The Chive


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The Martian

There are no Martians in The Martian.  There's an Earthling who gets stranded on Mars, but just like an American who gets stuck in Spain not suddenly becoming Spanish, Matt "Matt Damon!" Damon's Mark Watney doesn't magically transform into a fucking Martian simply because he's marooned on the Red Planet.  By that logic, he'd also instantly turn into a card-carryin' Commie.

Like a Wookie, it makes no sense.

Watney really should have seen it coming, though.  I mean, when Harry from Dumb & Dumber​ (Jeff "Jack" Daniels) and Ned Stark (Sean "Mr." Bean) are in charge of your mission, you've got to expect a few snags.  Helping matters not one bit is a Captain, Melissa Lewis (Jessica "Rabbit" Chastain), who obviously flunked Space Safety 101 and doesn't have her crew tie themselves together when they go trotting out into a Martian sandstorm.

But hey, what's the worst that could happen, right?

After Lewis and the rest of the crew sayonara him, Watney is left without enough food or water to last until a rescue team could get to him - not that they'd even come looking because everyone thinks he's dead.  He's seriously wounded.  He's alone hundreds of millions of kilometers from home.  He has no way to contact NASA.  And yet he's the most pathologically upbeat motherfucker since Mr. Rogers discovered cocaine.  In between shirtless scenes (because of course), Watney cracks joke after lame ass joke and says dick-stompingly clever things like, "Fuck you, Mars."

​No, fuck you, The Martian.

Men may be from Mars - which in this movie looks a lot like Utah though it was lensed in Jordan for some reason - and women may be from Venus, but director Ridley "Great" Scott must hail from the planet Crapulon because his last dozen or so movies have been shit tacos of Ed Woodian proportions.

And would it have killed him to throw in a quick topless scene for Kate "Big Blue" Mara? Perhaps in zero gravity?  We get a long shot of Damon's ass but not even a second of Mara's succulent spacesuit spheroids?  Boo!

Watching Damon record video diaries and "science the shit" out of various apparently science-deficient situations gets more than a wee bit boring after 30 or so minutes . . . of a two-plus hour film.  Where is Valentine Michael Smith?  Or Marvin the (actual) Martian? Or Santa spoiling for a fight?  Someone, anyone to get the fourth rock from the sun rockin'.

I wonder how many gallons of Hollywood sauce semen the good folks at the Duct Tape Council had to swallow to get their product a supporting actor role?  Watney would be dead three times over if it weren't for his trusty roll of grey salvation.  Instead of The Martian, they should have called it If You Can't Duck It, Fuck It.

October 4, 2015