Ghost Rider: First Review

I'd like to begin my review of Ghost Rider by saying that it is a tall order to create a two-hour film that fully encapsulates years of comic literature. A comic book hero undergoes numerous transformations and grows and d/evolves throughout the serial’s run. It is too lofty a goal to make a meaningful movie out of years of literature. It's just too tough and I think movie studios should be more wary of using this method to produce new blockbusters.

That being said, this was the awesomest movie ever.

The Ghost Rider is some guy played by Nicholas Cage (NC) who hunts demons or something and is in love with Eva Mendes and has to fight the devil, played by David Carradine, and his son, Blackheart, and is helped along the way by Sam Elliott. I think. I didn't pay too much attention in the beginning. I was too busy calling my bookie.

The pre-preview advertisements were spectacular. They reminded me that I need to put 20 bucks on the East in the NBA All-Star game and the over-under on how many Dominique Wilkins highlights will be shown. The pre-preview ads also informed me that Coca-Cola makes everything better. Up until this movie, I was convinced that coke makes everything better, but if I can buy a good time and slurp it off a stripper's leg cheaper, safer, and in a can, I certainly will.

Anyway, the movie. Again, best movie ever. The casting was spectacular. First, Nicholas Cage. NC is action personified. Nobody personifies personification of personified action like the ultimate personifier of all human qualities Nicolaspersonicagetion. NC was perfect as the haunted collector of lost souls. He's a natural. His own soul is lost and tormented, and in this film, Texan. I think he studied the greatest actor and Texan ever, George W. Bush. I can see why NC chose this great man as a model for his role. NC sounded just like him.

Plus, NC is the greatest motivational speaker I've ever seen. I feel like I wasted my money at that Feel Better about Yourself, Pussy! Bootcamp I went to last weekend. NC can inspire without words. His facial expressions arouse in me a need to be a better me. His cookie dough-mush face cuts through life's BS and tells me how to live Cagey. Face your problems. When a woman talks, kiss her so she'll shut up. Ignite your Rage Cage. Point your finger at those things that get you down and say "Guilty." Yes, our problems are the guilty party, not us. "I'm gonna own this curse." He brings light to those of us struggling with our own demons. We must take control of our curses and give those things that trip us up our own penance stare, which is the trademark ass-kicking device of the Ghost Rider, which incidentally is the same weapon employed by Sister Mary Modine at St. Biff's Church.

Anyway, NC has given me a new path. He always has, from ConAir to Face/Off to National Treasure, when times were dark I saw one set of footprints, and that was when NC carried me.
The other actors were great too, and they were even greaterer because of the casting director’s seeming third eye and sixth sense for an 18 fold ability for filling roles par excellence.

An actress was needed to play a younger version of Eva Mendes, NC's love interest. The only qualification was mole location. Eva and this girl had identical moles. The girl was born to imitate Eva Mendes as an adolescent girl. The greatest casting ever. Like finding a needle in a stack of unsuitable duds.

The villain, known as BlackHeart, was played by the weirdo kid next door in American Beauty. I actually thought the role was played by Unknown Hinson until a friend of mine corrected me. Very convincing. Best makeup job ever. The guy was great, very scary, especially because his vocal patterns and speech intonations were identical to the character Dwight on The Office.

Fact: I am the son of the devil and you cannot defeat me. Fact: These are my real sideburns.

Blackheart had this crew of demons helping him out. Very convincing, very scary. They looked like they just jumped outta Purgatory. I don't mean the part of Hell. I mean that gothfest in Charlotte where all the freaks wear black leather and makeup and silly moustaches. They looked like some guys I used to collaborate with in the D&D club back in high school. It brought me back to the old days.

David Carradine was a natural as the Devil. The casting was easy. He just showed up one day pretending to be a blind man with a cane looking for weed or a leather jacket with fringe and the casting director must've hired him on the spot. Not a stretch. David Carradine is the Devil and I'm glad they dug him up from the Hotel Bangkok. Oh, shit, that was Peter Fonda. Whoops!

Anyhow he was looking for weed and they hired him.

Thank God for Sam Elliott. I needed a reliable typecast to steady all this thrill-a-second action. He brought it into focus and made sense of the world. The grizzled oldster insulted NC's whippersnapper ways, apparently grumpy that kids keep leaving flamin’ bags of poo on his flamin’ porch. I do feel bad for Sam Elliott, although I need him in my life. I'd be pissed and grumpy if I was born from the womb with facial hair trying to invade my eyes daily and saliva consisting of chaw juice and hooker spit.

So, the acting was super-perb, and the blockbuster’s fail-safes and never-fails were all there. This blockbuster had everything. I knew it was a blockbuster when during a scene in which a big truck crushes the Ghost Rider, a sign swings from the hitch of the truck "How's My Driving?" Boy, I wasn't sure if I was watching a documentary or a romantic comedy or what. As soon as I saw that tried and true indicator of every box office boom stick, I knew I was on a Highway to Greatest Action Flick of my young life. That was a close one.

There was also a totally awesome scene right before the totally awesome ending, and I can imagine the production meeting needed to produce such a pre-climax, we'll call it:

"Okay, the Ghost Rider and Sam Elliott are ripping through the desert on fire towards the movie's grippingest climax ever. We need to torch something along the way."

"How bout a cactus?"

"Predictable."

"Tumbleweed?"

"Lame."

"How about a lizard that wouldn't normally be out in the cold desert night because of its need for daytime warmth but who just happened to be taking an evening stroll."

"That's perfect! We could torch it and it'd turn into a skeleton. Boys, let's hit it!"

Boy, if it wasn't for this scene and the "How's my Driving?" plate, I wouldn't know what was happening.

The film was not all wine and burning corpses, however. The liberal producers and their sadistic socialist puppeteers decided to take a shot at something I hold dear. Big Tobacco. This film was pure anti-tobacco propaganda. The Ghost Rider's dad smokes in every scene, and he has cancer and he is going to die from cancer before he dies doing some off the wall motorcycle stunt. Blame cigarettes, the filmmakers tell us. Look, the Devil kills people, not cigarettes! NC (**editor’s note: do you mean "North Carolina" or "Nicholas Cage" here? Ambiguous.**) made a deal with the Devil to get rid of his father's terminal cancer. The Devil giveth cancer and he taketh away. Neither cigarettes nor the tobacco magnates have that kind of unearthly power. Mephistopheles has majority control of cancer, not RJ Reynolds, folks. For crying out loud, the Devil named his kid "BlackHeart," an alleged effect of continued cigarette use. A connection, unavoidable. I posit that something even more sinister than cigs are behind all of our health problems ever. It's the Devil.

All in all, it was one of the greatest movies ever. It was one step down from Point Break and one step above The Day After Tomorrow. I recommend you see it with your family, your friends. Take a total stranger. They'll thank you for it. There was action, acting, and acting-tion. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll try to work my penance stare on my bookie. The East? They never win anything. Anyhow, if that doesn't work on him maybe I can ransom my thumbs with some Coca-Cola or better yet I'll take him to see Ghost Rider. Thanks for reading and smoke 'em if you got 'em!