Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Fung Ku Fanda

Kung Fu Panda was cute and hilarious. Its skillful use of animation and slapstick delivers a whopping kung fu punch. Simply put, the story of a big fat kung fu-obsessed panda tells us to believe in ourselves, build on our own strengths and work on what we’ve got whether it is a humongous belly or a fat ass.

I think the last time I was laughing and giggling inside a cinema that I ended up clapping and thrown off my seat was Knocked Up or Horton (yes, the elephant). The fact that Po’s popop is a noodle-magnate goose is a comic relief in itself. Jack Black can get through the industry by playing a panda alone. Po was so cute the Beijing Olympics might just be given a boost. The fat panda may well be the official mascot.

I immediately felt the impact of the movie when one of the teens in the row in front of me started doing a Bruce Lee and whacking her friend. I thought the girl was possessed because she repeated her kung fu moves long enough to piss everybody near her. I swear she was momentarily possessed by the spirit of the Dragon Warrior or the malevolent Tai Lung.

The gang of chair-kicking big time assholes attacked again and ruined part of my viewing. Good thing I wasn’t the destined Dragon Warrior or I could’ve kicked their sorry asses to China.

2 comments:

ALiNe said...

the acupuncture scene was hilarious ...

cHi said...

cute cute cute panda!

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting