Re: How Not to Make a World

I just wanted to write quickly to say that after watching Southland Tales last night, I can confirm that it really is as big a mess as I accused it of being (if not substantially bigger).

Here's how it ends (spoiler alert, I guess): Two copies of a police officer are shaking hands in an ice cream van as it floats above the city of LA, the fourth dimension burbling outside the back doors. The guy standing on the van's side aims a rocket launcher at the massive zeppelin they're approaching, where the Rock is currently acting out his marital infidelities in an ad-hoc interpretive dance on a stage. Just before the rocket hits the zeppelin, the Rock spreads out his arms and the face of Jesus briefly materializes on his back. Down in the streets, everyone's killing each other. Back in the van, we close in on the eye of one of the versions of the cop, his pupil fading in and out of the milky iris. In a voice-over, Justin Timberlake reiterates with a slow and purposeful cadence, "He was a pimp. Pimps don't commit suicide." Cut to black.

If only Mythological Anonymous had been established earlier, perhaps Richard Kelly could have been spared this senseless act of career genocide.