“The unexamined life is not worth living. Nor is the life of Stephen Dorff, no matter how hard we examine it.”
What, are they casting at pick-up basketball games in LA now? I thought Stephen was selling red carpet, not walking down one. Nothing takes you out of the mythical Greek experience more than the actor whose upcoming project is titled “Untitled Stephen Dorff Project.”
There’s news in Immortals: Namely, that immortals can kill each other, thus becoming merely “immortalish” in the same way that Ryan Seacrest is “boyish.”
Ah the ancient Greeks. “By all that is Holy, I swear on my six-pack shaped armor and my tiny little skirt that I shall avenge the life of my mother,” says Theseus, our hero, “even if I must do it in the same cast as Stephen Dorff and in the same wardrobe as a Hawaiian Tropics swimsuit contestant.”
Theseus gets his training from old John Hurt, who takes one look at a stone statue of his daughter’s breasts and becomes a much younger God. I know, it seems wrong, but take it up with the filmmakers.
“It’s not living that’s important,” says old John Hurt, “it’s living rightly.”
Hey, Socrates said that, too. Or maybe it was Jennifer Love Hewitt.
Watch out, a soldier has his testicles crushed with a hammer! “Crushed testicles go with the outfit,” he shrieked, hoisting what’s left of his spear overhead.
Never have I seen so much ridiculous headgear in one movie. Mickey Rourke actually wears a helmet with a crab claw on top, which reminds me of the time I saw him face down in a plate of steamed snow crab legs at a Miami Red Lobster.
Yes, Mickey Rourke graces us with his unique ability to grumble and mumble low frequency dialogue and to suck his enormous gut into an ancient Greek girdle while most of Immortals sucks around him.
In every scene, Mickey Rourke is eating: A fruit here, a nut there. Not only does his character want to defeat the Gods and release the Titans, he wants to do from a table at the Souplantation.
No wonder the Titans are imprisoned in the bowels of the Earth, watched over by giant stone statues with tiny stone genitals.
And then we are transported over the clouds and into Olympus, where the Gods sit in pouty fashion poses in gold lame breastplates and boots with their little tiny mudflap skirts, and I’m talking about the boys!
“Our headgear is fabulous!” says Apollo, the god of music and poetry and the hottest club in West Hollywood.
“Listen, girlfriend, I’m flying down to Earth to save the humans from the Titans – and because its Fashion Week,” said Zeus.
“Say hello to Stephen Dorff,” said Apollo.
“That bitch?! What’s she doing in this movie?” said Zeus.
“And watch where you land, they built their entire city on the side of a cliff.”
Immortals is comprised of long sequences of excruciating boredom punctuated by slow-motion moments of blue screen calisthenics in tiny skirts set to the music of ABBA.
Immortals is a movie that will not linger ten days, let alone forever.