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| Review: Alive or Dead |
| Written by Angela Mac | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Tuesday, 19 August 2008 00:41 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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A woman is driving down a desolate desert road, while having cell phone sex with her boyfriend. Unable to locate her mini-vibrator, while having cell phone sex with her boyfriend, she MacGuyvers the phallic-shaped cell phone charger… and makes due. I’m going to go ahead and guess Alive or Dead must have been written by a person of the male persuasion. (I’d also roll the dice on it being scribed by a virgin, but that would just sound petty.) (A quick check on IMDB – and would you know, I was right. Stephen Goetsch.)
All of this is only seconds into the two Chevette, head-on collision that is ALIVE OR DEAD, and so, only my first complaint. While committing roadway negligence, said woman’s sexual motivations were being delivered via speakerphone by her huffing and puffing beau. Myth #2: “Dude, you can say anything to a chick, and she’ll like it. Like, if you say something repulsive, and she’s all oh, I don’t like that – so what? It takes, like, only two seconds to get her back on track.” Fact: The above is so far removed from the bared truth of female sexuality, it would take me pages to construct a roadmap between the two.
The man on the phone was repugnant. Even if he’d been paying to have that conversation, the woman on the other end would’ve snapped that phone down.
But let’s put all that aside. Let’s suppose a woman was tooling along in the desert, in the dead of night, fully enthralled by borderline asthmatic repugnance, and was joyously humping her duty bound cell phone charger. She still would’ve been aware of her wetness. Women don’t yank something out of there and just toss it onto the passenger’s seat without a humble wipe down. And they sure as hell wouldn’t snatch it out, plop it onto the passenger’s seat, then, a moment later jam it into the cigarette lighter and be rendered perplexed when the charger’s internal fuse instantaneously incinerates.
I hope the boy behind Alive or Dead, Stephen Goetsch, did the smart thing, and spent his Lionsgate check on hookers.
To Drive on the Rims, or Not to Drive on the Rims? Seriously? Granted, I probably know far, far more about serial killers, hobgoblins and industrial-sized head trimmers than I know about cars. So, I am blissfully unaware of the potential wealth of damage such action could result in. I’m willing to assume a chica who was dumbfounded her car’s auxiliary plug would not function under the strain of coital fluid is probably in the same boat. Therefore, if stricken with a couple of measly flat tires while located directly in the middle of nowhere, I’m going to err on the side of a maniac’s machete packing a heftier bite than the mechanic’s bill. I cannot say the same of Mr. Huff-Puff’s girlfriend.
The biggest question I walk away with, though, is this: How did they manage to get such attractive women to do such ridiculous things? Some bad movies probably didn’t look so dreadful when they were just a stack of printed paper. The same, however, cannot be said of ALIVE OR DEAD. Case in point:
At long last, the keys to the bus are procured! There’s a way out! In a frenzy, the brunette and blonde rush onto the bus – the brunette dashes behind the wheel. Inserts key, turns – nothing! Blonde: “You’ve gotta pop the clutch!” Brunette: “What’s that mean??” Blonde: “I don’t know – I forget.”
A few moments later, after reconnecting the battery (… she forgot what a clutch was, but knew how to reconnect a battery cable) they return to the bus, their positions reversed. The blonde inserts the key, turns, while (presumably) popping the clutch – only to inspire a grumble from the motor. Blonde: “Great! You must have flooded it!” Brunette: “What’s that mean?”
I cannot help but be reminded of the scene in HOLLYWOOD SHUFFLE, where Robert Townsend reluctantly slips off the afro – because having a gig simply wasn’t worth demeaning an entire race of people. I mean, Ladies, please! Stop painting us all as mechanically-uninclined dunderheads – and for the love of all the sweater puppies in the world, keep the battery chargers out of your panties!
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