Let’s just get it out there: the world didn’t end, it just got optioned by Disney.
Everything now is a five-year content plan wrapped in faux-gravitas and military-industrial chic. The Marvel Cinematic Universe is the ultimate safe space for people who think satire begins and ends with Tony Stark raising an eyebrow. Jingoism in spandex. Dialogue engineered by marketing committees. All delivered with the urgency of a YouTube ad and the emotional depth of a Funko Pop.
And what’s it all for? Allegiances to fictional empires. Color-coded morality. Plots that whisper something about trauma but resolve it in a third-act laser show. It's not cinema. It's State Department cosplay with a billion-dollar budget.
Now contrast that with the sheer demented brilliance of Durand Durand—yes, the mad scientist from Barbarella, not your cousin’s favorite 80s band. Here’s a man who invented the Excessive Machine, a musical orgasm engine designed to kill with pleasure. A man who didn’t need CGI armies or multiverse retcons—just one baroque set piece and a sinister grin.
Durand Durand felt dangerous. He was campy, but in the way that made you blush a little. He was the sound of Moog feedback, champagne-fueled psychosexual politics, and a whiff of sulfur. He was not approved by the Pentagon.
So while Captain America frisbees his moral certainty at faceless goons, Durand Durand is whispering sweet nothings into the ear of annihilation. He’s the anti-franchise. He’s the beautiful freak in a world gone corporate.
Choose your champions wisely, kids. The world doesn't need another hero. It needs a little more feedback and filth.
Long live the Excessive Machine.
- Buzz Drainpipe, Crease Magazine (1974 Reprint, Issue #Zero)
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