Popcorn Pulse 43: TSA Sucks


Given our track record with flying, you’d think we’d want to avoid films that avoid reminding us of the screaming metal science tubes that propel us around. Not because flying terrorizes us, though it does when we fail to take out anxiety meds, but because we hate dealing with security. Nothing quite like explaining to someone, who may or may not be able to actually pass a Federal background check, that the round of shaving soap isn’t dangerous. It may say glycerin on it and that may, in fact, be a component of nitroglycerin which is another component of dynamite but we aren’t going to pay a visit to the chemistry crafting table in mid flight and turn it into something volatile.

With that long winded intro, we turn to the joint topic of discussion, Red Eye. It features Rachel McAdams whom you might remember from Mean Girls as a hotel manager being directed by recently late Wes Craven. While this might make one assume that Cillian Murphy is a new copyright dodging clone of his Scarecrow character, he is a rather garden variety movie terrorist who wants some vague political character moved in a hotel so he can be assassinated.

Weltall then discusses Criminal Law. Skipping over any degrees of separation, it simply features Kevin Bacon as a killer opposite of Gary Oldman as a lawyer. It plays much like a masturbatory fantasy of movie cops where a defense attorney, who, in film, the worst human beings in existence, getting a killer off a charge. In a twist it turns out the murderer is, gasp, a murderer and is now after Gary.

Tim then talks about a forgotten Bakshi film, Fire & Ice. It features characters who are the great grandparents of the story lines from a Blizzard game and A Song of Fire and Ice(or Game of Thrones for the newbs). The antagonist, named ever so creatively Necron, is king of the ice and uses magic to force glaciers south towards the fire kingdom. There’s a princess who gets kidnapped and, in the tradition of the sword and sorcery style of the time, all the men wear furry loincloths, presumably, for comfort.

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