Daylight come and me wan' go home.
Last night, Mrs. Bissage and I watched Mel Gibson’s “Apocalypto.” It was all right, I guess. It looked good. Lots of attention to detail.
But it amounted to little more than a chase movie. Think stone-age "Predator" without Carl Weathers but with a lot more body piercings and tattoos. If you're looking for a chase movie, then start at the beginning with “The Naked Prey.” Otherwise, give me a good, old-fashioned Road Runner cartoon.
Anyway, something was missing. The movie needed something. Maybe more testicle eating. Maybe more throat slitting. Maybe more Magua eating the heart of Monro. Maybe more Orcs, Goblins and Uruk-hai. Maybe more burning genitalia jokes. Something.
I will say this: It was kind of cool when the jaguar got that guy by the head and you could hear his skull cracking. Yeah, there was that.
Also on the up-side, there weren’t any dirty, rotten, stinking, no-good Jews in it, stealing U.S. military secrets, foreclosing on mortgages and murdering Christian babies to make their matzah. I guess that’s all part of Mr. Gibson’s creative vision, auteur that he is. But there was a Jesus, in dreadlocks, and he kicked some serious Pagan ass. And he loved his nascent family with a tenderness not seen since Mrs. Bissage jabbed a bunch of fork holes in my tube steak and rubbed in some Adolph’s® Meat Tenderizer, a half-teaspoon per pound.
One final thing. For some strange reason, the movie had a kookalamonza little orphan girl in it to deliver a spooky prophecy of doom -- the rapidly approaching Spanish Conquest -- as the One True God's punishment for the Mayan Wickedness®.
And that's enough reason for your humble (and generous) correspondent to give Mel Gibson's "Apocalypto" a halfway decent rating on his brand new, proprietary scale . . . two and a half "Deeps."