I'm thankful for sentences that end in prepositions, and hopeful that the Pack will trounce Detroit on Thursday. We'll be spending our holiday Griswold style, celebrating a Vegas vacation, though don't count on any damn blog posts about the damn tour, because I'm not taking the damn laptop.
Something else for which I am eternally grateful comes from a nation that doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving, a holiday best described by the Indefatigable Mjenks:
"...our celebration of Thanksgiving, which, of course, was a way of thanking the Natives of North America for helping the colonists through the first few years of life, thus allowing them a foothold on this distant shore and making it far easier to usurp their land. Thanks for teaching us that bury-the-dead-fish-next-to-the-corn-plant trick, Squanto. Here's a blanket encrusted with small pox! Now, how many of these brightly colored beads would you like for that island over there?"
The glory of which I speak, the thunder from down under, the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla, is the Mad Max series of films. Granted, Thunderdome kind of sucks, thanks to the infliction of Hollywood-style over-the-toppedness and dropping Max Rockatansky into a film where he was never intended, but it still has some merits. As a milestone, Mad Max (the original, oft-imitated) which drew some of its own insparation from the works of Kurosawa, turns 30 this year. Mad Max and the Road Warrior epitomized coolness to me in a way I couldn't understand when I was eleven. But I love that they're films you can watch repeatedly, each time noticing something new, understanding something deeper.
But now I'm torn. Seems they're somewhere in the process of making Mad Max 4. As much as I love the Max-ness of Thunderdome, taking the Aussie out of the wasteland seemed wrong. The plus here is that it's in development by George Miller, the same gent who wrote, directed and produced the first three films. The same George Miller who sacrificed his own car to the carnage when the first film was coming in over budget.Caution: This is not art...
However, this is also the same George Miller who in recent years has given us such crash-bang action adventures as Happy Feet and Babe: Pig in the City.
I'll stay hopeful, but I still expect it to be a turkey. That way, maybe I can be thankful if it actually turns out well.