MatchPoint : The Inaugural Free $lave Film Review
I’ve avoided Woody Allen since the Soon Yi episode went down, but really, I’d tired of him making the same movie repeatedly. I sucked it up, though, cuz I was bored and MP got decent reviews.
The film is about a white working class Brit living in London who became a tennis player on the professional tennis circuit. Reaching a plateau with his game, he leaves the circuit and lands a job teaching tennis at a swanky club where he fraternizes with the creme de la creme. He meets and falls in love with (the money and) the sister of one of his students/buddies.
The fiancee of this student buddy happens to be a luscious American slut-of-an- actress who doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. The burgeoning triangle is a postmodern ‘All About-(st)Eve’ tale with gunplay.
But here’s a nigger’s take on this stone cold allegory, for real-real:
Da movie really ’bout the riddle posed to this common, dirty nailed white beotch(!) a broke ass white MF sentenced to a life picking up the soiled undies of rich debutantes and their prune faced parents. He hits the jackpot, as only a white man can, when this old-monied, brown-tongued jezebel makes him her personal reclamation project. Her fawning, uber supportive-ness is meant to indoctrinate all white girls and let them know that this is correct female behavior in a system of racism/white supremacy: Pump your white boy toy up, no matter how shady or lacking in character.
With his meal ticket assured and his little English tart working 24/7 to secure his/their financial future in her daddy’s firm, up jumps this full-lipped, metaphor for the oversexed Negress – Scarlett J. She tugs at the primal beast in him, in spite of the fact that she’s engaged to his now brother in-law. No matter, he be a white man (no doubt), so the pair get buck wild in a corn field at the family’s country estate while his ‘lil shadow tearily flops around the manse calling out his name.
The white boy’s dilemma is clear: POWER, MONEY, set-out pussy from a ‘stand by your man’, PR promoting white idolatrous hefer; versus, the broke-ass, lusty, ‘living by her tits’, white/black trampish, unstable, comfort woman. In the end, there is only one choice: (WHITE) $$$$, (WHITE) ppPOWER trump tribal, illicit a.k.a. nigger, dead-end sex.
Scarlett is posed as a threat to all his winnings; she’s the dark, niggerized wildcard, the barbarian outside the gates, the only character who knows and speaks the truth. She must DIE!!!
Truth spoken about the behavior of white men in the white supremacy system, particularly truth that could potentially threaten its smooth operation is punishable by an all expenses paid trip to the afterlife.
In the end, our hero takes the only action prescribed within the system of Racism/White Supremacy under these dire circumstances – he smokes that ass with a 12-guage shottie.
The police – who are a part of the R/WS system – are onto his game and it appears that he may have made a fatal error in covering the crime. Happily, the white boy not only survives, but the Po-Po find and kill another nigga who conveniently picked up some of the slain Ho’s cleverly discarded belongings. And the icing is that the dead brotha just happened to be a shotgun wielding drug addict. Shit, every nigga I know has a habit and a 12-guage shottie.
SLAM DUNK, BABY!!
Note how the ‘System’ conviently fails niggas in this paradigm. The Po-Po fail to capture the evil white boy. Why? Cuz’ the evil was the dilemma posed by the loose/loose lipped white Negress. The system properly failed HER, but performed correctly on behalf of the – WHO? The WHITE MAN!
Racism survives, the white family and white folks survive in this Darwinian parable. The moral of the story: niggas and weak links are expendable when they obstruct the WHITE GOD on his ascent to his rightful place on the throne. Say amen to that, Mia.