Ramblings From an Apathetic Adult Baby

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Tag Archives: humour

“Good Burger”: Harbinger of the Commodification Age

Follow the recipe, collect the checks, and churn out the marketable drivel. Modern-day directors punch the clock. Time is money; art stays absent from the equation. A craft with a calling and passion has mutated into a logarithm. In this cinematic wasteland, though, a beacon burns—a bold paragon of hope named Brian Robbins.


A true maverick, Robbins holds an unapologetic mirror up to civilization and begs us to heed reality. From unearthing the contemporary struggle of forgotten youth and unrealistic expectations in his gritty 1999 exposé on West Texas football culture, Varsity Blues, to 2007’s brilliantly repulsive avant-garde piece, Norbit, Robbins habitually leaves audiences reassessing their lives and choices.


The oft-overlooked Good Burger is no exception. Robbins’ un-sophomoric sophomore picture personifies the unending struggle between character-rich individuality and faceless corporate expansion. The audience and industry each coerced into examining what road we’re on.


A simple man tries to escape debt’s slippery slope while a soon-to-be-sprawling conglomerate, Mondo Burger, jeopardizes his livelihood. Caught between noble individualism and succumbing to rigid commoditization, there’s no question this fable rings close to home. Good Burger lends audiences that horrific glance into that not-too-distant future where workplaces are sterile machines filled with jumpsuit-clad burger-peddling cogs obeying military-like orders.


This 95-minute funk-laden treasure seems as if it erupted out of Robbins. No longer could the visionary remain silent while countless American Goliaths gobbled up Davids by the dozen. Good Burger maintains that, without intervention, we’re headed towards a dystopia where countries and states are archaic and corporations reign supreme.


Robbins christens small business as the final bastion of individuality within American consumerism. Value, he imparts, needs to be re-construed as originality, heart, bumbling idiots trying to repair a broken shake machine from inside said “Strawberry Jacuzzi.” Value can be bigger than just more chemically engineered meat per dollar. There’s a genuine goodness beyond the limited spectrum of cookie-cutter sprawl. That character and flavor, each and every small business’ personal Ed’s Sauce, is under constant threat of being forever squeezed out.


The tour-de-force crescendos into a beautiful cryptic climax. Mondo Burger tries to sabotage Good Burger by using their government connections to detain our heroes within a mental institution. From there it’s your typical farce involving a George Clinton dance number, a high-speed chase with a stolen ice cream truck, and comeuppance via exploding hamburgers.


Are massive corporate takedowns so demanding that one would need an equally zany, unlikely sequence to accomplish one, or is Good Burger relaying that it requires a radical event by dedicated individuals to pull of something so monumental?


Concession or call to action, we may never know. Robbins, though, has done his job; we are having the discussion, and that’s where all change has to start.





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Oh, That Celebrity Died?

Right. Heard it yesterday.


True. Makes you think.


So what do want to eat? I think I like the idea of being a guy who enjoys Italian wedding more than I actually like the soup.


Who am I kidding, right?


That young? Wow.


Broccoli cheddar. Maybe. Usually safe. I don’t like it when it’s too heavy though.


It’ll be my app, I’m saying. I’m not doing the Half-Wich Wednesday thingy.


Broken tart-ed? Where did you see that—


Oh, broken heart-ed. Gotcha. Yeah.


Relax. No, I’m not callous.


Neither of us knew him personally or anything.


Lentil can be good.


Sure, slightly bummed, I suppose. It’s a little letdown whenever bad news marginally affects my life.


I’d say on par with craving lentil soup and discovering they’ve run out.


Whoa. Lower your voice and leave the lentils out of this.


You’re not using “devastated” right. Come on. What are you going to call it when you’re legitimately devastated?


Fine. Seriously, though, have you had their lentil? I’ll get it if it’s good.


Are you getting soup? Would it make sense to split a bowl?


Stop. Christ.


Miss, could you get him have a tissue?


Napkin’s fine.


He was on TV; he wasn’t your best friend.


That’s ridiculous. Nine years as friends and not a single tear shed over dying relatives, but this is “debilitating”?


Heartless? Fine.


No. You’re right. I don’t care like you do. My priorities are completely different. I emotionally invest in real people, people who have likewise invested in me through shared experience and love. You, my friend, are sobbing down a one-way street.


Did I see your Beirut? What?


Come on. Breathe.


Tri-bute! Got it. Sorry, you’re talking into the menu.


But, no. I try to stay off Facebook—especially on days like this. This stuff always makes social media, oddly, more self-centered.


Okay, she’s walking over. Have you tried the lentil soup here, yes or no?


Tell me now.


Fine. Yes. A life is over. I know we both liked his stuff and I know this was sudden, but, please, reassess what exactly you’re holding dear.


I’m doing well, thank you, Miss.


Sorry, we’re talking through some stuff. I think my friend needs another minute.


You’re sweet. No, he’ll be fine, just shaken up over Quaker deciding to kill off Cap’n Crunch.




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