Blocho's comments

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Back when I was 12 years old, I had a dream that my grandfather was sitting in our living room and his finger suddenly grew enormous. And then he tapped me on the forehead with his gargantuan finger and said, "Nic, don't you know that dreams have always been essential to film theory, going all the way back to Jean Epstein?" Then he talked for ages about semiotics and oneirism until I told him he was boring me. That was the first time I really thought about the phenomenology of dreams, and I never really stopped. So let me ask you: Are you dreaming right now? How can you be sure you're not have a dream about Nicolas Cage talking about dreams? If you are, how could you stop? And would you even want to? If you think of those questions and nothing else for 24 hours straight while staring at a two-headed cobra, you might find the same answers I did.

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Larry Fishburne and I originally met back in the 80s when we did a movie called Rumble Fish and then a year later another movie called The Cotton Club. We used to hang out before the morning call, playing jai alai and talking about pre-Socratic philosophy. And then I lost track of him. We didn't see each other until this random morning when I ran into him at the dog park in Topanga. He said he was filming this drug thriller and shooting started next week and the producers still needed a co-lead. And I said I'd do it if we could still play jai alai and talk philosophy, and he said sure. And then the first day of the shoot, it turned out he prefers basque pelota and Neo-Platonism. And he had the audacity to say, "Haven't you changed at all in the past 35 years?" And I said, "No, not a bit, other than my hairline in every movie." What a jerk! We haven't spoken since.

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I think this is a really fun movie, but there's nothing fun about trespassing. One time, some fans jumped the fence at my home in Rhode Island when I was away. They ate all my food, stole my collection of weird wigs, and left a bunch of creepy fan art featuring nude etchings of me. Not cool. On the other hand, there was a time a cat burglar broke into my castle in Bavaria. After I caught him, we got to talking and it turned out he knew even more about expressionist films than I did. We watched The Golem and stayed up all night talking about Paul Wegener and F.W. Murnau. I didn't even mind when he took one of my pterodactyl skeletons on the way out. We still stay in touch.

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I’ve been speaking about the perils of robotics and animatronics for years. Since I was 6 years old, actually. For whatever reason, my message hasn’t broken through. So I decided I needed a little sugar to make the pill go down. Do you want to see me clean a bathroom? Do you want to see me chug dozens of cans of soda? Do you want to see me fight some killer robots? Do you want to see me strangle a killer robot to death with my thighs? Willy’s Wonderland has it all. Come have some fun, and walk away a little wiser about the robotic dangers facing our society. And remember, my friends: Klaatu barada nikto.