Capricorn One (1978)
OJ in space. How could this possibly go wrong? Stabbing Martians and shit.
Bla bla bla, NASA jargon. C’mon, shoot off rockets!
OJ in a spacesuit…odd.
“We’ll need another pair for my wife.” Ha! Women can’t use binoculars!
Launch commander: “Four billion dollars to put crazy people into space.” OJ: “Keeps us off the streets.” Is every line he reads gonna be that eery?
That codgery old Vice President, checkin’ out seventies’ asses on his commemorative binocs.
Sam Waterston, comic relief-stronaut.
I think I prefer Capricorn Brolin to Westworld Brolin.
That crazy NASA and its nutty hoaxes.
So they’re fakin’ the whole Mars landing, which means no Martians. Phooey.
They’ll threaten the astronauts’ families if they don’t go along with it. That won’t affect OJ, at least.
Elliot
Gould, hairy Jewish reporter extraordinaire. If Gould uncovers the biggest hoax
ever put up by the
Jeez, four months in space? F that.
Even with OJ on Mars I still don’t feel all that safe.
All the wives are there. Ha! Like OJ would ever marry a black chick, please.
Whoa, who’s shrieking? Is there a monkey in the control room?
This little NASA nerd Elliott’s gonna screw everything up.
“The ladder is steady. I am three steps from the bottom.” Alright already Brolin, roughly how many centimeters is that? And what color briefs are you wearing? Ooh look, now he’s two steps from the bottom.
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“We do not claim this planet in the name of America.” Though we are gonna slap an American flag down on it.
Why didn’t Cochran use ‘Space Madness’ in his OJ defense? It worked for the lady in the diaper.
Oh sure, so Gould the reporter is pals with Elliott the suspicious NASA employee. Jeez, these dorks are gonna blow it wide open.
Ooh, they got to Elliott. That dastardly seventies United States government.
Talk really loud in the Mars TV studio. It’s not like there are microphones and shit in there.
I wrote a composition in school about my dad going to Mars too. Brolin’s kid gets an award. I get a Ritalin prescription. Winner? Me.
Uh oh, Gould’s going loony.
I’ve seen worse Jewish drivers.
I hate it when government conspirators cut my brakes.
Whoa, Brolin’s wife. Yellin’ at the kids. It’s always hardest for the children of the astronauts.
Damn, the door’s locked. Abort the mission. We’re dead.
Yeah, escape in a plane. Like they won’t immediately have fighter jets on your ass. C’mon OJ!
They’re in a plane! Quick, get in these cars and give chase!
The old car-plane faceoff. Smart money’s on plane.
NASA director announcing “death” of OJ, Brolin and Waterston: “You tell me. How could we best serve these men?” Someone in the press raises his hand: “Some sort of plaque?”
Waterston’s still cracking wise in a fuel-less plane.
Jeez, don’t give OJ the gun. Brolin gets the gun. Waterston gets the knife. Good, OJ’s gunless and knifeless, just the way we like him. Secondly, survival packs have guns? I think I got gypped. I got some rope and some bandaids.
And they all split up, never to be seen again. Great leadership decision by Brolin.
Touching bedtime story scene. Blech. Reading Dr. Seuss emotionally to your children when your husband is dead: more humorous than touching.
Hell yeah! Finally we get to see those sweet Brolin gams.
Gould’s about to get himself some sweet widower ass.
Seventies helicopters are so round and adorable.
Man, those choppers are way too close. Phew, good thing I buried myself in sand.
Brolin always ends up filthy.
“Well, dad’s dead. Let’s go play in the pool!”
Ohh! And down goes OJ! He should just have some Gatorade. Be right back on his feet.
OJ muttering to himself = hilarity.
Yeah, I commonly confuse helicopters with small crows as well. It’s perfectly understandable.
Now Waterston’s yammering away to himself.
NASA shoes are not built for rockclimbing. At least, not Earth rockclimbing.
And then there was Brolin. Ooh, that sounds like a cool novel title.
Why are news chiefs always witty, angry and hilarious? Oh wait, he’s not the chief, he’s just a measly assignment editor. Fuck him.
“You’re part of all this. You mothers.”
Enough with the quick sexual-tension-filled back-and-forth, I can’t keep up/interest.
Uh oh, rattlesnakes: a Brolin’s worst natural enemy. A Brolin can become quite dangerous if cornered in a small cave. Maybe it’s one of them robo-snakes from Westworld.
Brolin has a sand-beard.
Mmm, raw snake meat. I’d eat that over Streisand’s old cooch any day of the week.
If after all this, they didn’t clean up the Mars set, I will be very disappointed in my American government and its hoaxing capabilities.
A wacky Southwestern cropduster. And he thinks cityfolk are perverts, or “poiverts” as he puts it.
“Now where you wanna go, smartass?” I think they asked me that on my last Southwestern flight.
Scorpion on the face; never fun.
Careful, that gas station might just be a mirage. The first time through that sentence I wrote ‘garage,’ not ‘mirage.’ Careful, that gas station might just be a garage.
This cropduster is snappin’ all over Gould. Man, what happened to his acerbic Jewish wit?
Damn, she won’t hear his phonecall ‘cause she’s goin’ to his funeral. Too bad it’s the seventies, he could’ve left a message. I bet people in the seventies said “too bad it’s the seventies” a lot.
When helicopter pilots attack. They could’ve at least taken their helmets and goggles off. Easier to spot The Brolin.
When a Brolin is cornered in an abandoned desert gas station, he will most likely attack with a crowbar and then burst out the nearest window. Always wear a helicopter pilot helmet when pursuing a Brolin in the wild.
We need a Schwarzenegger quote: “Get back to the choppa!” Don’t let that biplane elude us again!
Now that’s a fuckin’ cropduster! Crazy bastard’s three feet off the ground.
Damn, Brolin must secrete stickum from his palms.
I’m gonna make sure my autobiography has a lot of biplane chases/escapes. Like that movie Flyboys.
Yeah! Dust those fools! Literally.
Seventies helicopters into the rock face. Wha whaaa.
“Perverts!” Tell ‘em crazy cropduster.
I’m pretty sure I saw a French legionnaire in that funeral crowd.
And Gould exposes the lie.
Slow-motion Gould and Brolin. Kind of passionate, kind of romantic.
There goes NASA. Bye NASA.
Great final freeze-frame face by Gould.
The most important thing I’ll take away from this film is that OJ didn’t kill anybody and it’s pretty easy to kill a rattlesnake. And watch out for those Brolins. A Brolin and A Gould in the right atmosphere can bring down your whole goddam space program. Good thing I discontinued my space program in 1996 due to lack of rocketships.
Overall: Three out of Four Happy Ethans. Acting – I mean, it’s Astronaut OJ. What’s not to love? Directing – The man directed Timecop. What’s not to love? Music – Smooth Seventies Grooves. What’s not to love? Writing – Gotta admit, there was something not to love here.
I’m just relieved OJ didn’t get
that survival pack knife and his wife made it out in one piece. So he kills his
white wife but his black wife’s fine. OJ, you bigot. I
still think he’s innocent, though. (Just so he won’t stab me.)