Thursday, August 13, 2015

The Bourne Identity Review

The month is June. The year is 2002. The guy is named Scott Henry Anderson. I am that guy.

Scott Henry Anderson was 18 years old. Going to prom with his first real girlfriend. Graduating from high school. 

After a six year long ordeal with epilepsy that started on a fateful summer day while on vacation with his family, Scott had to undergo a 24 hour test of his brain to see if he could be medically cleared of the condition. That girlfriend I mentioned? She drove to his house to dump him that day. The day of the brain test. She literally could have picked ANY OTHER DAY to do it. She just couldn't wait another 12 or so damn hours. 

No, don't make any sad poor him noises when you read that. I'm not looking for sympathy. That is one of the funniest stories of my life and I tell it now for laughs. I want to include it in the plot of something I write in the future. Dude gets dumped while wearing a fanny pack containing a little computer monitoring the functionality of his brain via roughly a hundred cords connected to his head. It was June and I was wearing a knit hat to cover them all up. I was told to take it easy that day. She drove to my house to try and break my heart during that specific set of 24 hours.

I fucking love that story.

Let me get back to my point. What was my point? Oh, right. Prom, girlfriend, epilepsy, high school, swampy summer knit hat head, ex-girlfriend, and no more epilepsy. None of those things matter now beyond a comical quip and a distant memory. What does matter from the month of June, the year 2002?

Jason. Fucking. Bourne. 

I can't get enough of watching Matt Damon be awesome. I have a hard time describing exactly why I love these films. I just do. The intense action sequences, the tone of the experience, the score blasting through my head as he weaves through traffic with precision. I never get tired of watching The Bourne Identity. I put that beautiful Blu-ray disc in and that opening scene fills the screen, a mysterious man unconsciously floating along in the ocean during a storm, and I get excited all over again. It isn't just the joy of sitting down and screening this one installment again, it's knowing in the back of my mind that soon after I will give number two a spin. Then three. Hell, even the far less successful fourth entry sans Damon. 

Bring them all on. Bring on more Jason Bourne. 

I recall hearing about problems during production of The Bourne Identity that put the entire project in jeopardy. Typically when you hear stories like that, you get the Fantastic Four reboot, a finished product that you can just tell was put together through chaos rather than comfort. I don't sense even a sliver of unrest here. Whatever happened between the studio, director Doug Liman, screenwriter Tony Gilroy and the cast, it resulted in a wonderfully crafted and exciting picture that I am still eating up 13 years later. 

So here I sit, a 31 year old married man with a beautiful daughter, the memories of my adolescence fading away with each day. Except for June of 2002.

Prom, girlfriend, epilepsy, high school, swampy summer knit hat head, ex-girlfriend, and no more epilepsy. 

Jason. Fucking. Bourne. 


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