I watched Miami Vice today, because I’d seen every murder show at least twice and there was nothing on the Hitler Channel. Please understand that I’ve been popping NyQuil continuously all weekend long, so it’s not all that strange that nothing made any sense to me about that movie. But really: Nothing made any sense. I kept sort of zoning out and we were back in a club again with three people who knew how to dance and forty people who danced like me, which is to say, as if electrotrodes were attached to their privates and they were really embarrassed about it.
Speaking of privates: I love Michael Mann, but it occurred to me that his films are exactly like a penis. They’re hypermasculine, very sleek and they have absolutely no sense of humor.
Once I realized this, I enjoyed the movie immensely.