Hope Ain't A Tactic, Doc.

I wanted to open this post with these five words: Because I give a f--k.

Because, deep down, I actually do. Well, I'd like to think that I do. But, between you and me, there are times when I'm at work, where I think f--k this. And quietly don't complete something that was asked of me, or do just enough to get by. I justify this laziness (or at best, indifference) by telling myself whatever task I didn't bother to tackle, likely didn't matter anyway. It was just busy work pushed down by another person sharing a zest for bureaucratic horseshit similar to my own. They didn't care...so why should I?

While that's all potentially a long-winded way of saying I'm terrible person, which is entirely possible by the way, the corners I cut almost always involve paperwork and the checking of boxes that have zero to do with my actual job. That shit? Couldn't care less.

I only care about the people in front of me and their families. All the higher ups?

Sorry, these are my f--ks.

I should probably apologize now for such a toxic level of ignorance, but I didn't know that Peter Berg's Deepwater Horizon was about the 2010 BP oil spill, aka the worst environmental disaster in American history (uh, so far, anyway). I knew the film was inspired by real life events, knew that it starred Dirk Diggler, but was sadly unaware of the greater context the damn-near real-time film takes place in.

More importantly, I also didn't know the extent of the systemic carelessness and selfishness of entirely too many f--king yes men scurrying from rock to rock in the oil industry. Instead of giving a f--k about the hundred plus men and women aboard the massive rig (in addition to say, the rest of the f--king planet), these c--ksuckers routinely ignored any 'costly' measures and forged ahead into an unmitigated disaster. Berg's film isn't really concerned with these real-life super-villains, but instead focuses on the heroic efforts of a few brave individuals.

Connecting the thrilling images of a (momentarily) feel-good Hollywood production to that awful underwater camera feed showing thousands and thousands of barrels of crude oil blasting into the Gulf (that video is seared into my brain) made for a rather hollow movie-watching experience.

I'm altogether grateful for the good that happened on that awful night when the Deepwater Horizon basically f--king exploded, but it's hard to take much joy in it, you know? It's like telling the story of a theater usher that returned somebody's wallet during Our American Cousin. Nice work, bro, honestly...but...sweet f--king Christ, it's I'm gonna need a little more silver in that lining, you know?

Also lacking in the redeeming qualities are the Yays and Boos. This is our first foray into the Mark Wahlberg/Peter Berg trilogy, but certainly not our last. Being birthed by a pair of New Englanders, we're basically contractually obligated to eventually see Patriots Day.

Mike's trying to figure out what solar system
Malkovich's character is from.

Yaaaaaaaaay!

That was the real deposition, right?
Though we'll touch on it later, thank God that little girl explained what her dad does for a living. Really. Without the nine year-old girl version, I would have been totally f--king lost, instead of just being out of my element.
Kurt Russell as a hardass drilling official with an epic mustache? Uh, yes please.
Ethan Suplee! Man, it's been awhile...
I'm sorry that I'm such a f--king moron, but with some of these southern accents, the much discussed cement, sounds an awful lot like semen. Serious business, this male reproductive fluid seems to be!
When things eventually head south (and it doesn't take long), this motherf--ker is quite the spectacle. The stunts, the set, the unrelenting chaos is crafted to absolute perfection. Something so ugly has never looked so beautiful. And? Once it starts? It never lets up.
I'm not entirely sure what his endgame was (like, I get it...but not really), but this one dude climbs up a crane during the chaos and, for a second, saves the day. It's beyond admirable.
I feel like I haven't seen Kate Hudson in anything since she was in a bikini next to the alright alright guy from the Lincoln commercials. Luckily for us, she's back, and amidst all the unbelievable chaos, she deftly provides us something bordering on reality as Felicia, the wife of Wahlberg's Matt Williams.
And finally, I feel like Mark Wahlberg takes a lot of shit for his aw-shucks persona at times, but I think the guy is the f--king man. While he might not have the range of some other well known actors (but who am I to say?), he's an incredibly reliable performer. I honestly can't think of a role I didn't love him in, and his take on real-life Matt Williams continues the trend. We like this guy, we trust this guy. And if he asked us to jump off a crumbling oil rig? We'd f--king do it.

You can't do that on television, Mr. Malkovich.

Booooooooo!

You ever end up in a conversation that's way too f--king technical, and you find yourself nodding along like a total f--king asshole, praying that no one notices? That's the first forty minutes of this movie.
While it may have been foreshadowing in the script, in my book it's a jumpscare. Where's Sully [review] when you need him?
F--king Buddy Garrett! Seriously? (I actually love this guy, but does Brad Leland want the world to collectively want to punch him in the nuts?)
John Malkovich is awesome. I'm pretty sure that's written in the Constitution somewhere. But somewhere along the line, he lost his f--king mind with whatever accent he created in depicting the super-slimy oil guy, Vidrine. It's kind of like if you got James Carville to speak Parseltongue and then played it backwards.
You know that moment where you finally have to admit that something's wrong, and tell your parents that you f--ked up? Usually you do that before the house is on fire.
Air support is thirty-five minutes out? But they're only forty-one miles offshore! Are they using a f--king hot-air balloon?
Roll call. F--king awful.
As was that touching tribute to the fallen at the end. I f--king wept.
And finally, what the f--k does a couple hundred thousand dollars matter to a multi-billion dollar corporation? I get it, money's money - sure. But who in their right mind is risking somebody's life for what likely amounts to a handful of nickels? And even if the faceless guy at the top is willing to it (that f--ker), what low-level dickhole is going to follow through with it? I will never understand this. Ever. Like, fire me, please. It'll make it a lot easier to rat out this entire f--king shit show.

I'd like to think that we all care about our jobs and take pride in what we do, sure, but I'd also like to think we care more about people, instead. Including the ones outside of our own home. That at the end of the day, we actually give a f--k about the person working shoulder-to-shoulder with us, or Hell, the guy working across the street from us. And maybe, just maybe, along the way, we also care a little bit about the environment, too.

But that's might be too much to ask these days, huh? Caring about all those different things at the same time. Well, let me make it easier on everybody. I'm going to ask you to do one thing, and one thing only:

Give a f--k.

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Hope Ain't A Tactic, Doc.

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