An evil man will corrupt a good man before a good man will correct and evil man.

- Mister Rengerz on human nature

Courageous people fear being afraid.

- Mister Rengerz on human nature

Octopi are the wizened old owls of the sea.

- Mister Rengerz on Mother Nature

All right. Let’s get this out of the way right up front. I haven’t seen Clash of the Titans 2010 (my bro-in-law, E-man, has). So why should I have anything to say about it, right? Right? That’s what you’re thinking, right?

Well, this post has nothing to do with Clash of the Titans 2010 (herein called COTT 2010). It has to do with Clash of the Titans 1981 (herein called COTT 1981).

In searching for movie reviews on COTT 2010, needing to know whether or not it was worth my Spring Break nickles (nope), I stumbled across numerous movie reviews for COTT 1981, which has been re-released in advance hype for COTT 2010.

And do you want to know what? They’re all ripping it?!?! I can’t even believe it! COTT 1981 is, and was, awesome! Don’t call me a nostalgic fan boy! I’m serious.

Burgess Meredith was superb (making the Yanks proud in a heavy-hitting British cast), the special effects were a moving final tribute to Ray Harryhausen’s legacy, and Laurence Rosenthal’s score was gorgeous and sweeping (I’m talking about J. Will quality work).

Look. I just don’t know what to say. I haven’t the words to spare anymore. I honestly don’t know how to describe my frustration with this.

When the critics say hammy and cheesy, I think what they’re groping feebly for is exactly what’s been missing in everything from movies to music, television to video games, for the last twenty years: enthusiasm, wonder, and imagination. (I’m exaggerating for effect, of course. There have been other good things to roll out in the past twenty years. Lord of the Rings and Nirvana, and that about tops my list).

It’s about love. When creators love something, even if it isn’t gorged with $200 million dollar computer graphics, it comes out in the final product (Star Wars 1977, Raiders of the Lost Ark 1981). When products are soullessly mass produced it also reflects (SW Prequel 1999, IJ & the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull 2008).

It’s the little things that will never be replaced by the bombast of cg special effects. The subtle details such as clay statues representing the mortals in COTT 1981. The hideous disfiguring of Calibos’ clay statue is perfectly depicted through a twisting, writhing shadow (leaving all the pain and punishment to our own imaginations). The clear mistrust between Sir Lawrence Olivier’s Zeus, and Maggie Smith’s Thetis, is clearly evoked through jealous glances, and scheming back plotting (Zeus literally picking up Perseus’ clay statue after he’s fallen from exhaustion, in the hopes his son will carry on and thwart Thetis’ plan for Kraken blood lust).

And for the record, Harry Hamlin was perfectly heroic as Perseus, without being boring (Danny Radcliffe), and Judi Bowker was innocent and adorable as Andromeda, words you’d never connect in the same sentence with today’s actresses (Lindsay Lohan).

Good versus evil. It’s okay to still believe in values and decency, and not be so morally nihilistic. Perseus wasn’t trying to get revenge on Zeus, he needed Zeus as a surrogate father figure after being put out to sea as a child.

Don’t let these critics coerce you into being unhappy old grumps like them. COTT 1981 was a triumph of fantasy goodness.

Now I’m done.

An old chief once advised a young buck, “don’t do anything in your first thirty years that you’ll live to regret in your last thirty years.”

“What else?” inquired the young buck.

“Don’t also fail to do something in your first thirty years that you’ll live to regret in your last thirty years.”

It’s not the question, but who’s asking, that determines the answer.

- Mister Rengerz on uncommon sense

Okay. It’s official. Nasa scientists have now confirmed that three out of every two males in the contiguous United States have ‘toos (and at least half their girlfriends do as well).

I’m speaking, of course, about tattoos. Once a thing for bikers, inmates, that dude from the Guinness Book of World Records, and native Maoris, now ‘toos have taken over.

‘Toos first began cresting about fifteen years ago in popular culture. Shortly thereafter, an inexplicable outbreak of ‘toos erupted amongst the athletes of the three major American sports (Jason Williams, this is your life).

Today we are inundated with ‘too-age.

What stands out most about this surge in body art? One, not all tattoo artists are good tattoo artists. Two, they’re not coming off. I have seen the future, and it is a retirement home filled with ‘tooed senior citizens.

I’d like to now take this opportunity to state what everybody has been thinking (but is too afraid to say). Caucasians (white people) need to back away from the ink. No. Seriously. No other group of people looks as maligned in tattoos.

It’s just something about the way the light hits the dark blue ink, contrasting against the pale, pasty alabaster skin that just seems to scream, “gross.” It’s mesmerizing, actually.

I found myself standing behind a red-headed lady at Panda Express the other day. She had a large butterfly pasted across the back of her nape and shoulders. It was all I could do to just stand there and ponder the poor winged creature impacted across this woman’s freckled back like so many bugs impaled on the grill of an eighteen-wheeler. It was kind of like one of those 3D optical illusion pictures where a battleship pops out of the middle if you stare with unbroken concentration for 55 minutes, never blink, and bend time and space around your retinas (those things should only be sold accompanied with a sixty-four ounce liter of Visine).

Anyway. My point is, my fellow caucasoids, it’s a bad look for us. It’s not an artistic accent on our skin, but a glaring skin disorder. If David Beckham can’t even pull it off, then what chance do the rest of us really have?