Goliath Ate My White Bread

Back before the Hydron Collider stole our hearts with its promise of replacing god with particle science, back before medical technology developed a magical cocktail of horse pills allowing those with HIV to lead lives that somewhat approach normal, the government was at work covertly perfecting a matter transport device. Move over Vincent Price. Make like a tree and get out of here Cronenberg, and take the Jeff Goldblume you rode in on. The experiment was cut off, and nearly all evidence destroyed when young actor Bill Pullman, gripped with mania, propelled himself past the on-site security and hurled himself into one of the pods. Desperate to regain the street cred he once seized from working with David Lynch, surely, he rationalized, being the first man to teleport through time and space would return him to the ranks of the Hollywood hipsters. Why, he'd be hittin' the hash pipe with Depp and Malkovitch before you could say "Langelaan."

Alas, in his mad dash to regain relevancy, Pullman made a tragic error; one that would shape the landscape of film forever. When the device was activated, Bill didn't notice that William H Macy was crouched in the corner, blending in with the grey walls of the pod. And as the door slowly opened in the destination booth, smoke pouring out, the bunker bathed in a white haze obscuring all view. The smoke cleared, and the scientists awaited what strange creature would emerge from the mist. The answer: Greg Kinnear.

The epitome of all that is average and likable, much like genetic daddy Bill P, yet oozing with neurotic vulnerability in the footsteps of Macy, Kinnear tends to be typecast in the role of an attractive everyman who gets the foot of society firmly planted in his ass, but that doesn't break his sensitive but indominable spirit. Now, I must admit, I have not seen his latest opus "Flash of Genius" but I have read a synopsis, and this alone has highly discouraged me from even spending the money I hand off to Charter for basic cable to see it. For once, I think, despite my unquestionably witty commentary, the unembellished, bare bones plot speaks for itself:

The film centers around the story of R.W. Kearns, a family man who, one day while driving the wife and kids home in a rainstorm, thinks to himself "wouldn't it be great to control the speed of the windshield wipers from inside of my car?" Visionary Kearns, a man on a mission, gets to work and invents said wiper blades, only to present his idea to the Ford company which proceeds to steal poor, little-guy Kearn's idea and pass the technology off as their own. Kearns goes to court to fight the maniacal super-corp, only to be denied his due credit and the skrilla again and again.

A simple man and his quest for a patent on wiper blades. I smell Oscar!

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