Reality Action Movie, Casting
or Summer Solstice Musing while Standing in Line at the Box Office
Sheepish is one adjective to describe my dejection about not loving our summer block buster, Wonder Woman, since it’s garnered so much glowing adoration, seemingly universally. Or maybe embarrassed that once again I can’t untangle Roman gods from Greek gods, further confounded by celebrity B.C. mortals who would battle whichever gods and each other — all of which play a big part in the movie.
Instead of Sisyphean repetition of ancient history, in this case filtered through a comic book lens, why not enlist Wonder Woman, Captain America, and the rest of the superhuman gang to combat real world dummy gods and dastardly bastards? Don’t we need superheroes more than ever in our own here and now? We have a ready-made cast of ill-doers who have employed the hypnotizing twirly disc from an old tv series and have successfully captured the greedy hearts and empty minds of an alleged great nation.
Can our heroes save us from:
Donald Rump: A megalomaniac who wears his obesity well in a girdle that magically alternates between tarnished orange-gold gilt and platinum and is brilliantly camouflaged by a matching clip-on mane that diverts attention from the flatulence below.
Ivanka the Terrible: A Russian confidante posing as Rump’s halcyon daughter.
Jared Kushee: Ivanka’s would-be husband, emblem of button-down extravagance, black hole of nefarious hidden assets.
Melaniahhhh: An anorexic vapor with a mysterious accent. Where is she? Who is she? What is she?
Baron Baron: Son, victim, bemused heir with a blank stare. Too young but tragically not too innocent.
Eritz and Jr.: Conjoined brothers of the corn.
Jeff Precious: Grand Wizard General who uses both title and snow white, KKK burqa to conceal the secret he is Alfred E. Neuman’s alter imp ego.
Mike Flown: A sniveling double agent cloaked in an oversized military ensemble bedecked with too many medals, which, like maggots, slowly devour him.
Mick Punce: The Stepford VP. No one has seen Mick lately, presumably because he’s stuck in a closet conspiring with the ghost of Roy Con, Esq. — many suspect conspiring too closely, but no one can prove it, particularly against Mick and Roy’s rugged protestations.
Steve Bambam: Lump-like ogre who belches vulgar non-sequiturs from the shadows like a craven oracle, clown gone bad. Always spotted sporting a headset and a squint.
James Come-What-May: Who’s side is he on, anyway? FBI maneuverings can really bog down an action flick but, nevertheless, provide a vital twist or two.
Sean Sputzer: A gray battle-ax of a middle manager with a rust tuft of combover, Sputz has gotten in way over his head. If only his digital watch could save him.
Kelly-Can Con-Away: But nobody believes her, as much as they want to.
Roger Stun: Better recognized by his biography, The Cad with the Nixon Tattoo. Of all the dastards/political consultants, dandy Roger is the most obvious in his life ambition to be an arch villain in a Batman sequel.
Cat Lin Javeliner: A secret weapon borrowed from another reality show, Cat is a Republican fantasy in the living flesh, goddess and god from a distant Olympian past. Meow.
Vlad Put-on: World conqueror extraordinaire. He likes to make you think he’s just a regular Joe Dictator. Don’t be fooled.
Winged Monkey Chorus chanting, “O-Ee-Yah! Eoh-Ah!” This is our U.S. Congress led by Chimp McConnell and Ape Ryan. May any gods or superheroes help us; we’re in deep doo-doo.
Thanks to Kevin Bourke, who not long after November 8, 2016, wrote, “It’s like the Dick Tracy movie where all the villains meet up to rule together.”