This scene in Inglourious Bastards, this particular part, was so brilliantly written. The characters are playing a game where you sit in a circle and write a famous person’s name on a card, flip it over, pass the card to the person next to you and stick it to your head without looking. Then you ask everyone questions to figure out who it is. This man- a Nazi commander- asked “Am I American?” (no but..) “Have I visited America?” (yes) “Was my visit fruitious?” (no) “Did I go against my will?” (yes) “Am I from a place you’d call exotic?” (yes) “Am I from the jungle?” (yes) “Did I go by boat?” (yes) “And when I got there was I bound with chains and presented in front of a crowd?” (yes!) “Well then. I know who I am. An African slave. No? Oh then I’m King Kong.” — and in one instance the viewer realizes the metaphor which King Kong was to the African slave trade (a truly Tarantino way of inserting social awareness through dialogue spoken by social oppressors) as well as takes a moment of almost comic relief to a very strange middle ground since we see just how intelligent and foolproof this man is. This is good filmmaking.
The first eye:
The second eye:
i have never seen a more accurate post
special talent: dramatically lipsync songs and pretend that i’m in music video
My dad credits this as his favorite photo of me.
When I was younger, I was very socially anxious. I hated crowds, hated attention, hated being up on stage. In preschool there was this little Halloween show that we put on, and man, I did not want to do that shit, let me tell you. All those parents watching me sing some stupid song? Nah, that ain’t me.
But I was forced to, and I was pissed about it. My dad was in the audience, taking pictures and enjoying the show. In that moment, I swear, my tiny four year old was pure rage and resentment. I felt the word “fuck” years before I knew what it was.
My dad pointed the camera at me, and I turned, and I looked. I gave him the look that summed up all the anger, all the absolute fury that was brewing inside me. He says that he had never before seen such a perfect depiction of total and complete hatred. In his four year old son.
To this day whenever I get pissed, he calls me “Buzz Lightyear”.
I felt the word “fuck” years before I knew what it was.