"Seven Neuropathies" Hollywood screenwriter's perverted soy sauce time

Ashleigh 2022-04-22 07:01:06

Hollywood (film) screenwriters seem to have a tradition. If they don't have much to write about, they just write about the film industry, about Hollywood, about themselves, about making movies, about actors' lives, and about ups and downs. . . . . . In short, when I really don’t have inspiration, I just eat some shit that I don’t have. From silent films, to the black and white era, to the golden age, to the modern day, Hollywood has a lot to say about Hollywood. Just writing how difficult it is for the screenwriter, all kinds of nonsense movies are intermittent.

This aspect is natural. Many screenwriters live in Hollywood, and they revolve around that atmosphere all day long. The people they contact and the topics they discuss are inseparable from the movies, so when they don’t write, they write about the people around them. Come; and if it is written up, it may be borrowed from the topic, and under the simile and metaphor, a classic of viewing the world from the grain of sand will be written.

But on the other hand, this kind of bullshit behavior, mostly out of laziness, has also become a behind-the-scenes nonsense. Take writing yourself as an example, how much surprise and hardship can the screenwriters have in the life of the scriptwriters? It's nothing more than not being able to write anything, smoking drugs, drinking, smoking, playing women, looking for inspiration, and other sesame trivial things.

As a result, "Seven Neuropathies" was born, and the screenwriter's brother is extremely smart. Not only did he feed himself, who was dying of hunger, but he also fried the old rotten sesame that the screenwriter wrote the screenwriter into something new. No, the screenwriter in "Seven" can't escape the exhaustion of inspiration, the chaos of life, the malaise all day long like a dead pig, this is an old-fashioned complaint movement, nothing unusual, this kind of light like a bird The plot is obviously neither the boss nor the audience will buy it. Therefore, the screenwriter brother outside "Seven" arranged the most perverted friend, the most perverted life, the most perverted opponent, the perverted life and perverted death, and even the perverted arranged ending. The location of the shootout is just right and perverted. The whole is an absolutely perverted plot, so that Hollywood life is better than the waves, and it is necessary to put a nuclear bomb there to increase the sense of suspense and visibility.

But in the end, no matter how fried the old rotten sesame seeds are, they still smell slightly musty. If you don't understand that "Seven Neuropathies" wants to express the gods and horses, perhaps this is the most perverted but most reasonable answer.

Of course, complaining is not about how ugly "Seven Neuropathies" are. On the contrary, if you have extra leisure time to watch the excitement and improve your mood, this film is also a good leisure sketch. Especially, except for the cute Colin Farrell, the actors in it are not simple, all of them are actors, especially Sam Rockwell----born to be cheap, Christopher Walken---- ---Classic supporting role, everyone else is not too famous and not small, and the old fritters are mixed in the supporting role circle.

Therefore, if you think the plot is unsatisfactory, it is worthwhile to just look at the nonsense of these old fritters.

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Extended Reading

Seven Psychopaths quotes

  • Billy: Is that a guinea pig? It's a gerbil, isn't it? That's enormous. Hey, Marty, we just seen some kind of giant gerbil.

    [Marty punches Billy]

    Billy: Marty, you alcoholic fucking bastard.

    Hans: Yeah, you might wanna stop drinking, Martin, if this is the way you're gonna behave.

    Marty: If this is the way I'm gonna... This guy just telephoned a psycho-killer to come down and psycho-kill us. And this guy's doubting a lifelong belief in the afterlife because of a psychedelic cactus he just ate. And you motherfuckers are telling me to behave?

    Billy: Whoa. Whoa. Time out. What's all this about doubting a lifelong belief in the afterlife because of a psychedelic cactus you just ate? Hans, what the heck?

    Hans: I met Myra. On the ridge. She had some things to say.

    Billy: About the afterlife being non-existent or something?

    Hans: That was the gist.

    Billy: No, no, it might have sounded like Myra. But you know why? Now don't get mad, but you know I can do Myra's voice pretty good. Yeah, I snuck up there a little while ago and I pretended to be her. I started saying all kinds of crazy stuff.

    Hans: Hmm? But what specifically did you say? About the place you were in? The place Myra was in. Huh? How did you describe it, specifically?

    Billy: You mean specifically?

    Hans: Yeah.

    Billy: I just kind of said it was all kind of... I just kind of said it was all kind of gray and shit.

    Hans: No.

  • Hans: My wife is sitting on a chair someplace. Some gray place. I thought she'd be in Heaven, but she's sitting on a chair with a bullet in her head. I thought they'd have cleaned that kind of stuff up.

    Marty: Maybe you've just eaten too many hallucinogenic cactuses tonight, Hans.

    Hans: Nothing to do with the hallucinogens.

    Marty: But you've just seen Myra on a chair with a bullet through her head.

    Hans: In some gray place.

    Marty: England?

    Hans: It seemed a lot worse than that.

    Marty: Wow.