March of the Penguins

I can't stand it. I just watched March of the Penguins and I'm going to Antarctica right away to rescue some penguins. I totally cannot deal with it; I don't care how well adapted they are and how miraculous it is that they've developed these amazing tenuous survival strategies, they'd be much happier in my backyard. I can bring in a kiddie pool. My god, if I was those penguins, the backyard, the zoo or really, any-frickin-where would look so much better than my life, I'd smuggle myself out with the filmmakers.

I know that this is not what I'm supposed to be taking away from this film, which is, granted, amazingly shot, as in, how the hell did they do that? but really, even back in the days of Mutual of Omaha I knew I could never make it as a wildlife photographer. How can they just stand there with the cameras and let. the. baby. penguin. die. of. exposure? When there are even sweaters available?! I can't take it. That movie was too much for me, and I still have tons of unanswered questions, mostly revolving around the miserable lives of the various bereaved penguins, who made me cry, not to mention the ones who didn't find mates. I hope they found happiness anyway.

No more nature! I have to go back to something forced and artificial, like Six Feet Under, or the movie I watched again this weekend: Swamp Thing Science transformed him into a monster. Love changed him even more! which is totally atrocious and did not make me anthropomorphize anyone or anything.