Have you ever made a videotape of yourself spanking your marsupial, and then turned around and jacked off while watching yourself jack off?
Errrr….have I shared too much about my possum flogging habits?
Regardless, chonging to a moving picture of yourself chonging is still a perfect analogy to use when talking about State and Main. State and Main is a movie about moviemakers making a movie. It’s a re-tread masturbation, a puddle of three day old jizz, a narcissistic study into your own weiner. Enjoying this film was like trying to self-stimulate to a black and white photo of your great aunt wearing one of those one piece 1940’s bathing suits on Pismo Beach: it was possible, but goddamn if you didn’t have to try too hard.
I’m sure movie industry insiders found this movie hilarious. All the stereotypes were represented: the pushy director, prima donna starlet, womanizing leading man. Everyone talked too much, too fast, and usually had a Yiddish-based quip ready before the previous line was fully spoken. Folks, I’m too old and too fat to start laughing at matzo ball and Jewish mother jokes at this point in my life.
And who decided to cast the homo kid from Boogie Nights as a romantic lead? I’d rather watch my great aunt go down on Dom Deluise in a cage full of shaved poodles than watch that cat ham-hand his way toward cinematic vagina. The whole romantic subplot supplied the final electrical impulse my brain needed to move my finger from my ass to the stop button on the remote.