#208 On your Lips

So I was watching some movie the other night, I think it was the Fantastic Four. Two things. One, it was kind of a loose plot. Less of a plot really than a vehicle for special effects. Okay. I guess I’m used to that. Eye candy is a respected genre in movie making. The Poseidon Adventure wasn’t long on existential angst either. And really, they are comic book characters so I wasn’t expecting Dr. Zhivago. Truth be told, I haven’t really expected movies to make sense since I first watched Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds” way back when. Now there’s a movie that kind of petered out at the end. Birds attack village in incredible numbers and then... stop. For no apparent reason they just quit and then the harried tourists drive out of town. Okay. Maybe that was Alfred Hitchcock’s final fling of taunting monkey poo at us. The master of suspense doing the ultimate, leaving off the end of the movie and keeping us all in suspense forever.
Anyhow in this Fantastic Four thing, the woman they had playing Sue Storm just didn’t seem right. For one thing she was too young. The Sue Storm I remember from my comic book days in the sixties was more like an older mature adjunct and companion to the elasto-man professor guy. The other thing was that the actress’s lips were inflated to within an inch of suffocation. What is it these days with Hollywood plastic surgeons and lips? Lips are like the new breasts.
They got to enlarge something to inhuman proportions.
Jeez. I thought Sue Storm had picked up some of elasto-man powers with the expansion of her labial protuberances. Talk about pucker power. With lips like that, she could support The Thing and half of Manhattan with one super suck.
Why is it that the biggest inflation in our country in the last decade has been Hollywood lips? Is it some everybody gotta look alike thing like the Britney-fication of our young women? Do all girls have to show belly and pout a lot? Do all women have to look like the genetic lip equivalent of a cross between Angelina Jolie and Mick Jagger? Isn’t one Steven Tyler enough?
I mean, when I kiss someone I don’t want to think of Mt. Rushmore. I may want to take my gal in the back country but she doesn’t need off-road lips. What do the plastic surgeons call them? ATLs? All terrain lips. Sorry, but my woman doesn’t need to look like a clarinet player on steroids. Bassoonists don’t need a whole band’s worth of embouchure to hit the right note. One good thing, I suppose, when these gals get really drunk and fall down. It’s that whole on your lips thing...with balloon tires like that plastered to the front of their face they’ll bounce right back up again...
America, ya gotta love it.