Tag: deadwood (Page 1 of 3)

Lines Of Dialogue That Could Be From Either Deadwood Or The Expanse

December 30, 2020 / Thoughts On The Dead / 9 Comments

“Welp, time to go do some mining.”
“One shot of terrible alcohol, please, and can you point me to a relatively clean prostitute?”
“Hang dai.”
“That’s a dumb-ass hat.” (Thomas Jane episodes only.)
“I haven’t showered in three weeks.”
“Who do we have to bribe/kill?”
“Could you please stop punching that man? I’m pretty sure he’s already dead.”
“Not a lot of Puerto Ricans around here, are there?”
“CockSUCKA!” (Amazon-produced episodes only.)
“Yes, I know he says he’s a doctor…”
“It takes three weeks to get there.”
“This treaty will bring peace.”
“Is there anywhere that doesn’t smell like balls?”

Thoughts On Deadwood: The Movie (In Real-Time)

June 1, 2019 / Thoughts On The Dead / 7 Comments

Right up front: this is a high-context post.
If you haven’t watched all three seasons of Deadwood, then none of this will make any sense.
For example, one of the bullet points will, for a moral certainty, be composed in its entirety of: Hey, it’s Con Stapleton!
And I will not explain:
- Who the fuck Con Stapleton is.
- Why the fuck he merits an exclamation point.
In the plainest words I can muster: this is inside baseball, and unless you know which character was always bitching about the newspaper not carrying the baseball scores, you will not enjoy the following writing.
Also: spoilers.
Okay, show’s starting.
A train!
A Jane!
A drunken monologue!
And the winner for “Fakest CG Train of 2019” goes to…D: TM!
Holy shit, Al looks terrible.
Not Ian McShane.
He looks as though he’s been getting facial treatments for fifteen years.
Charlie’s here, and so is Jewell the Gimp, and Doc Cochran.
The last of whom, you’ll recall, was puking up blood regularly by the end of Season Three.
I guess his tuberculosis got better.
I will try not to keep repeating this, but: All these fuckers look old as fuck.
Charlie Utter, for example, has aged a billion years in 13 years.
(It’s been 13 years in the real world, but in the Deadwood Cinematic Universe, a decade has passed.)
Bullock!
And Mrs. Bullock!
They are all hot to trot: the man can’t keep his hands off her crinoline.
E.B. is still at the hotel; he is identical in appearance, but the building is not: brick has replaced wood.
Hearst!
You murdering, conniving cocksucker.
You know he’s up to no good.
I mean, he’s a U.S. Senator now, so obviously he’s up to no good.
Trixie is enormously pregnant and HOLY SHIT, STARR GOT OLD.
Did John Hawkes contract progeria recently?
Fucker looks like he’s defending the Holy Grail.
We’re on page 17, roughly, of the screenplay; we’re gonna need an Inciting Incident here, fellows.
Oh, there it is.
Trixie calling Hearst a cunt and a murderer during a parade.
That’ll do it.
Hearst doesn’t enjoy being called a cunt in private, but he simply won’t abide it in public.
There is also a new hooker in town, and she is deeply symbolic.
The production designers deserve an award for so cleverly disguising the ridiculously giant teeth that Timothy Olyphant installed in his mouth several years ago.
Hey, it’s Alma Garrett-Ellsworth.
Missed you, you junkie slut.
A complication!
Hearst has made an offer on Charlie Utter’s land so as to string his telephone poles through it.
You cant fuck the future.
Future fucks you.
Charlies a goner, man.
On second viewing, Hearst’s plots seem a bit off.
AUNT LOU!
She’s midwifing Trixie.
Aunt Lou, apparently, does know about birthin’ babies.
Ah, everyone’s favorite show biz bullshit: the three-month old newborn.
Calamity Jane is now asking Charlie Utter for romantic advice.
Remember how Calamity Jane got all Sapphic with Joanie Stubbs?
The lesbianism took, I guess.
And now she’s back in town and she wants her Joanie back
But Joanie is–and this will shock fans of Deadwood–mopey.
Hearst is wearing the same sort of magenta gloves (proudly) that Ellsworth (whom he had murdered) begrudgingly donned for his wedding.
Oh, God, N—-r General.
Why the fuck are you still in Deadwood?
Go somewhere else.
Go anywhere else.
I mean, nowhere in America is safe for you, N—-r General, but there must be locations that are safer.
WU!
HANG DAI, COCKSUCKER!
Never really learned English, did you?
Good for you, Wu.
I’d watch a show that retold the stories from the series from Wu’s POV.
Hey, that new whore is back.
Being symbolic and saying meaningful shit and all that.
Oh, God, N—-r General.
Why did you stay at the scene of Charlie’s murder?
WHY WON’T YOU RUN AWAY, MAN?
Oh, for fuck’s sake, now Bullock has called Hearst a cunt in public.
It’s like they want him to burn the camp down.
I cannot, for the life of me, feature on the meaning of New Whore.
(She’s got a name now. It’s New Whore.)
Did HBO demand that someone on the screen not look grizzled?
YEEEEEESSSSSS!
BULLLLLLLLLLLLOCK!
I’m not explaining what those last two points refer to.
If you watched D: TM, then you’ll know.
If you didn’t, then you stopped reading 600 words ago.
Either way is okay by me.
“That is a goddamned gold commemorative worth twelve-to-fifteen dollars.”
You know about David Milch, right?
Can’t tell you the day of the week, but can write lines like that.
Which makes it worse.
That’s the worst way to go.
Knowing that it’s happening.
Watching it as an onlooker.
Seriously, how the fuck is Doc still alive?
FREDERICK DOUGLAS!
That’s the haircut N—-r General has.
Been bothering me all night.
I preferred the old style:
You remember this scene, right?
I think was Season Two.
How many times has Franklin Ajaye played “Guy Who Shouldn’t Have Gone In That Bar?”
And Farnham gets a mini-monologue.
Here’s how good D:TM is: the fan service doesn’t feel like fan service.
Why is George Hearst–who is, I remind you, a sitting U.S. Senator–directly dealing with the assassins?
In his fucking hotel room?
Doesn’t he have a guy?
A majordomo?
Literally every single time a character on Deadwood refers to the town of Lead, I say to myself “It’s pronounced Leed, but it’s spelled Lead.“
Every.
Single.
Time.
I am a simple man with small and common thoughts.
PEACHES!
FUCKING PEACHES!
That’s the fan service I was talking about.
Generally, fan service is distracting and, at worst, embarrassing.
One recalls the “Ladies Kickin’ Ass” shot from the climax of Avengers: Edamame.
But here, it is like a sweet gift from the creators of the show.
Jeffrey Jones.
Jeffrey fucking Jones.
He’s back.
That’s a choice by the producers, I suppose.
Dunno if I would have made that choice.
MRS. ELLSWORTH SLAPPING HER MASSIVE COCK ON THE GEM’S BAR!
Auctions are a great place to be rich.
There’s no place it’s bad to be rich, honestly, but auctions are a fun place to be rich.
Harry Manning, you asshole.
I’m glad you got so fat.
YES!
THE BULLOCK SPECIAL!
Straddling a cocksucker in the Thoroughfare, and punching that cocksucker repeatedly in the face!
That’s his signature move.
It’s like when Jimmy Snuka would do the Superfly off the top rope.
You’d leave upset if you didn’t see it.
Okay, I had to pause it just so could get the lines right.
“I expect you believe that a badge insulates you from certain untoward consequences?”
“Much as you being a U.S. Senator will insulate you from jail.”
Trixie had the baby around 18 hours ago; she is now up and about and flat-bellied and running back to Al.
LOOPY CUNT!
You know you’re watching a dark teevee show when “Loopy Cunt” is an in-universe term of endearment.
I’m in love with the cinematography.
I wanna make sweet love to the cinematography of this movie.
And then flip it over and make horrible love to it.
Holy shit, why is Al Swearengen allowed to hold a baby?
That’s just unholy.
Even dying of cirrhosis, Al looks cool.
His hair is…well, you know.
Calamity Jane and Joanie are way more public with their lesbianics than I would have imagined would have been acceptable in 1890.
Also funny to imagine: Al is, of course, missing the middle finger of his left hand.
Well, it’s not missing.
He left it on Hearst’s table when Captain Turner chopped it off.
So I would assume that they digitally erased it, but to do that, Ian McShane had to wear a green finger condom during shooting.
That, to me, is funny.
Hey, it’s Con Stapleton!
Wedding, wedding, pig and froggy wedding.
SOL STARR STOMPED ON THE GLASS!
FUCK ME, HE STOMPED ON THE GLASS!
Seriously, Jane and Joanie are dancing and making out right on the dance floor at the wedding.
Now, obviously, I have no problem with it.
But–again–it’s 1890.
A black guy was just lynched that afternoon.
The offices of the Deadwood Pioneer have been relocated across the Thoroughfare, from their previous abutment against the Gem.
Here it comes.
Here’s the money shot.
Give the people what they want, Milch.
Hearst, finally as defenseless as was the camp to his murdering machinations.
But we are not satisfied.
No.
Give it to us, Milch.
GIVE US WHAT WE WANT!
…
BAM! Bullock takes Hearst by the ear
And Calamity Jane was the Secret Hero all along.
Knew it was in her.
And now the second (major character) death of the film: the N—-r General.
I can’t understand a word he says, and Bullock gets to cry and act.
Black man gets fucked again.
And now it’s Al’s turn.
You know he had to die.
The slaving cocksucker gets a better end than most on this planet.
He is at home, the home that he built.
With his own two hands.
And he is surrounded by his community, even the ghosts who won’t fuck off.
Ghosts never know when to fuck off.
Bullock gets his happy ending, which he did not deserve; Al gets the last word, which he did.
And then the dragons burned everyone in the camp to death.
So good night, all you hoopleheads, and all you cocksuckers; good night to the livery and to Wu’s pigs; good night to the faro dealers, bartenders, and junkies; good night to the stage arriving presently on the Spearfish Road; good night to the Pioneer, the Bella Union, the Number 10, the Grand Central Hotel, and the Gem Saloon.
Pussy’s half-price for the next twenty minutes.

The Fucking Rigor Of One’s Nature

May 31, 2019 / Thoughts On The Dead / 0 Comments

Fine, goddammit. I’ll watch Deadwood: The Movie again and do the real-time bit. It’s either that or sit here with my fucking thoughts, and we both know that’s unacceptable.

See you in an hour and fifty-two minutes.

The Spearfish Road To Unlimited Devotion

May 27, 2019 / Thoughts On The Dead / 0 Comments

If, for some perverse reason, you desire my Thoughts on Deadwood: here. Apparently, I wandered away from the topic before the end, and–if there is a demand–will continue the thread and report back to you about the last five or six episodes.

A Secondhand Primer For Deadwood: The Movie

May 25, 2019 / Thoughts On The Dead / 2 Comments

I’ll be suiciding on the evening of the 31st, Enthusiasts. Besides the fact that I’m moving Fillmore South the next morning, the last day of May will see the premiere of Deadwood: The Movie, and what is there to live for after that? Up until now, there has existed the possibility of more Deadwood, but when June rolls around, I will know that there is no more Deadwood to come for ever and ever, and that is a world that can go on without me.

You’re gonna miss me.

Until then, however, I shall be binging (for the ninth or tenth time) the greatest teevee series ever produced, and invite you to join me. To speed up the hoopleheaded cocksuckers amongst you who have not watched the program, I will now steal all the questions from Alan Sepinwall’s “Everything You Need To Know About Deadwood: The Movie” article in Rolling Stone, and answer them in my own inimitable way.

So what’s Deadwood, anyway?

I told you already: it’s the greatest teevee series ever produced. Are you going to be slow? If you’re going to be slow, then I’ll push you off a cliff and steal your gold claim.

Stop that.

Fine. Deadwood is a western in which finely-costumed players bellow soliloquies at one another. There is also period-authentic racism, and Brian Cox doing his best Albert Finney imitation.

Why is everyone so excited about this reunion movie?

GODDAMMIT, I WARNED YOU.

Hey!

Well, these questions are absurd! Asking why people are excited about the return of Deadwood is like asking why people are excited for the return of Jesus. I can’t dignify this query with a response. Alan Sepinwall, you are fake news.

Can I watch the movie without having ever seen the show?

You can do whatever you want to until the cops open fire. But watching Deadwood: The Movie without having seen the show is like viewing Avengers: Endgame with virgin eyes: nothing’s gonna make sense, and you’re not gonna know who any of the white people on the screen are. An unresearched viewing of this film will leave you with far more questions than answers, among them:

Why is everyone talking like that?
That’s not how they actually talked back then, is it?
If this is a western, then where are the cowboys and Indians?
What the fuck is “unauthorized cinnamon?”

Do I need to rewatch the entire series before watching the movie?

Yes, and stop acting put-upon. See it as an opportunity to rewatch the series, not a “need.” What else were you gonna watch? The 45th season of Grey’s Anatomy? The show with the tits and the dragons? Reruns of Mel’s Diner? Fuck that noise, man: go back to the Black Hills and try your luck at the faro table.

If I had time for only a few episodes, which should they be?

WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN REWATCHING DEADWOOD? Your family? They’re parasites, and you know it. Career? It’s a sham; you know you’re a fraud. Basic hygiene? Only nerds wash their assholes. Priorities, people. Go rewatch Deadwood.

If I have no time at all, can you remind me where things ended?

I won’t cosign your bullshit, jack. Cop a walk.

How excited should I be for the movie?

Less excited than you were for your first child, but more than for your second.

Do you have more to say about the movie?

I’m so psyched I’m gonna jizz my face off.

We’re done here. This ends now.

You’re probably right.

The Democratic Field: A Guide For The Perplexed

May 4, 2019 / Thoughts On The Dead / 1 Comment

There are now officially 2.33 Wu-Tang Clans-worth of Democrats running for President. Look at the person on your left, and now the one on your right: both of them are running for President, and so are you. Every American not currently wearing a MAGA cap has thrown their hats into the Democratic primaries.

Stop it.

There’s too many of ’em, man! Game over!

Aw, now I’m sad thinking about Bill Paxton. You ruin everything.

May I continue?

May? Yes, you may. I wish you wouldn’t, but I can’t stop you.

Thank you. To get you, the American Enthusiast, all pepped up for what will surely be an enlightening and high-minded campaign that centers on issues, and not personalities, TotD now presents: A Guide for the Perplexed: Democratic Primaries Edition. It will be in alphabetical order because the Atlantic article I’m cribbing all my facts from is in alphabetical order, so it’s easier that way.*

~~David~~ Michael Bennet Senator from Colorado. Never seen a toad in real life. He’s been places with lots of toads, but they just seem to disappear when he steps outside. Why is that, Father? his daughter asked when she was a child. Why do the toads shun you? For years, he apologized for striking her. But she couldn’t know. No one could know. Not about his deal with the Toad King. Probably real liberal about weed.

Joe Biden Ex-Senator from Delaware, which shouldn’t exist, but the banks need a state to have tax orgies in. It’s a scam with a flag, like having the Cayman Islands be attached to Maryland. Joe is not from Delaware, not originally. He is from Scranton, Pennsylvania, which The Office made fun of as boring, but used to be utterly wretched: coal mines, and poverty, and a near-constant fistcuffery. Joe will tell you all of this while looking you in the eye, maybe grabbing your tit. He will tell you about his father, and how hard the man worked, when he meets you in a diner. You were sitting there, not bothering anyone, eating your meatloaf–they do a good meatloaf here–and now here’s this goon eyefucking you while babbling about his dead father. Hey man, you think, we all got dead dads. Lemme get back to my ‘loaf. But he won’t. Now he’s onto some shit about civilizing discourses and doing the things the right way and you can smell your gravy going cold. Congealing is a chemical reaction; it produces an aroma; this is a fact. You’ve argued about this with Cristianna before. She won’t listen to reason. She’s the best mom in the world, but the woman knows fuck-all about gravy, and she won’t admit it. That’s the annoying part. That she won’t just give up when she’s provably wrong. You demonstrated the congealation. Whipped up some gravy in the kitchen. Head her watch. More importantly, had her smell. And the bitch REFUSED to acknowledge what was plain to anyone, anyone in the world, and now you are eating meatloaf in a typical American diner, being typical, being American, and Uncle Yippy is going to insinuate his way into your meatloaf–the highlight of your day since Cristianna ate the children, which you also disagreed with her about–and now you’re pissing on Joe Biden, mightily. The Secret Service get you, but not before you get him. You pissed all over that big fucker. Good for you.

Seth Moulton I have never heard of this person. Apparently, he is a Harvard-educated former Navy Seal who has served three terms in the House for Massachusetts. Impressive resume, but his name is Seth and therefore he cannot be President of the United States. Our enemies would think us weak if we elected a “Seth.” No go.

Eric Swalwell A “swalwell” is a English term that might date back to Brythonic language; it means “to gnash the peasants.”

Mike Gravel Mike Gravel is your pick, Enthusiasts. He’s 88 and ran out of fucks last century; the Twin Towers were still up when Senator Gravel saw his final fuck float away. Plus, he wants to end all military activity, send all the teens to college, and pay for your splenectomies. And abolish the Electoral College. And break up the big tech companies. And he doesn’t want to be President; he’s just letting some idealistic young punks run his campaign for him. Mike Gravel is the Grateful Deadest candidate.

Tim Ryan Wasn’t he the Speaker of the House? I do not know who this creature is, and he has a hatefully boring name. If your name is something as dreary as “Tim Ryan,” you owe it to the world to acquire a cool nickname. You should be Timbledon, Tim. Hop to it.

Kristen Gillebrand No. it’s Kirstin Gilliband. You have no idea, and neither do I. She is the Senator from New York who isn’t straight out of a Phillip Roth novel. NOTE: lady.

Beto O’Rourke Fuckable. Good at the talky-talk. Thoroughly underqualified. Stupid first name and Irish last name. We would never elect a man like that.

John Hickenlooper This guy is Colorado’s Jerry Brown, basically. All the positions you’d imagine he holds, he holds. Except for the thing where he wants to nuke Spain, and that he would do it immediately upon taking office. Like, he wouldn’t even give a speech; just say the oath and grab for the football so those Catalonian fucks get what’s coming to them.

Jay Inslee Made up. Not a real person.

Bernie Sanders Fuck Commie Grandpa.

Amy Klobuchar I try to never refer to Schrödinger and his theorem, as it’s such a cliche, but the man’s insight does come to mind when one contemplates Donald Trump as this moment (5/3/19): he is both The Most Beatable Incumbent In History or Allfather Trump, (PBUH). None of the candidates have, so far, used the slogan The Dummy is Costing you Money. They should go with that.

Elizabeth Warren Basketball Head would have her for lunch. She would sit there on the table getting cold next to a pile of Wendy’s chicken sandwiches, and some poor college athletes would have to eat her. The athletes were given much direction by the Athletic Director before they entered the White House. Plus, the Pocahontas deal. Not the name itself, which Turnip is a piece of shit for promulgating, but how she handled it. A DNA test? You introduced facts into a fight with Donald Trump? BUSH LEAGUE. Stay in the Senate.

Kamala Harris His head would explode. His giant, spherical, peach-colored head would explode. She wouldn’t even have to do anything, just be a black lady around him.

Pete Buttigieg Homosexuals can’t be President; it’s in the Bible. The fact is also the basis of several Dukes of Hazard episodes which don’t get included in the DVD compilations.

Julian Castro Julian Castro has been the next big star of the Democratic Party for 40 or 50 years now. And he’s a twin. Twins can’t be President, either. That’s not in the Bible, but it should be.

John Delaney Before your mom met your dad, she fucked a lot of dudes. And before your dad met your mom, he fucked a lot of dudes, too.

Tulsi Gabbard That was childish, the last one. You’re right. Fuck Tulsa Gobbler. Hawaii’s shouldn’t be a state, either. Delaware, Hawaii, Rhode Island: done. The Dakotas should be combined, as should Wisconsin/Michigan, Illinois/Indiana, and Alabama/Mississippi. Arkansas should be given to the Chinese as a gift of friendship. (The Chinese are killing us, folks. Just killing us. Belt and Road? Very bad for round-eye.)

Andrew Yang Reddit loves this guy, so fuck this guy. No memes. I want the next President to be young, but not young enough that their memery is any good.

Marianne Williamson She is an inspirational speaker. I never get inspired by inspirational speakers. I always picture them alone in their hotel rooms after their speeches.

Cory Booker Homosexuals can’t be President; it’s in the Bible.

Steve Bullock Ah, shit, y’all: Deadwood trailer.

A very quick deployment of Google-Fu does not reveal whether Steve Bullock, current Governor of Montana, is related to Seth Bullock, former Sheriff of Deadwood.

Wayne Messam Admit that you don’t know whether or not I made this guy up. Admit that you had to look him up. And, hey: it’s not like I blame you, but don’t get up on your high horse. Also: stop getting your horse high. Mickey used to do that shit, and it’s not right.

Bill DeBlasio Mayor of New York City is a better job than President of the United States, at least if you’re a politician.

*Apparently, it is not in alphabetical order. You live, you learn.