Alien movies & the new Ray Kroc flick

(755 words)

I look forward to seeing 5-star movies the way kids look forward to Christmas. Seated there in the dark next to my wife — no phones, no Facebook, no Trump tweets — it feels like parental hookie. 

So I’m genuinely pissed when a well-reviewed movie wastes my time.

That’s what happened with “Arrival.” It scored 93 out of 100 percent on Rotten Tomatoes.

Neither Val nor I knew what to expect other than it was a global alien invasion and that the for-now ubiquitous Amy Adams would star, thus rounding out a solid career that proves she has the chops to act opposite Clinton Eastwood, Miss Piggy and now aliens who resemble giant jellyfish raised in polluted waters.

I love movies about alien monsters. My favorites include “War of the Worlds,” “Alien” and “Independence Day.”

But we both hated “Arrival.” It was just — spoiler alert! — boring. The aliens had no lethal bent. They didn’t attempt to enslave us. They didn’t crave the taste of human flesh. They didn’t shoot Amy Adams with any ray guns that made her clothes disappear.

How the hell does a lame-o script like that get green lit?

I think the critics were fearful an honest review would lead to hurtful criticism from fellow snobs so they chose to gush in order to maintain their feelings of superiority over those of us who enjoy and understand movies like “Tremors” and “Tremors 2” through “Tremors 5.”

So now I’m left to pine for January 20 and the next potentially great movie about a carnivorous monster with an insatiable appetite to conquer the planet.

The monster?

Ray Kroc!

Yes, the man who made McDonald’s into one of the most dominant forces in the world is the subject of a major motion picture starring Pittsburgher Michael Keaton.

The movie is called “The Founder.”

I’m already nervous it might stink because the two-word title contains a glaring flaw: Ray Kroc did not found McDonalds.

Who did?

The McDonalds!

I’m talking about Mac and Dick McDonald. They came up with the formula — cheap and fast — that transformed America.

In 1940 the brothers in San Bernadino, California, opened what would become the first McDonald’s. It was incredibly successful and the brothers reveled in their good fortune.

Then in 1954 they made a pivotal mistake: They invited Kroc to visit.

His is a fascinating story. He’d been an ambitious striver all his life when at the age of 52 he made a sales call on McDonald’s. 

He was selling milkshake mixers.

The rest is history, albeit mostly untold history.

I became fascinated by the Kroc life story through an unusual source: Mark Knopfler.

He’s the founder of the colossal band, Dire Straits. I love them.

But Knopfler has more or less under-the-radar done even greater work as the solo artist he became when he truly disbanded The Straits in 1991.

So I snapped up his 2004 “Shangri-La” collection. The second track is the 5:50 song, “Boom, Like That.”

It’s all about Kroc. 

Sample lyrics ...

Or my name is not Kroc, that’s Kroc with a K

Like crocodile, but not spelled that way

It’s dog eat dog, rat eat rat

Kroc-style

Boom, like that

Sometimes you gotta be an SOB if you want to make a dream reality

Competition? Send ‘em south.

If they’re gonna drown shove a hose in their mouth

Do not pass go

Go straight to hell

I smell that meat hook smell!

Or my name’s not Kroc …

I remember playing it for a buddy who was dumbfounded that anyone would portray Ray Kroc as one of history’s greatest monsters.

Where, he wanted to know, did Knopfler come up with such a perfidious story?

Kroc’s autobiography!

So maybe come January 20, America will learn about the ruthless business tactics it took for one man to succeed on a preposterous level.

And won’t that be another valuable lesson for America’s future businessmen and women!

Coincidentally, this is all happening as western Pennsylvania mourns the death of 98-year-old Jim Delligatti, a Pittsburgh franchisee who in 1968 concocted the Big Mac sandwich. His creation became a landmark in company history and led to billions in sales over the years.

How was Delligatti rewarded?

Kroc gave him a plaque to hang in one of his stores.

When Kroc died in 1984, McDonald’s worth was estimated at $8 billion.

Boom, like that.

What’s it all mean?

I cannot say, but for some reason I’m all of a sudden craving a Big Mac.

Related …

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In praise of profanity

Let’s all America go to the movies

My strange date to the whale movie

Joyful news! New additions to our (musical) family

Trashy guy hungering for a litter free neighborhood

I apologize in advance for what I’m about to write because I know it’s bound to sound really, really elitist and we all know how evil elitists are -- at least until we need a couple of them to clean up an incomprehensible $700 billion market collapse.

That being said, here goes:

McDonald’s Restaurants attract trash.

That may sound harsh, but I can prove it. I know because this summer I reached a breaking point about litter in my neighborhood and by my neighborhood, I mean anywhere that’s roughly the width of a sidewalk of where I’m walking.

I do a lot of strolling. Always have. I don’t believe in the no pain/no gain method of exercising. In fact, if something’s even the least bit painful, I stop right away and head to the nearest tavern for soothing refreshment.

I know too many middle aged people like me who suffer painful accidents trying to stay in shape. I have no intention of snapping my Achilles tendon playing basketball, getting shin splints playing tennis, or pulling a muscle while jogging.

I’m so careful I forfeit any activity that’s likely to result in armpit sweat stains.

So for exercise, I walk. I amble. I saunter. I sidle. I tromp. I ramble. I hoof. I gambol. It’s perfectly pleasant and it exercises the mind as much as the midsection. I wave to the old people sitting on the porches, admire the changing seasons and generally commune with my little corner of the world.

But if you walk anyplace in this overcrowded world these days, you’re likely to trip over trash. This happens to me a lot. It never fails to amaze me how many people will simply drop a cup, cigarette pack or Biggie Sized french fry container on the ground rather than walk a few yards to a nearby trash container.

It’s not like there’s a shortage of them either. Heck, you could argue that the world’s practically littered with litter receptacles, too.

Being an observant sort, I couldn’t help but notice how much litter I literally had to step over.

On the way to the grocery store with my daughter, I counted three pieces of idle trash directly between our parked car and the front door. Had I stumbled along in a drunken weave the number would have risen to about eight.

No more, I thought. I bent to pick up each one that was in my way. Josie, who at the age of 8 is already beginning to sense what a torturous embarrassment I’m going to be to her in about two years, asked why I was picking up trash that wasn’t mine.

“It’s not my trash. But it’s my neighborhood. It’s my planet. We all do little things to keep our homes clean. Why shouldn’t we do little things to keep our town clean?”

This made perfect sense, but little did I realize the danger of my logic. I began taking a plastic bag on my walks and picking up any trash in my way. I’ve become sort of a hobby garbageman. I do all the duties noble garbagemen do -- pick up and dispose of trash -- but I do them for free.

And I wonder how many off-duty garbagemen pick up trash in their spare time. Or are they like professional golfers who can’t stand the thought of playing golf on vacation? I’d like to know.

And that brings me to McDonald’s. I tell you, the place is a trash magnet.

The Pond, the friendly tavern above which I work, has very clean parking lots. That’s a credit to the owner, his employees and customers, and to all the parents who raised them.

McDonald’s is another matter entirely. The place is practically surrounded by ugly brown trash cans stationed there like North Korean soldiers standing guard duty over the De-Militarized Zone, but you can practically wade through the trash there. And trash bearing the McDonald’s logo stretches for a mile in both directions.

I stoop down and pick it all up.

What is it about McDonald’s trash that it can’t make its way into the trash cans so near and needy? Is it McDonald’s customers who themselves are trashy? Were they raised by ravenous wolves? Is there something in the special sauce that makes McDonald's customers so careless about simple civic matters? Who knows?

I thought about this during a long walk this morning and all I know is this.

I’ve suddenly got a hankering for a Big Mac and fries.