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Guardians of the Galaxy

Growing up in a comic book-less home, these Marvel mavens of wonder slither into the subterraneous mass of my imagination; immobilize in a half nelson, reluctantly relinquishing their grip at the fascinating finale; never venture into these hallucinogenic fantasies until the crowds have subsided and my cluelessness can be masked by feigned comprehension. I blissfully admit to complete, vacuous ignorance of the genre; possibly, why I had a satiating good time rooting for the “Guardians of the Galaxy”.

They are a silly, preposterous bunch who belie any resemblance to twenty-first politicians or folks in authority; “protectors of the proletariat”; “Peter Quill/Star-Lord” (buffed, puffed Chris Pratt), snatched from earth as a child; jives, dances with rhythmic ingenuity to archaic tunes from yesteryear; “Gamora” (Zoe Saldana) greenly phosphorescent,  a miraculous levitating source of weaponry; “Drax the Destroyer” (Dave Bautista) a hunk with an unoccupied, un- furnished cavern between his ears;  “Groot”  (Vin Diesel) an anthropomorphic, talking tree with killer, slathering tentacles; “Rocket” (voice of Bradley Cooper) a gun-toting, rocket-romping raccoon, steals the galaxy with his savvy, caustic logic, self- deprecating skepticism; he is the most winning, deceivingly enchanting creature, on the screen this summer; a cutie who could ravage my trash any day.

Director James Gunn feels his creations represent outcasts, misfits; misunderstood, misrepresented,  existing beyond the parameters of the norm; metaphors for the marginalized few whose accomplishments outshine the multitudes. As a neophyte, this action-infused, visual smorgasbord of Olympian feats, good championing bad, resulted in a concoction of improbable but compelling entertainment.

THREE & 1/2 STARS!!!


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