Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. Snow Snow?

So, on Saturday I went to see Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. I was a little skeptical when I first starting hearing about this film. Was I really that interested in a movie written and directed by Shane Black (the writer of the Lethal Weapon movies, The Last Action Hero, The Last Boy Scout, The Long Kiss Goodnight). Now don't get me wrong, with the exception of The Last Boy Scout, I enjoyed all these movies to some degree or another, but did I really care about this guy's directorial debut.

But then a weird thing happened. I started reading reviews for KK, BB, and they were all pretty unanimously good. Better than good in some cases. So, with nothing going on Saturday afternoon, I hustled myslef down to Harvard Square to check it out.

And it was probably the most fun I've spent in a theater in quite a while.

There are those types of movies that are popular to like. Those critically acclaimed films, award-worthy. Cult classics. Offerings from hip directors, or in the odd Charlie Kaufman case, hip writers. This is not one of those films. This is a movie that revels so completely in what it is, and takes so much fun in it, that you can't help leaving the theater with a smile.

What it is is a highly self-aware, psuedo-noir, detective film. And when I say "self-aware", I mean to the point that Robert Downey, Jr. (as both Harry and "the narrator") stops the film at one point to tell the audience: "That was such a stupid scene. Why was it even in the movie. Do you think that it'll be important later in the film? Maybe?" Is it a coincidence that two of the characters in the film share a love for old pulpy detective novels? Of course not. Obviously, so does the director, Black, who throws in every cliche of the genre, as well as some cliches of the over the top 80's action genre he helped pioneer. Seedy private eye played by Val Kilmer? Check. (of course he's also gay, which is a unique twist.) Failed Hollywood actress damsel in distress? Check. Hot, hot Michelle Monaghan. Ridiculously convoluted mystery plot? Check. Rube? Check (Downey, Jr.) L.A.? Check. (I haven't read a lot of noir/detective fiction, but even in the little I have, it's apparent how important the backdrop of L.A. is to the genre.) Totally unrealistic shootout at the end? Check.

All these elements, however, are handled with such aplomb and joy that the viewer can't help but enjoy themselves. Could I tell you the plot? Sure, but why. It doesn't really matter. One thing I've noticed in my admittedly minor foray into the genre is that the plot doesn't matter so much as the substance. The destination not as important as the ride. And this ride isn't one of those "Vacation with the family, listening to dad's music are we there yet?, are we there yet?, are we there yet?"type rides. It's a windows down, music blasting, 100 MPH full bore down the highway ride that leaves a grin on your face for hours afterwards...
...
...or it would, except for this. I leave the theater after that enjoyabe two hours and walk out into....

SNOW!!!

And not just a flurry. An actual storm. Big, fat, wet flakes. Falling from the sky.

It's not even Halloween yet!

God damnit!

In the snap of a finger, I went from feeling great, all like, "Wow, I'm going to have to buy that DVD, I've got such a happiness boner!" to "Ahh....huh?...what the crap is this? Are you fucking kidding me? Bartender, three fingers of Drano!"

What a killjoy that was. Winter is coming, and I'm not ready. Nor willing.