CleverDonkey.com …Musings, Commentary, Opinions, and Drivel

I’ve heard and read nothing but good things about Peter Jackson’s King Kong. This weekend I got a chance to go see it with my friend Bruce. Long story short, there is no way that Mynagirl would ever go see a movie filled with so much animal cruelty, but she and her mom are deep into a home renovation project (from which I am excluded by everyone’s mutual consent), which left me at loose ends on Saturday, which is rare.

So on Saturday we saw the film, in a fairly full movie theater, and I must say that I do not get the hype. I will say this, the film managed not to be boring over its three hour length, but “not boring” does not an epic make.

On the positive side, the effects are pretty eye-popping and realistic for the most part. Kong’s face is very realistic,

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Click here for the CURRENT YEAR’S Golden Globes Report
Wow… it looked like every guy there was going to be a groomsman in the same wedding. Nothing was a huge standout, and all the tuxes were very conservative! (I actually approve of this). The women didn’t necessarily stand out, either, although there were a few flashes of elegance. Black predominated, along with plunging necklines. I guess folks are holding out the big guns for the Oscars!! None of the jewel-tones from last year really appeared (although there was a Desperate Housewife in coral):

You’ve Heard of Washboard Abs? I’ve Got a Washboard Chest!

The trend I really loved was no bronzing!! Thank goodness nobody there felt as though they had to look as though they’d flown in from St. Bart’s. There were some absolutely gorgeous ladies with wonderfully porcelain skin.

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So one of my favorite web sites, The Smoking Gun, has dug into the story behind the supposed memoir by James Frey called “A Million Little Pieces”. According to their findings, many (if not most) of the key events depicted in his book either never happened or are wildly modified and exaggerated. Now, most memoirs contain certain dramatic license, usually of this type:

Retorting to cads in a pithier manner than real life
Embellishing the details of what went on behind closed doors
Endlessly deep wells of altruism
Rose-colored memories of one’s bucolic childhood and/or gut-wrenching remembrances of childhood abuse
Crazy exes
Rehab as a virtue and not the pathetic bottom rung of an egocentric, self-inflicted downward spiral
Invention of the ThighMaster
Etc

We, the reading public, expect a little fudging of the facts for better reading, because the truth is that we are all mostly

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