Denzel Washington’s Jacked Up Pinky
If you haven’t seen Denzel Washington in Man On Fire, stop reading this blog right now.
No, seriously….just stop. right. there. Pick up the movie and watch it. It’s brilliant.
Go ahead. I’ll wait….
[HermanTurnip taps his foot....whistles....twiddles his thumbs...performs some long division...]
You’re back? Okay, great! We can now continue.
Karin and I watched Man On Fire on blu-ray last night. This emotional roller coaster might very well be Denzel Washington’s finest film. If the end times were nigh, the red menace was knocking at my front door forcefully hawking Girl Scout cookies with impish glee, and the resulting zombie hordes were slowly shuffling towards me screaming for my brains, I’d want John Creasy guarding my back with a dual chamber 8-gauge scatter gun and a mean case of the heebie jeebies.
But one thing bothered me. In the 146 minutes that this film spanned, one scene lasting not but a fraction of that time made me jump from the couch, grab the remote, and smash the “pause” button with the fervor of a maniacal true believer pointing to the passage in the New Testament which he ardently believes provides undeniable proof that the Son of God is among the living making preparations for the final judgment.
I wasn’t sure I saw what I just saw. I just couldn’t believe my eyes.
It was near the end of the film, where Denzel/Creasy is mustering what strength he has left in his body to walk to his certain doom, redeem himself for all past sins, and offer the ultimate sacrifice, guaranteeing his place by the Lord’s side.
But when I scanned back and paused, there it was.
At the end of Man On Fire, Denzel Washington is prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice
Hmmmm....just a tad dark. Lets lighten it up a bit
Gack! Correct me if I'm wrong, but fingers aren't meant to bend like that
Okay....I'm making myself ill. Is this the result of an old war wound, an overly-exuberant session of Scattegories, or the result of a particularly physical game of pickup b-ball?
