-.best film scenes---The Fifth Element

Virgin Ninja (16)

   
   "Virgin Ninja (16)"
   
   After their first session of  ninjutsu training, Joanna Blanc and Bobby McQuade went into her well-dusted and meticulously clean trailer; next, Joanna brewed up some green tea, a drink favored by the ancient shinobi, and it was sweetly kissed with spearmint.  Sitting alongside one another, Joanna could smell his guy sweat, and it was spicy and hard-earned, making her crush, so gently, on her first guy in over forty years.  So, the conversation ignited--like this:

JOANNA
Trying to change her internal subject, which was that Bobby was really good-looking, and smelled like a wild and wily redneck with a touch of sophisticated couth.  Yeah, the world is screwed.  I liked it when Trump said America isn't that innocent.  Plenty of dirty filth going on in our nation.  I'm really a Yankee, before moving to this Dirty South, or Arkansas, or Hog Heaven, but I have no memory of being born or a child up in Michigan, before my biological father died; then, Mom fell in love with a brain-washing pastor, allowing his seductive techniques to crush my innately spiritual confidence--I mean he sucked it dry with coded insults and repetitive mantras that I was a crummy child.  Anyway, I really don't mind the taking down of statues, because I'm a Yankee, have studied my history, knowing General Tecumseh Sherman was the first modern general; still, I act like the Gray Ghost, Mosby, skulking around on the weekends and punishing the depraved--those that have sold their soul.  And nobody better take down statues of the Virgin Mother, or I'll really get pissed, in noble fashion of course.

BOBBY
Sold their soul?  How?

JOANNA
The tradesman is spit on, and money is used to manipulate and cause anxiety in people.  Status, wealth, bullshit, and Christ warned of riches, where moth and rust doth destroy, yet people listen to the prince of this world, and instead of mercy and sacrifice, they toss away the unwanted, the asymmetrical, and all those who won't conform beyond Christ.

BOBBY
Damn, a Christian ninja.

JOANNA
After years as a little girl having my step-father stick his genitals in my mouth, I learned quickly that most are out for their own elation, dismissing self-invoked justice, if ya are picking up what I'm putting down.

BOBBY
Kinda . . .

JOANNA
In less than a decade the whole world will be made to have computer implants.  The beast marking us, thieving away our promise of paradise, by exploitation, using the dollar, a false god, to offer holocaust to the sick, poor, and elderly.  These are the reasons I go to the library everyday after work, ignoring the mainstream newspapers and news; moreover, how I learned about stealth, and deceiving the deceivers.  The art of cunning.  But you gotta be good-looking, or nobody is gonna believe you, unless you have money, and all those dumb shit blondes that marry rich men--they just lay there, close their eyes and picture the dollar signs.

BOBBY
You're blonde.

JOANNA
I'm the exception.  

Cruising Nashville @ Night

   
   "Cruising Nashville @ Night"
   
   I'm practically an old man, for fifty is knocking on the door; thus, I usually don't have time to make like Tom and Cruise; nevertheless, armed with numerous types of sleep weirdness, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, listen to the radio; next, I realize I don't have any cigarettes and habitually know it's time to purchase some coffin nails.
   I carry a Rosary in one pocket, for I am a sinner and need all the help I can get; plus, I carry a blade in the other pocket due to the fact that people can be metaphorical monsters--as my son definitely and totally says:  "That's the way I roll."
   So, I piloted my vehicle, my dog in the passenger seat next to me, to a gas station at 4 in the morning, never leaving the house till that hour, for the bars usually close around 2:30; hence, I don't want to be pulled over, even though I'm not breaking the law, for while some cops are as cool as Starsky and Hutch, others can be real fruitcake finks.  My dog and me passed a mess of them after making our exodus from the gas station--four rollers, lights lit up like the Fourth of July, and all over a little blonde girl, alone and terrified.  The cops were either swamping her due to her beauty, or screwing with her.  She didn't have jack in that car--no guns, no large loads of drugs--she was just a little girl, and my grandmother could've taken her in the combative art of fisticuffs; as a result, there was no need for that many cops, especially since the gas station I just left to get cigarettes at almost got me caught up in a brawl, or so I kinda/sorta sensed.
   So, before seeing the blonde and the entire Police Academy, I parked my car at the illuminated gas station, rolling down the windows a bit for my dog to smell the summer air; then, forgetting my knife, I saunter into the gas station.  There, the cashier was yelling at a guy in his mid-twenties, cussing him out, and him offering profane vulgarities right back in her direction, all because he was supposedly with an underage guy, and she wasn't going to sell him the product he wanted; moreover, everyone in there was African-American save me, and plenty of glints in the eyes of the folks were upon me as I had modestly walked in, dismissing their mental probe of me, me showing no fear, for I needed a damn cigarette.
   I stood at the back of a long line, and a white girl, a bartender I know, was behind me, wasted, and stirring coffee.  She always told me about her younger boyfriend, and he ignored me as I spoke to her, a big black dude, but that's cool, for I'm a party type of guy, always repenting because of my lack of common sense.
   Ultimately, I got my smokes, shuffling swiftly back to the car where my blade was, cranking the automobile up, and the dog and me cruised away from the quasi-ruckus, and as I turned the corner, the cops were all over that little blonde girl, while a brawl was brewing right under their noses.  
   I don't go out at night anymore.  It's like Lord of the Rings out there, Jerry!!!

Death Star explosion Original

Virgin Ninja (15)

   
   "Virgin Ninja (15)"
   
   Bobby McQuade, mentioned before a lady, and Joanna Blanc were in her bucolic built one-car garage, working with the shuriken into the bales of hay; indeed, Bobby, the Irishman, could throw a blade, like a Mick playing darts @ the pub.  And he mentioned that he loved Notre Dame football, and that they never lost, for they had Touchdown Jesus.  So, in the ninja-training center, as we will call it, the conversation continued--like this:

JOANNA
Slicing watermelon with a bokken is brutal--it's not slicing dude, but cracking the melon open, like an alien with an over-sized cranium.

BOBBY
I don't do aliens.  Can we talk Moon Knight and underground Marvel characters?

JOANNA
You mean, like Squirrel Girl?

BOBBY
That's the ticket.  And no, I don't follow Pat Sajak on Twitter or anything like that.

JOANNA
I'm glad you're my age; plus, that you have those eyes.  Catty.  But I too sense dog in you  Le chien.   

Virgin Ninja (14)

   "Virgin Ninja (14)"

   Being in her forties, yet still acting as the rebelling adolescent, Joanna Blanc had hidden gifts, not merely the wisdom of fearing God, but a sense that Bobby McQuade didn't need the darker and more macabre aspects of training in Ninjutsu; on the contrary, he did need a Mr. Miyagi approach.  Waxing and waning like the Moon for a wondrous Wiccan, as long as altruistic and full of a sublime fairy's love minus the trickery, which happens sometimes.  Just ask Jack Burton about these types of things.
   So, Joanna decided to train Bobby gently and mildly, like a taste of acceptable salsa from New York City before going all Tex-Mex Hot on him.  So, she got a bale of hay for shuriken throwing.  An extra bokken to practice like a standing guard, always aware; however, no need for nunchaku due to a guy accidentally serving up his own scrotal injury, if he attempts to move the rice-beaters without Peter Pan faith.
   But beyond the poetry of learning defense, there are always the tears of Christ.  A truthful passion for mercy.  As the shortest verse in the Bible (Book of Ages) goes:  "Jesus wept."  

Virgin Ninja (13)

   
   "Virgin Ninja (13)"
   
   Bobby McQuade was Black Irish--looked like a damn gypsy, and with those hazel eyes, glowing a bit; indeed, some true illuminated-sparkle there, like a promised rainbow sending empathy, not the equality of weird--hell boy, weird will always be weird, and you can't change that shit.
   Try being poor.  Christ was right to tell Saint Peter:  "Times are gonna be tough dude."
   But as Bobby flicked off the noise on his Direct Current radio, being the retro pioneer of a genesis long gone exodus, he didn't mind Mexicans.  Women first.  No children, or men.  Send the sexy Mexican women in.  Screw over the pond.  Mexicans and Canadians are right here--Russians too, close to Alaska.  Let our neighbors, at least their hot women--let them in.  Women don't shoot up malls.  These were just Bobby's, and Bobby's alone opinions.  Moreover, all he really knew was how to be a janitor, and dream of a ninja girl, yet he did not yet know that she was a ninja--of course, the art of a cunning shinobi.