Gym Shorts: Con Air

For 2008, I have decided to come up with a new category, based entirely on my runs at the gym and . . . drum roll, please . . . the horrible TNT movies that happen to be playing at the time. I have decided to call this category “Gym Shorts” because these posts will be movie reviews based on the visuals that I see for 30 to 45 minutes playing in front of me. Because I am a merciless bitch and want to base it all on action on screen, I will not even bother to listen to the dialogue; these will also occur mostly over weekends as that’s when TNT stops its endless rotation of Law & Order to endlessly run bad movies. And because it’s fun, I will make note of the music I’m listening to as the bad movie plays (and that means that I have to come up with another workout list because you can only chuckle so many times when a chase scene coincides with Jonathan Coulton’s “Ikea”.

This inaugural installment features the movie Con Air, a 1997 convicts-in-the-sky romp that stars the eternally fugly mouth-breather Nicolas Cage. It also has John Cusack, Steve Buscemi, John Malkovich, Ving Rhames and Prince imitator Dave Chappelle dancing about its fringes. I say fringes (knowing, for example, that Malkovich is the big bad) because I am always distracted by Cage’s mouth-breathing in his acting. Man alive, close your gaping maw!

I joined the movie in its last 30 minutes, so this is going to be one post in which I get to see the movie’s end—whee! At this point in the movie, the plan of the bad guys to hijack their prison transport plane and fly it out of the country is going astray. When I first get on my treadmill, Malkovich is holding up a bunny and threatening to shoot it (he is insane, folks!)—but lo! Behind him! Military planes trying to shoot him down! Of course, they miss him and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

I must admit that it is at this precise moment that I choose to pay attention to the McLaughlin Group because a) it has closed captioning, b) it reminds me of the Dana Carvey SNL skit (“Wrong! You all had Special K with banana.”) and c) they’re talking about Mike Huckabee wanting constitutional amendments to ban abortion and gay marriage. Fuck you, Mike Huckabee. I will have my kids when I want and how I want. Should I get invited to the marriage of a gay couple? Great! I’ll be stealing ideas for my own wedding, just like I do at all my friends’ bashes. I am not a Christian and I’ll be damned if I’ll live in your theocracy. I then fervently pray to the Flying Spaghetti Monster that Mike Huckabee withdraw from the race post haste and never run the New York City Marathon the years that I run it again, iwisse (look that word up in the Middle English Dictionary). Once the praying is done to my pasta lord, I turn back to Con Air.

Rwoh-roh! The plane’s going down, and it’s headed straight for Las Vegas. They dodge the Stratosphere but end up hitting the Hard Rock guitar. The plane then makes a hard landing on the Vegas Strip, careening down the road as cars frantically dodge the plane. (Question: Since it seemed that the military and some local police were in on this, wouldn’t some kind of warning be issued to the poor civilians and tourists of Las Vegas? I had the impression that the plane was maneuvered towards the Strip purposely to provide a makeshift longish runway.) I then muse about how nice it would be if only the landings at DCA were as smooth (hah!  I keed!).  Meanwhile, the song that I envision as my recessional is playing, and it is oddly appropriate for this scene—“Fireworks” from the Order of the Phoenix soundtrack (when Fred and George Weasley leave school at Hogwarts for all of those not in the know).

They finally come to a stop after passing by every goddamn hotel and casino on the Vegas Strip (advertisers love exposure, even if it’s in a bad movie). Chaos ensues and in the process Malkovich’s character (who I thought had been sliced to bits by a propeller during the crash, but my bad!) escapes on the top of a fire truck (because he must be seen—he couldn’t just squeeze into the cab of the truck that his crony hijacked to be less obvious). Of course, Cage’s and Cusack’s characters spot him, and off they go, commandeering Vegas police motorcycles to do so. “Theme From New York, New York” starts to play, and I keep up hope that they’ll drive by the mock Statue of Liberty. Alas, they do not, but I guess that’s because they made the movie before New York-New York opened.

This is where everything gets fuzzy—the satellite signal at the gym started to go out. However, I gather that Cage and Malkovich fight while Cage hangs onto the fire ladders and Malkovich tries to knock him off (oh, those manly muscles holding Cage up—barf). There is crash, obvs, Malkovich’s crony dies, and right as Malkovich is about to get his head crushed, the satellite signal goes (the aforementioned “Ikea” is playing at this moment—everyone has a head, but if you don’t have a head you can buy one there!). The signal comes back and Cage rescues the bunny previously threatened by Malkovich from going down into the sewers, where they all float down there. Signal goes, then Cage is trying to give the bunny to whom I presume is his little girl. She recoils, but Mommy steps in and the happy family hugs. Awww. “Buddy Holly” starts on my iPod, and I gather from the interwebs that the opening lyrics of that song pretty much sum up why Cage’s character is a convict on parole: “What’s with these homies dissin’ my girl? / Why do they gotta front? / What did we ever do these guys / that made them so violent?” Too perfect.

I remember then that this is the movie that gave us the Trisha Yearwood version of “How Do I Live” and I nearly lose my Corn Flakes—good god, I hate that song, no matter who performs it. I remember that the song lost out to Titanic’s “My Heart Will Go On” for the Best Song Oscar and, for a moment, I love Titanic again. But only for a moment.

I’m doing a 45 minute run, so “Flight of the Order of the Phoenix” begins as The Legend of Zorro starts to play, and I see my boyfriend staring up at the screen from his elliptical perch to drool over Catherine Zeta-Jones. I only have 15 minutes for this movie, though, and don’t get much into it—I gather that Zorro is jonesing for some crime-fighting after a period of contentment with the missus and she’s pissed, even going as far as throwing her alcohol into the fireplace. Is she insane? That’s probably some quality stuff! Well, who knows, but my point still remains—it’s alcohol and not to be thrown away lightly!

What movie will it be next week? Will I have the pleasure of riffing on Zorro a bit more, or will I be treated to replay of Domestic Disturbance, the painful John Travolta/Vince Vaughn vehicle that was playing the weekend before last? Perhaps I’ll get to make fun of the Lord of the Rings movies! However, if Jurassic Park is played, I will refrain from posting a Gym Short. Well, Jurassic Park or Jurassic Park III, that is; Jurassic Park II is fair game.  I’m just saying.