Urine Couch Sans Couch A.M. Movie Club: Twelve Monkeys

1995 simian treat

Rating: 16/20

Plot: Bruce Willis's head is sent back in time on a dare to see how many monkeys he can fit in his trousers. Or pants. Or whatever. Somehow, an Elvis impersonator and a pixie are involved, and some French guy gets shot at a train station. The pixie's got her hand down the front of Elvis's trousers AND pants (natch) and Brad Pitt can't stop giggling. They retire to something called a cold room. Bring on the dystopian funk!

All I know is that I show up to the hotel job and the urine couch is gone. No warning, no nothing. There are a pair of chairs in its place, but they just don't suffice because Gene likes to cuddle. The chairs just aren't the same, but I can get paid to do nothing while sitting on any piece of furniture and don't care all that much.

La Jetee's probably better although it doesn't have wacky Brad Pitt. Heady sci-fi with maestro Gilliam turning all his funhouse mirrors upside down. Bruce Willis's butt is in there somewhere, Mom, and I'm pretty sure during this stage of his career, that was in his contract. Honestly, I need to see this again again because I had trouble keeping my eyes open in the new chair. I'm having a tough time keeping my eyes open right now, too.

OK, this is now the next night. I believe I fell asleep soon after typing that sentence about not being able to keep my eyes open. It's either that or a criminal from 2030 or whenever traveled back in time and erased my post.

OK, it's the next night again. I think I might have African Sleeping Sickness. It's really getting in the way of me meeting my number one goal: meeting all of my goals.

I think I'm going to have a Terry Gilliam movie marathon some time and watch all of his movies back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back, even the bad ones. I'm also going to make a spreadsheet and keep track of all of the nouns that end up in his script and see what statistical data I can come up with.

I'm really bummed about the couch. Somebody mentioned during the funeral that the guy from corporate did not approve. Good bye, couch. May you rest eternally in a urine-soaked heaven. Maybe some day I'll see you again if people and couches are allowed to interact in heaven.

Eric Clapton needs to write a song about that!