Summer of Luke, Part IV

CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- It's intermission of my seasonal blockbuster: the Summer of Luke, Part Four. So it's time to hand out a midterm report card and pick up a box of Junior Mints before heading back into the theatre for the inevitable denouement.

This is my fourth summer of being single in Chicago (something that everyone should do at least once in their lifetime) and, like Rocky IV, it's been a Battle Royale already. The summer began with my grandmother's passing and, for the sake of comparison and in tremendous bad taste to some, we'll liken her death to that of Apollo Creed. Both characters we're instrumental to the development of the two protagonists -- myself and Balboa, respectively. Both appeared in every previous installment to move the plot forward masterfully. And, strangely, both looked good with picked out 'fros.

(Grandma G., I love you and want to tell the world that you meant so much to me and the rest of the family. You were truly the definition of a classy woman and I miss you very, very much.)

Following that tumultuous time, I did sequester myself and began training to fight my demons. I didn't have to travel to Siberia like Rock but I took plenty of time away from the limelight and spent it in introspection and atonement. Also, I metaphorically bore more than one yoke through symbolic waist-deep snow all to the bombastic wailings of Survivor, who are a real band unlike the "reality" show.

The training was not physical since I'm a such a pussy; it was literally literary training but more on that later in another thread. In one sentence let's bring the reader right up to the moment: Figuratively speaking, I'm now in Moscow surrounded by unfriendly Reds and ready for the final bout, be it Drago or some metaphysical apparition manifesting from a demented psyche beset by guilt over the loss of a friend. Whoa, that was a helluva run-on sentence but at least we're all caught up. Whew!

Okay, enough already distraction already: what's the film's grade thus far? Well, since I fancy my story as something more than the derivative, cookie-cutter contrivance Hollywood routinely shits out (see Adam Sandler, et al.) then I'll give myself a A-minus. If I'm grading against those low-budget art house pretentious flicks, then I'm about a C-minus. But only because I lack an Academy Award-nominated cinematographer who is willing to work for scale. (I'm looking in your direction, Janusz Kamiński.) Sure, I'm biased about my story but I definitely feel that there is enough substance to warrant riding this show out now. And remember, conflict resolution will come quick as it's all downhill now that the fucking exposition is out of the way.

So will the hero prevail? Will he get the girl? Will someone beat unconscious those douche bags with the laser pointer who keep talking throughout the movie? All I can say is stay tuned. I read "The Hero with a Thousand Faces" by Joseph Campbell so anything can happen; go with the monomyth. Or against it just to mess with people.

Also, is it more than coincidental that the Bridgette Nielsen hairstyle worn in Rocky IV is in vogue during Summer of Luke IV? Fuck, my life really is a movie!

# # #