Viewed: DVD

Although I had never seen the movie, I’ve heard and read the movie’s shocking last lines many times in various places. The last lines are part of the American culture like “Frankly my dear Scarlet, I don’t give a damn,” and “ET phone home.” Hell, I heard the lines and the name Soylent Green years before I knew it was from a movie.

Soylent Green, the movie, is a 1973 soft sci-fi film about a future overpopulated dystopia. New York, 2022 – population: 40,000,000. Unemployment is over 50%, the police are corrupt, and real food is extremely rare and expensive. People manage to survive any way they can. The main food is Soylent: red, orange, and new green.

Charlton Heston plays a detective investigating the murder of a very wealthy Soylent Foods executive. His investigation leads to learning the truth about Soylent Green.

The science fiction element of this movie is more in the story and concept than any flash or demonstration on the screen. There is one “futuristic” real element in the movie, and it is a video game. You see one of the main characters, played by Leigh Taylor-Young, briefly play a stand-up video game similar to the original arcade Asteroids. It gave me a chuckle to see that as the 1973 idea of a futuristic game.

The story was not compelling or interesting for me. I think this is because I already knew the shocking surprise to come at the end. I felt kind of robbed of potential interest and excitement all during watching the movie because I knew the answer, the punch line.

It’s ironic: knowing the end surprise ruined the possible enjoyment of watching this movie, but knowing the end surprise is the only reason I had an interest in watching this movie. Without that end surprise being a part of American culture, I may never have heard of Soylent Green, and surely would never have rented it to watch.

But knowing the ending of a movie doesn’t always ruin the movie. There are many movies I would and have watched multiple times even though I know the surprise at the end—“No, Luke. I am your father,” “Marion, don’t look at it. Keep your eyes closed.”

Unfortunately, the Soylent Green story and visuals just failed to entertain me. It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t good enough to be worth watching to learn the set up to the ending catchphrase. If you haven’t ever heard or read the shocking surprise, and want to see this movie, I won’t spoil the end for you. Maybe it’s a better experience seeing it unspoiled.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I took my boys to a playground for a couple hours today. It was a mild day, in the mid 80s temperature, with relatively low humidity. Last week it was hot, in the mid 90s with the usual high humidity.

A woman near me was talking on her cell phone, and commented to whoever she was talking to, “We’re going to the pool in a few minutes. It’s just too hot today.” She said this “too hot” thing several times during her conversation, as she paced around the sand box where her child was playing.

I leaned over and commented to the mother sitting on a bench near me, “She’s obviously not from here, if she thinks today is too hot.” That mother and another laughed. “Today is nice,” one said.

Half the humor of my comment was overlooking the cell phone talker’s Yankee accent. I pegged the mother as a New Yorker. She was also thanking the person on the other end of her cell call for telling her about this playground—it really is a great place.

Before that, I saw and heard two women talking in some east European language. Later, I saw and heard a husband and wife talking in probably Hindi. At one point in there, I saw and heard an Asian mother speaking to her child in English with a heavy accent.

I was the only one I heard say, “Y’all” or “fixin’.”

“Boys, y’all come on. We’re fixin’ to leave.”

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

In my teen years, I was briefly friends with a pathological liar. It didn’t take long to realize he lied about everything, and once I understood, his lies became hilarious.

He once told me and another friend that he had tickets to see some band in concert (I think it was The Who). The other friend, who had known this guy longer than I had, started questioning him on the claim:

Other Friend: “Where’d you get the tickets?”

Liar Friend: “John sold them to me.”

OF: “When did John get them?”

LF: “Last week.”

OF: “I talked with John a few days ago, and he didn’t have them.”

LF: “Oh, he paid for them last week, and they just came in yesterday.”

OF: “He told me he couldn’t get them.”

LF: “Well, he figured out a way.”

OF: “He told me he wasn’t even interested, and wasn’t trying to get them.”

LF: “Yeah, he told me someone else who had gotten them. So I went to the other guy.”

OF: “Who?”

LF: “Mark.”

OF: “Mark Harrison?”

LF: “Yeah.”

OF: “Mark doesn’t even like The Who.”

LF: “That’s why he gave me the tickets.”

OF: “Why’d he have tickets in the first place?”

LF: “He got them from his sister.”

On and on. The other friend had done this kind of thing with the liar before, and he could go on and on making the liar fall back and make more lies. And the craziest thing about it was that the lies were completely unnecessary. Sometimes we knew the truth as he was lying to us, and other times we’d know a few days later that he’d been lying. Like with the tickets – in a couple days, we’d know he didn’t go to the concert. And we didn’t care. He didn’t impress any of us. He just had the pathological need to tell a lie.

I’ve only known one other regular liar, and she was just the friend of a friend. I had no regular contact with her, so I never witnessed her lying. But I’m told she told lies to hurt people. She’d stir things up with her friends and enemies just to be mean. I’m glad I’ve never had to deal with such a person.

My lying friend didn’t have an ulterior motive for lying, he just did it. I don’t even think he realized he was lying. And he never gave in, even when someone, like the other friend, pushed back on his lies. That’s a sadly twisted mind. I wonder how he came out as an adult.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

In my high school days, I waited tables for spending money. One Sunday, a group of ten middle-aged and older men and women came in from their church service. They were all dressed for church—the men in coats and ties, the women in dresses. They had been pleasant and polite, right up until they threw me a curve ball.

Their table was along a wall at the back of the restaurant, so four had their backs to the wall, four were facing the wall, and two were at either end of the table. As usual for a Sunday lunch, the restaurant was packed. When I brought their food, I started with those on the outside and ended with those against the wall. They were not right up on the wall, so there was enough room for me to squeeze behind them to place their meals before them.

As I was setting down the last of the plates, they were deciding who would say the blessing. “So who will say grace, today?” A couple of the men offered to speak, but then the apparent matriarch of the group looked directly at me, catching my eye, and said, “Why don’t you say it for us?”

I had only barely heard what the short discussion was about, as I was placing the last plates and getting ready to leave the table. But when the request clicked in my mind, time slowed down. Every head at the table turned to look at me, and one of the men at the end of the table said, “Yes, that would be nice.”

I was still behind four of the group, between them and the wall. At least one of them would have to shift forward a bit for me to squeeze back out, but no one moved. I was literally trapped. It felt like a full minute passed as I stood there like a deer caught in headlights, and then they all bowed their heads for the prayer.

I’d never been one to say blessing even at my own house. My father or grandfather always did that honor. And here I was just their waiter. For a moment, while their heads were bowed and they were folding their hands in front of them, I thought maybe I could jump out from behind them and slink away. But the whole area was
too crowded for any kind of quick stealth.

It felt like another minute passed, and then the matriarch lifted her head just enough to look up at me again, obviously prompting me to start the blessing.

“Um, . . . God is great, God is good, let us thank in for this food. . .” It was the only thing that came to mind right then.

When I reached the end, they all repeated, “Amen,” and lifted their heads. “That was very nice,” the matriarch said. Then those blocking my escape shifted to let me out, and I left the table as quickly as I could without bolting.

A waitress and the hostess were standing near the kitchen door staring at me. “What did you just do?” the hostess asked.

Red faced, I explained the situation. They both laughed heartily, and I asked the waitress to take over that table for the rest of lunch.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com