Salmon Fishing in the Yemen

The Drink: El Jimador tequila
The Movie: Salmon Fishing in the Yemen

     I had been warned about seeing this movie, but it was by a friend that also says "The Life Aquatic" is up there on his top ten list, so naturally I thought "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen" couldn't be all that bad. (I tried to do a review on "The Life Aquatic" but I was unable to get the image of all those hipsters gawking at the same movie through their fake lens nerd glasses while wringing their shoddily hand knitted berets in frail, soft hands while making sure no one else was purpously pigeon- toeing  their teal Converse sneakers in quite the same unique way they were.)  Where was I?

  Oh yes, driving down the highway in New Hampshire.  For those of you who don't know, New Hampshire has zero sales tax, and a little tendril of land that managed to worm its way between Maine and Massachusetts to reach the ocean.  If you take almost any exit off the highway along this nubbin of N.H. ( or any exit in New Hampshire for all I know) you will find a gloriously huge, cheap, tax free liquor store.  You can find anything there, from salted caramel vodka, to fifteen different types of absinthe.  Also a big potion looking bottle of pink alcoholic barf labeled Qream. ( see photo above)  This is also where I first discovered I could hold my breath for over two minutes while navigating a bathroom where, apparently, someone had been drinking Qream the night before.

     So that night we watched "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen".  I am a fan of both Emily Blunt and Ewan McGregor, which is my only excuse for sitting through the whole thing.  This may have been a mistake.  Much like some friends of mine who in the late 90's went to see The Wallflowers in concert, leaving with giggly high hopes of catching Jakob Dylan's eye, but returning with runny mascara and grumblings about how he was actually sort of a douche bag, I also have lost a bit of respect for Blunt and McGregor.
     When McGregor actually turns and smacks his face into a glass door, I was disappointed.  When Kristin Scott Thomas makes her appearance looking like the daughter of The Wolfman and the Bride of Frankenstein, I was grossed out.  When Blunt spends half the movie moping and blubbering about the disappearance of her soldier boy-toy, not because she loved him but because "she never got a chance to know him", I was gagging. But when McGregor actually brandishes his fly rod like a whip, snagging the earlobe of an assassin from 50 feet away and preventing him from shooting, I was wishing for an assassin of my own.  And when the whole thing deteriorates into some sort of terrorist plot against salmon, I was in the kitchen pouring more tequila.
    While trying to point out all the lame things about this film is about as useful as trying to pick ticks off a feral cat, I feel I must point out one more complaint. C.G. salmon.  I've seen better computer graphics watching my nephew play Minecraft.
     When I first saw the film "A River Runs Through It", I admit that I was one of the dorks that went out and bought a fly rod and had dreams of standing in crisp waters, casting like a pro.  If I hadn't already snapped my rod in half and flung it into the creek in a fit of rage after one too many snags on the brush behind  me, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen would have no doubt produced the same result.