Will There Really Be Blood? That's the Question.

I just saw a bloated sack of a delicious motion picture called "There Will Be Blood." I will tell you up front, there is not that much blood, so basically the title of the movie is a lie belched up from the Pit of Sin and Lies. Granted, there is a head gushing some dark oil-colored blood at one point, and a few hints of total massacre and off-screen explosions of pure-D gore. But if you go into this saying to yourself, "Well, one thing's for sure. In this movie, there will be blood," you might be let down in every single scene except the head gushing one and the one conjured up in your sick mind where a wayward piano rolling down a sharp embankment rips an old field hockey coach's teeth out.

Anywho, that's neither here nor there. Well, actually, I take that back. In fact, it IS there, at the motion picture theater near you, but it is not here, at the strange little room where I sit and type these things, whensoever I deign to put on a shirt, set down the graham crackers and type something. But enough about my night time habits. Let me tell you about this marvelous five-hour marathon of sullen people called a movie.

"There Will Be Blood" is the story of people who rarely bathe but wear three piece suits and scrabble around in the dirt a lot in the middle of the summer. If this film were in Smell-O-Vision, the odor wafting from the cinema to your house would already have killed your pet dog and probably made you bleed from the nostrils. Fortunately, Smell-O-Vision went out with Eisenhower. So among these dirty past-century people is one particular guy. I forget his name, but he is played by that one guy who killed all the Mohicans by making them try to rescue some lame chick in another movie about there being no more Mohicans. I forget the name. "Something something something Mohicans" or something.

Anyway, the Mohican guy is the star, I assume, and he is trying to find oil in the dankest dust bowls of the American west. He does this by digging a small hole in the earth all by himself, falling into it, spitting on some rocks and rubbing them, seeing oil come out of the ground and accepting that it is oil. Then he lies to some people to get their land, then he just looks really kind of dirty and smelly for a few scenes, then there is an oil derrick on fire. Also, he has a son, but not really a son, because he came out of this basket in the first scene, and his name is "H.W." which stands for George Herbert Walker Bush, because why not have an oil-themed movie with George Bushes nancing around in it in their tiny lederhosen, getting their foreheads rubbed with crude oil by filthy old smelly pretend dads? Why not, I ask you? See, you can't even answer the question. I win.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, the Mohican guy. His performance is really amazing, on account of you just want to blast his dirty oil neck with a firehose the entire time you sit there munching your Goobers in the dark theater, surrounded by an entire audience of plus-50's aged people who cackle at random times and loudly state obvious things about the movie, like, "He fell down that hole!" and "He took that baby out of that basket!" and "Agnes, is that stuff what we're looking at up t'the movie screen really happ'nin' or be this a dream of nature?" and so on throughout the movie.

In the end, I walked out of the movie wanting desperately to take a bath, shampoo my beard and scrub all the oil stains off my neck, but even after seven baths, I feel like I will never be clean again. When the movie is over, they remind you once again that the title is "There Will Be Blood," only this time you realize that, despite the title, it is actually too late for there to be blood because the movie is over. So the title appearing at the end is even more of a lie gushing from the mouth tube of a writhing Hades fiend than the title appearing at the beginning.

All of that is to say, this is the best movie of the year.

The End.

Love,

Nuffy

P.S. -- I'll never be truly clean again. I can feel the oil stains on my neck forever.