Cat acupuncture and CHARADE (57).

There are many many reasons to think the world we're living in right now might be devolving in to a shit show unseen in this planet's epic history. Global warming, a seemingly endless cycle of war, rampant consumerism, and the onset of a worldwide mushing of the brain thanks to the good people at Facebook. But today, I caught the end of a conversation that really has me questioning where this poor, fucked up place we call Earth is going.

It ended like this:

"...just got my kitten back from her acupuncture appointment."

Cat, fucking, acupuncture.

Acupuncture is of course the ancient therapy of poking tiny needles in to various mystic points the body over to help release pain and suffering and a variety of other junk the human body supposedly suppresses. Great, that's awesome, we as Westerners are often times overly critical of those forms of medication that don't involve massive amounts of prescription pills and I for one am glad to see that some of the Eastern forms of medication are becoming steadily more mainstream.

C'mon though, cat acupuncture? Have we really hit a spot so excessive in our American culture that we're spoiling our animals to this amount? When I was growing up we had dogs and cats and newts and anything else my brother and I could think of trying out as pet and we loved them to death. When they died or when they were injured I would cry and cry and cry (still to this day, do I cry when an animal I know and love perishes) but deep down in my wee little body, I knew that at the end of the day, my cat Pudder was still, well, just a cat.

And cats don't need acupuncture. They need to be put outside when they pee in the house. They need to be given treats and called for when it's dinner time. They need to be coddled with cat nip and have a small little bed where perhaps they might sleep. But when they have a crick in their leg do they need to be punctured with tiny needles to help relieve the pain?

No, no they don't. If released in the wild, they'd survive worse or die trying. Call me a cold, heartless bastard, but this guy sobbed on a plane once during The Incredible Journey. That's how much I love animals.

Cat acupuncture ... it's no wonder we're spiralling in to the worst recession of the last sixty years ...

After watching the sort of boring, sort of stilted The 39 Steps (56) and sort of turning my nose up at 1930s thrillers, I'm ecstatic to be digging in deep to Stanely Donen's absolute classic Charade (57). There's just a certain amount of crackle that Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant bring to this devilish thriller about a murdered husband and the deadly secrets of his life, that makes me smile each and every minute. Donen was sort of an innovator in terms of a lot his camera techniques and I'm constantly impressed that this film was made more than 40 years ago. I've barely skimmed the surface of this film, just staring in wide-awed wonder at the magnificent Technicolor Paris brought to screen and I'm already completely enamored.

I'm positive my ooey-gooey insides will be gushed all over this one as soon I finish it tonight. Doesn't that sound fun?

Friday: Charade (57)