life? For American Gangster, for instance, there was a Frank Lucas, and he was married. His testimony did help bring down a corrupt faction of the NYC police, and a few criminals. He did go to jail, and his wife (who was not a Miss Puerto Rico, by the way) did leave the continental USA (with a daughter who is never mentioned in the movie) for Puerto Rico to get help from her family to be a single mom. It doesn't mention that Frank and Julie's marriage never dissolved because of the drug conviction, or any other convictions that Lucas had afterward. That's right, Lucas didn't go straight, although the movie sure makes it seem that way. Oh, and Julie? She was recently arrested in Puerto Rico on drug charges. Why Denzel Washington ever bought Lucas a Rolls Royce, I'll never know.
And then, there is the true story of Deiter Dengler in "Rescuing Dawn." Well, true....ish. This movie strays so far from the book (Escaping From Laos) and the truth, that the (at that time) only living survivors actually made videos on YouTube to tell the truth. YouTubeLink
The biggest divide between truth and fiction, one that is unforgivable, in my opinion, is the slandering of the name of a man, who very likely spent his dying day in a POW camp, well into the 1990's. This man is Eugene DeBruin, who was depicted in the movie as a space case, someone who folded under pressure and looked out only for himself; a sort of POW hippy. The truth was that DeBruin looked after his fellow POW's, shared his food, shared his blanket, and sacrificed his chance for freedom when a fellow POW was too sick to go on. His thanks for his humanitarianism is to spend his dying day as a POW (likely well into the 1990's, so well over 30 years) separated from his family forever, and to be portrayed as someone contemptible in a movie. Hardly fair.
My advice is to read the book, instead of watching "Rescuing Dawn." Regarding "American Gangster?" Just skip it!
http://www.debbieschlussel.com/352/what-happened-to-gene-debruin-how-hollywood-robbed-an-american-hero/
http://www.rescuedawnthetruth.com/
http://www.newcriminologist.com/article.asp?nid=2019
http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1574283/20071114/story.jhtml
Showing posts with label glue factory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label glue factory. Show all posts
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
My new car
"So," my husband asked conversationally, "what kind of car do you want next?"
Not a good question to ask me. His question would probably send most women into daydreaming, but not me. Why? Because I hate cars.
I hate the car payment that comes with them. I hate the increase in insurance that comes with them. I hate the feeling of every mile that goes on the odometer taking away the dollar value of the car. I hate the feeling of doom with a tight corner, a scratch or any new sound the car makes. I just genuinely hate cars.
"You have to have a car." my husband says in a voice that smacks of the knowledge that I can't possibly have an argument for something so obvious.
Ha! You'd think that being married thirty something years, he'd know better. Apparently not.
"No I don't." Well that answer was a bit far from brilliant.
"How are you going to get around then?" he asks, still knowing that he has me in a corner.
"I'll get a horse!"
"A horse!" Yep, he never expected that answer. Score one for Mary.
"Yes a horse! Think about it, no carbon emissions," here my son rudely laughs, he knows he has me, "no having to buy it gas, or oil." More rude laughter from the testosterone crowd. "Fine, but it's 'exhaust' is good for the garden." I counter hotly.
"What happens when it gets sick?"
"The same as a car, but instead of bringing it to the mechanic, we bring it to the vet."
"I wonder which one is cheaper," my husband muses. "The vet or the mechanic."
"And instead of having to pay someone to tow away a dead car, we can sell the horse to the glue factory." I finish, warming up to my rant.
"Mom!" protests one of the estrogen set.
"Which reminds me," says a member of the testosterone set, "Roses are red, violets are blue, horses that lose, soon become glue!" He breaks into laughter.
To be continued
Not a good question to ask me. His question would probably send most women into daydreaming, but not me. Why? Because I hate cars.
I hate the car payment that comes with them. I hate the increase in insurance that comes with them. I hate the feeling of every mile that goes on the odometer taking away the dollar value of the car. I hate the feeling of doom with a tight corner, a scratch or any new sound the car makes. I just genuinely hate cars.
"You have to have a car." my husband says in a voice that smacks of the knowledge that I can't possibly have an argument for something so obvious.
Ha! You'd think that being married thirty something years, he'd know better. Apparently not.
"No I don't." Well that answer was a bit far from brilliant.
"How are you going to get around then?" he asks, still knowing that he has me in a corner.
"I'll get a horse!"
"A horse!" Yep, he never expected that answer. Score one for Mary.
"Yes a horse! Think about it, no carbon emissions," here my son rudely laughs, he knows he has me, "no having to buy it gas, or oil." More rude laughter from the testosterone crowd. "Fine, but it's 'exhaust' is good for the garden." I counter hotly.
"What happens when it gets sick?"
"The same as a car, but instead of bringing it to the mechanic, we bring it to the vet."
"I wonder which one is cheaper," my husband muses. "The vet or the mechanic."
"And instead of having to pay someone to tow away a dead car, we can sell the horse to the glue factory." I finish, warming up to my rant.
"Mom!" protests one of the estrogen set.
"Which reminds me," says a member of the testosterone set, "Roses are red, violets are blue, horses that lose, soon become glue!" He breaks into laughter.
To be continued
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