There is very little introduction I can give to Mean Guns. Netflix recommended it to me due to my enjoyment of action movies, Christopher Lambert, and distilled llama shit.
Okay, maybe Netflix doesn’t have a “distilled llama shit” category, but once their transhuman cyborganic algorithmics figure out what I watch, they will. Oh, they will.
I come back to this blog with a load off my heart, a spring in my step, and a sackfull of clichés.
For every movie fan there is one actor that you find yourself drawn to again and again, whose movies– whatever dubious qualities they hold– are the ones you simply cannot turn away from. You will be channel-flipping and land three-quarters of the way through one of their films; Hoarders will wait on TiVo. You pass by DVD case after DVD case at Best Buy, totally uninterested in the wares offered, until you see a hitherto unknown film, shot in Serbia with cameras salvaged from a St. Vincent’s charity shop in Finland; that gift card is about to be put to good use.
You cannot explain the appeal of this actor, nor do you think you should even have to. All you know is that whatever diminishing returns and appeal he holds, you will be there in the front row (or more likely on the sofa), enraptured by his every word.
For me, that actor is Christopher Lambert.
Feed