As connoisseurs of the cinematic arts, Spencer and Caleb preserve the storied tradition of gathering elite tastemakers and intellgensia together in the artistic mecca of Springfield on a much anticipated day in summer. Once this conclave of great minds is assembled, the great work begins.
After imbibing the finest of refreshments, the greatest minds of their generation luxuriate in a deeply comptemplative feast of the eyes at an annual underground, invitation-only film festival. Each sumptuous, cinematic delight is curated by none other than the expert critical faculties of Spencer and Caleb themselves, and the event is (both for those in attendance and the masses privileged enough to receive second-hand the loving critical attention of artistic and critical geniuses not seen since the Frankfurt School) undoubtedly the highlight of the global intellectual calendar.
In previous years, the cabal of critics de jour have corrected the legacy of the "Fast and Furious" heptalogy by viewing them in narrative order, as intended by the auteur Vin Diesel. They have revived, preserved, and produced a curriculum for the lost genre of childhood sports drama, cementing such classics as "The Sandlot" and "Rookie of the Year" in the annals of Western canon.
This year, the festival would be remiss if it didn't pay homage to the master thespian of our age: Sir Nicholas Cage. But, what to do when presented with such an embarrassment of riches? Would that we could, like the Romans of old, retreat to the Vomitorium so that we might purge ourselves in preparation to receive more Cage! Yet miserly Time, the perennial task master, forces us to budget our consumption. To split the legacy of Cage into a few meager parcels upon which to subsist for a whole year is, like the grieving mother before King Solomon, a cut we cannot bear to make.
So we, the intellectual elite, needs must be brought low by the awesome, sublime presence of Sir Cage's oeuvre, and we are reduced to seeking the cruder discernments of the plebeian caste. What must we watch, oh people of America? In this grim deathmatch forced upon us by late-stage Capitalism, which masterpieces will survive when they are forced into profane battle for our limited affections? Which perfect cinematic moments might we invite onto the ark before the rest are tragically lost to this great flood we call history?
We're gonna drink beer and watch some Nicholas Cage movies, but we can't decide which ones. So we've made a bracket: http://challonge.com/NicCageMatch2017
Follow @themixedsix to vote on daily battles between Nic Cage movies. Once we get down to six, we'll marathon them all in one day, record commentary after each one, and announce the winning movie in a special episode.
There can only be one. Mare sure it's your favorite Cage that exits...the cage. Yeah.