Here After

Psychics are dicks. I say this with irrefutable and unwavering certainty because I know that there are no such things as psychics outside of fiction. But among their brood, those who profess to be able to speak to the dead and make connections are grotesque and morally void scum that should be tied to the back of a pick-up truck and dragged naked down a dirt road and into a thorn bush. The nice thing is, this movie agrees with me. It presents us with the great longing humans have to understand things beyond your experiential capacity as well as our powerful interpersonal bonds. Excuse the momentary lack of humour, but speaking as a person who has lost people close to me, I think we can all agree that the suffering of those left behind is not something to be taken light of. Even I dare not mock the bereaved for a few harmless chuckles, so imaging those who have made a business out of exploiting it for financial gain. To clarify, I do not believe in a world or life hereafter, and the near death experiences can be reproduced in laboratory conditions and studied, despite the movies claims. Remember all you folks at home, movies are not documentaries. Life after death, as I see it, exists for the living, to give them solace for the great loss they have undergone. Even though I have a strong opinion on this matter, I have no place to interfere with other peoples relationships. Even when a person has died, the relationship still exists. Two people do not have relationships with each other, but two people each have a relationship with their perception of who the other person is. Hence the continued presence is not always necessary for there to be a relationship. So were an individual able to see into the depths of another’s heart and pull out harmful shadows caked in grimy grief when a person is not prepared for it would be traumatic not only for the individual undergoing it but also the person who is doing it. The very existence of secrecy, confidentiality and the degree to which we covet it should give you a good indicator of how valuable the privacy of one’s internal self is to its keeper. When this movies presents the sadness of loss, and rawness of grief and the hurt a human undergoes when they lose someone close to them, it makes sense that a kind and sensitive person would not enjoy being constantly bombarded by such pain. Even a momentary feeling of relief can only be of value if it is a true connection, but to poke at the wounds of others till they get an endorphin rush is just sadistic.

Despite all my rants about death and the afterlife, this movie is in fact about life. It deals with the struggles we as humans undergo in the attempt to feel close to each other, which when played against the very probability of loss, makes the connections so much the sweeter. If you like emotionally powerful dramas then I think you will enjoy this. If you charge people to help them connect with their dead relatives, then I hope your bone marrow turns to bullet ants and that they slowly and excruciatingly eat you alive.

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Catch and Release

I could summarize my feelings for this movie with the rather obvious statement, Kevin Smith is Jedi. However that feels like a cop out so I will examine the movie in further depth. Let it not be said that I lack all forms of integrity, only most of them. Life is messy at a simply biological level. When we add relationships to the picture, things get completely chaotic. We choose words in the hopes of sparing ourselves and others suffering, all the while cursed by the blinkers that keep us mortal. Pain and suffering is inevitable. Action, inaction, love, betrayal, secrets, truth and suffering all make life so spicy and tasteful, but have the terrible tendency of burning your sphincter as it passes through. This movie uses death as a means of portraying the life of a man through the memories of those close to him and how his past affects their capacity to carry on with their own lives, each other and the future. No matter what we do to pave over our mistakes, in some form or another they will impact those in our lives, even if it only comes to fruition post-mortem. I guess that’s the strange beauty of having people in your life. They hold you up when you stumble, they illuminate paths that were previously cast in shadows and they help break down the barriers that one hammer alone cannot damage. We tend to forget that people also become invested in our lives, which is a strange notion to most of us, to think that our actions and emotions reflect in the hearts of others, as though our limbs and words are tied to their spinal cords. As a race we are strongest a unit, thought in the necessary proximity we are at out most vulnerable. In this story we have the opportunity to examine this phenomenon.
Fine, I’ll stop being serious for a few minutes and make some humorous observations with a sprinkle of witty comments. If you have cheated on your girlfriend and are in the process of making the relationship “work”, then dear Buddha man, do not watch this movie with her, especial not if you have a good-looking, misunderstood Lothario as a friend. Trust me; things will end badly for you. Unless you get off on having your lady-squeeze leaving you for your boy –squeeze. In which case I dare say the impending drama, if videotaped, would be far more entertaining than the movie, maybe because of the Jerry Springer like atmosphere that shall surly accompany it. But really, life is messy and leaves us stained and tired, but this film deals with it eloquently. If you have any smelly corpses in you closets, watch this alone at first, then plan how you intend on spinning it so that you look good.
Yes Kevin Smith makes a Star Wars Reference.
PS: Watch Dogma, because if you don’t your, kids with have down syndrome

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Drive Angry

I wish I had seen this movie about eight years ago, long before I started to don the mask of irony and I lost the ability to indulge in mindless cool. I am rather sure that the director goes home, sits in the back of an American muscle car and masturbates to Robert Rodriguez films, then wipes his semen off on Preacher graphic novels, or anything else written by Garth Ennis. It is not that the movie is bad in the classical sense; it’s just that for a movie that seems to take itself rather seriously, it came off as particularly juvenile at times. when i say, at times, i mean all the time. It felt like the kind of story a kid would write in high school, and after he hands it in, he and his parents get called into the principal’s office so that little Tommy boy can explain himself. A part of me wants to go, “holy shit, their fucking in the middle of a gun fight, sweet”. To a lesser extent I am having Ghost Rider flash backs, though not as severe. Maybe this movie is Nicholas Cage trying to make amends. If that is the case, six points for effort but some of his lines were so unbelievable they made me flinch more than any of the gore. But the contractual “hot chick” in this movie is particularly fan-hard-on-inducing-tastic. It might sound strange, but the demon who gets sent down to catch him, to me at least, was so cool that I would say it saved this movie from being nothing more than a bad CGI, cars to compensate for not having a penis, too many explosions, ultra violent, needless tits and demonic elements movie.
Oh and well done mister writer sir, I get it, a guy who breaks out of hell called Milton, who happens to get shot in the eye. Very clever.

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I Am Number Four

What is it with movies these days? Hot teens are vampires, hot teens are werewolves, hot teens are aliens, and hot teens are super heroes. Did an entire generation of sexually frustrated geeks and there fan fic’s become the toast of Tinsel-Town. Though I guess it makes senses. The socially inept escapists will speak for the pockets of today’s socially inept escapists. Though I can’t help but wonder why all the good guy aliens resemble humans the most, and the more evil they become, the more grotesque they get depicted. And in this case you could not get a more classic chiseled brooder unless you condensed The OC season one and two into an Edward Cullan mold. Of course the alien becomes the nerd’s best friend and stands up to the jocks on his behalf. I wonder what inspired this bit of narrative, I say unto you in a deeply sarcastic tone. Wait, let’s not forget that the vapid cheerleader is in fact deep and companionate, who turns introspective after she “gets into photography”. Is that in any way related to when a boy gets his first erection and he “gets into masturbation”. Maybe it’s like the way the catholic clergy “gets into Underage Boys”. How can we be sure, I know I’m still scratching my crotch on this one? Besides, I know many popular and gregarious photographers. It’s not as though having a camera makes you too cool to be cool. Watching too much anime and playing WOW does. And besides, who uses film these days, you’re not retro chic, you’re silly. Then again she is hot, but still silly.

But you have to feel somewhat bad for Number Quarto for having such a hard time with his puberty, [insert sarcastic tone]. Humans start having erections, masturbating and getting hairy palms; he starts having super powers, needs to learn how to breathe and gets hot glowing hands. By now movie makers should have realized that it’s not tragic to give a kid super powers and then impose restrictions. It’s as tragic as getting a car and telling someone they are not allowed to run over small children.

And one other quam I have with underdog movies, why are all quarter backs evil bastards. How about a malevolent linebacker, I sure they’re far more ferocious. But maybe it’s my fault for not being able to relate because I am not an American nor did I go to a public High School. In fact the school I went to was more supportive of the debate team than any sports team and a person’s status was defined by your anime collection.

Another gripe I have with this movie and those of its kin, why do they keep portraying teenage love as being eternal. I can understand that they are wearing hormone blinkers and have a small capacity for comparison or perspective. Even though I have always found young love a suitable substitute for ipecac, this movie has bigger problems, such as the foundation of the whole plot. If the last nine guardians, who were fully fledged and hardcore, could not stop their planets doom, why should we the audience, believe that the untrained and fledgling few would stand a chance of saving the world all by themselves. But hey, that’s fine, because we all love the rise of the underdogs, hiding from the law and those who would see them destroyed. The only problem is, I watched “Battle Los Angelis” right before this, and then before that, “Skyline” and “Transformers: Darkside of the Moon. I will get to those movies at another time, trust me, but there is something to be learned from those films. Humans have weapons, and lots of them. Gosh darn it we sure are good at killing things, we have been practicing on each other ever since we were able to throw a hefty rock. I get aroused just thumbing through a gun magazine. I don’t know what half the stats are about but they have to do with the awesomeness with which they kill things and fiddle me a Hill Billy, that’s hot. And In I Am Number Four, those aliens don’t have the Man nor Fire power to take on a South African Squatter camp. All the nine needed to do was give a Nigerien cartel a ton or two of gold and all their troubles would have been solved. Let’s not mention the nukes, smart bombs, hydrogen bombs, Special Forces. If aliens do decide to come to our planet looking for a fight I promise you one thing, every man in camo pants will spill their man seed into their freshly pressed draws. We would celebrate the chance to murder indiscriminately, pillage technology and invoke large scale genocide. We’re not nice in masses. Why then do we need five kids who can force push and blink a few feet. Hold on, now I remember, to give this generation of social introverts something to masturbate over and base their future escapist tails upon.

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Cross

Now before I bend this movie over the proverbial barrel and do terrible things to it with my huge, quivering, satirical and analytical distain, let me quite clearly say I have nothing against low budget movies. “Bubba-ho-tep” and “Pieces of April” are among my favourite movies of all time, and they were done without the deep rhinestone pockets most Hollywood films waist on Michael Bane. I hear that the possibly upcoming Deadpool Movie will not be made on an epically huge budget, and that is just dandy by me. It gives them far more play with regards to target audience. With good acting, a strong scrip and smart directing, a lot can be done with a little. This movie, however, did nothing with what very little it had to start with. If someone tries to tell me that in fact this was a large budget film, then obviously most, if not all of the cash was spent on old tranny hookers and mountains of cocaine, perhaps enough mind altering drugs to make a pièce of crap like this seem plausible. Maybe they had the same dealers as the director of Pluto Nash. Yes, I went there.

I thought that we had long since nailed shut the possibility box in which films of this poor a calibre could be made. What frightens me most of all is that the cast is rather A list(ish). Fine, it’s more of a B list cast but still, in a movie so strikingly T class, the fit is all wrong. I don’t think I have properly conveyed to you, my adoring audience, just how inconceivably horrific this movie is. On every level, cinematography, props, lighting, narrative progression, dead Buddha the acting was so bad that had I seen it in a high school play I would be remiss not to walk out in protest. There are more characters than one can care about. The mythology is so poorly explained that it is in no way immersive. The genetic determinism makes the protagonist feel pompous and downright silly. I have seen better action scenes in porn, and I am not kidding, just take a look at “Pirates I” and “Pirates II”. For the first fifteen minutes of the movie I thought they were intentionally being shite, you know, in an ironic kind of way. Low and behold, it was just a legitimately horrific movie. In fact, it makes every cheesy Dolph Lungren, Jean-Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal movie look like a the love child of Darren Aronofsky and Stanley Kubrick.

Every element of the story has more holes in it than a six year old boy who got caught in a gang related drive-by. I would go through all of them but I am scared my fingers might lock up as a result of the strain. There is no justifiable reason to watch this movie lest you intend to use it to weed people out of your life. If you know anyone who has seen this movie and thinks that, as a serious action movie, it rocked their socks off; then do me and the entire human race a kind favour and stab them in their reproductive organs for we cannot let them breed. In dare say we need to take a more militant stand against this film, and others of its kin. If you see it on any person’s computer, delete it. If you see it at a DVD Rental establishment, burn down the building (what, they have insurance). I don’t know how clearer I can be about the awfulness of this movie. If people start watching this movie just to see if it is as bad as I say it is then I may have to plunge upon my sword and plead that the world may forgive me my transgression.

It’s kind of A Funny Story

Depressed teenager thinks about killing himself, pleads for help at the hospital, gets admitted, spends a 5 days in the adult psyche ward, learns about love, life, confidence, self-efficacy, honesty and himself. Despite my lukewarm love affair with Zack Galifianakis, ever since he admitted to pissing on Tony Danza’s star, I still was not sure if I was going to enjoy this movie. In fact I was certain that I was either going to find the film to be a witty and insightful look at the under explored topic of white suburban smart kid depression, or it was going to resemble the sensation of sliding down a fifty foot cheese grater nude. Despite the many graphic euphemisms I had at hand to slate this movie, fundamentally it was well written, well directed, with great performances and insightful editing. Honestly, many of the movies I have seen recently were in dire need of a far less inhibited editor with bigger secateurs and deeper vision. In fact, I recommend this movie, even more so than Chumscrubber, a movie that tackles the same issue, more or less, but with more existential obscurity.

Now the problems, well actually just the one, simply because the fact that Emma Roberts with self-inflicted facial scars is insanely hot trumps any petty gripe I may harbor against this film. It has an optimistic tone, as though life gets better. It tells the audience that when you know who you want to be, how you want to live, and have someone to love, life gets better. The unfortunate truth is that things don’t work like that. As a person who suffers from the dreaded depression, the great suburban disease of the mind, being depressed is easy, its believing you can be happy that is hardest of all. When the weight of the world ties you beneath your sheets and the beckoning hand of Morpheus draws you away from the bitter light and inevitable failure, the comfort comes in the totality of that feeling. The hatred of self becomes the safest place to reside as it justifies all the suffering you believe you’ve cause yourself and those around you. It becomes a poisonous and paralyzing Catch 22 in which you see yourself as the cause of all your suffering, which prevents you from acting which causes you suffering and in turn you become the reason for the troubles in your life. The movie was accurate in showing how space away from one’s routine and relations can provide a therapeutic change is perspective. Getting distance from one’s own line of sight can do wonders for those who dare to look at life differently. Often we are simply too invested in the fear that paralysis us to consider an alternative.

Now let’s say you have gained this new perspective, you have decided to live mindfully and engage a self that you believe will bring you greater joy, happiness and fulfillment. This journey is far more difficult, and at times painful, than the catatonic numbness that came before it. This may come across as defeatist, but it is not. In the end of the movie, it portrays the insight and joys as a lightness that shifts his perception of his future. It can very much be like that. The moments of light that claw themselves through the overgrowth can burn the away the shadows with the type of glory you could not have conceived of in your deepest realm of escapism. No hardship of the heart compares to those moments, and if his new love’s self-harming behavior is the result of Borderline Personality Disorder, then he is in for quite a few hardships. I know from experience. Even if the world lays a path of gold before you, when your hands have been scared by your own inaction, they struggle to grasp the slightest of joys. I must go now; a flicker of light seems to be in front of me. If I do not reach out to it now I may lose this chance as well.

Red Riding Hood 2011

Honestly I expected this movie to be Twilight without vampires. I was not disappointed. The main love interest could not have looked more like a wolfy Edward if he tried. And it had the same actor for the lead lady’s father, just in case the transition felt a bit strained. What is this I see before me, a love triangle? Now that’s keeping things fresh. Is the guy you want who makes your panties moist the dark and mysterious guy and not the nice guy, I did not see that one coming. At least in this movie, unlike in the grotesque piece of fiction called Twilight and its ill begotten brood, the connection between the two lovers makes sense. A lifelong secret romance is far more feasible that locking eyes from across the dining hall and having a crisis in your undergarments. However the character of “unmistakable smell” makes an appearance for the sake of hardcore fan service. Darn it, I’m evening listening to Florence and the Machine while writing this, for continuity.

Now let us judge this movie on its own merits. It’s pretty, I must give it that, but the trailer did make it look prettier than it really is. The movie does provide ample opportunities for you and your friends to argue mid stream who is the big bad and scary in the village, unless you’re the type of movie Nazi who jabs people just for coughing during a ‘cinematic experience’. The interpersonal drama is quite intoxicating and I found myself re-speculating on the identity of the wolf as new information came to light. And the wolf looks cool. I thought I would just put it out there. Normally I run towards the spoilers like a fat diabetic runs after a chocolate covered super model, but this is an ending I rather feel needs to be preserved. In this movie, like most I have come to watch, I ended up rooting for the bad guy, in this case the wolf. Mostly because I always like the big bad wolf, he’s just doing what wolves do, but mainly because the guy playing the helpful witch burner is very creepy, and has been in almost all the movies he’s ever been in (eg The Fifth Element and The Professional). Besides, who can identify with a guy who puts an autistic kid in a steel elephant and cooks him? Except you, freak. What are you even doing reading this review, aren’t you meant to be trolling 4chan or something. Rule 24 me, I dare you. Where was I, reviewing the movie, that’s right. If you like the twilight ‘saga’ *gag* then give this a gander with some tissues and about a liter of lube. If, however you have taste and agree that sparkling vampires are nothing more than places to warm your boots, then I suggest watching this movie as a drinking game. Every time you guess who the wolf is you consume and add to the cup. The person who guesses correctly gets to nominate who has the unfortunate duty of downing the putrid elixir. This will make the movie far more harrowing and I can guarantee that never before will such mutual civility be witnessed amongst friends. If only they drank in the Middle East, this would solve everything. I realise that I have started becoming offensive without appropriate focus so I think it is best that end this review right….here.

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Husk

Let me start off by saying, yes mister screen writer, I did get the Cain and Able reference. A biblical twist on an otherwise mundane horror movie just makes it a slightly more pretentious horror movie. The plot is thin; kid’s car breaks down because there is something about the landscape that makes crows commit Sebuku via windscreens. One by one they disappear into the corn because psycho undead scarecrows with nails in their fingers are running around gutting people and recruiting them into the ‘Canvas Face Gang’. It would have been scary when one of the soon to die tragically tears off the mast to reveal his friends face, if we had not seen him in the undead state sowing the mask. At least this ghost gives you a trade in replacement for your life. Heaven knows I can’t sew, maybe if I could I would be able to get a proper job. That’s just the thing, at least three times this week I have felt fear and anxiety over very ordinary problems in my life that make the emotional rollercoaster of this ride feel like walk through a stream, instead of safely harrowing the torrents of true horrific escapism. As a horror it lacked my two favourite things, female nudity and a tangible catharsis. Even if you would try and get away from the Eros vs Thanotos dichotomy by throwing the movie into the luke warm basket of ‘Suspense Thriller’, let me rebut by presenting into evidence my unthrilled self. What I found most offensive is the completely weak and lazy exposition presented by one of the teens having flash backs of the ghosts life, or was the ghost the scarecrow, or his brother, or… normally these kinds of debates adds a bit of flavour to the tail, but not so in this case. The only reason I can see why a person would hire this movie is to scare your thirteen year old cousin so he keeps his eyes closed and you get to make out with your date on the couch uninterrupted. Or perhaps to subtlety convince a family member that a drive through farmlands is a bad idea and you would rather stay at home this weekend and get drunk, maybe laid.

The Last Song

Yes, I know, I am feeling particularly masochistic, but Miley Cyrus always made me feel a little bit more than worried that I may be a pedophile, more so than the Olympics. In this little family flick she plays and angst ridden chick in docks, and wait for it… reads Tolstoy. What did the writers do, pick a random, overly dry Russian author from a “how to sound pretentious” list. Watching her try to brood is more painful than watching Lindsay Lahan trying to act. If it weren’t for scene in which Miley get all muddy, the entire movie would have been a botched back ally abortion, instead of the rather mediocre back ally abortion that it is.

Now Most of the time you can point to one or two elements of the movie and string those up in the town square and allow the serfs to throw their rotten produce at them. This movie, however, fails on so many spiritual levels that I am tempted to drown it in its own mediocrity, then leave its bloated body to be poked by kids. At least then it will give some joy to children, unlike this movie, which could only be enjoyed the way a child is enjoyed by a sexual predator. The emotional torment and conflict feels forced and shallow. When it is delivered in a sub-par fashion, then no amount of slightly above average cinematography can make up for it. Even one or two good actors can’t distract from the obvious human product placement in this movie. The narrative is more disjointed than a contortionist who fell down fifteen flights of stairs. I am certain that were this story rewritten by a sensitive and talented writer, then it could be the kind of novel my younger sister would enjoy, if she were drunk.
In conclusion, and in case there is any uncertainty about my opinion of this movie, I would chose self-stimulation with shards of broken glass over re-watching this movie.

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Burlesque

I am admittedly a fan of all things burlesque, the booze, the jazzy cigar lounge atmosphere, corsets and tassels. It is the very reason I think pinstripe suites and fedoras are cool. I also have an extensive collection of photographs of nude to semi-nude Christina Aguilera. I also grew up with a mother who lover Cher, resulting in a slightly metro son who can sing along to almost all of her songs. You would be correct to assume that I was excited to see this move, I really was. Yet, like my last girlfriends pregnancy, some things fail to deliver.

Aside from one of the worst opening montages I have ever seen, that no amount of bellowing could save, they then present us with the single worse remix of Marilyn Manson’s ‘Beautiful People’, in the opening five minutes. It is so terrible, horrid, sickening and offensive to my metal-head blood, that on that fault alone I would condemn this movie to the fiery pits of sulphur and teletubies. But it makes so many more mistakes I think I should go on. The big song that Cher uses to make her entrance would have been almost as neck tingling as Rocky Balboa taking the ring again, until I realized the song was a plug for the club they were singing at. It felt like MTV advertising MTV, while you’re watching MTV. The music was, nice. The lyrics were, interesting. The dancing was, not sufficiently arousing. Yet to have songs be about the club which is the name of the sub-culture, also the name of the movie is just pushing it. The result is a de-glamorization of a great style, and all that is left is a genetic narrative that came out of the “everything-we-have-ever-seen-before” machine that got dolled up with an excuse to run around in skimpy negligée and dim red lights. Then with the schizophrenic cinematography that makes it almost impossible to enjoy the dancing. It is just one of the many layers to a disappointing cake. Such us the painfully misplaced music used for the overly used montages. To me, it’s a great pity, because, if you pay attention, there are a few moments of stunningly acted moments and really talented vocalists. But moments are not enough to make a whole movie. Throwing two big named singers was not going save it either, no matter how much they try and sneak the odd MTV friendly song amidst the line-up.

This movie suffers what I like to call Ghost Rider Syndrome. Everything was there for it to have been a really great movie, it just wasn’t. In situations like that I just don’t know who we are to blame for this. If you enjoyed Chicago and Moulin Rouge, this will disappoint you, but it might just entertain you while you make soup.

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My One and Only

I really don’t have high hopes for this movie. Judging by the cover of the DVD and what I skimmed from the synopsis on the back, I may accidently forcibly remove one of my digits to distract me from the pain the movie will inflict upon me. Okay, so I have mentally prepared myself, here goes.

Now that my sphincter can unclench itself, let me tell you what I thought of this little piece of American dream, feminist pie. It does a fairly good job of tackling the archaic notion that a woman’s worth lies in her husband, and any man who offers her a hand in marriage has the deed to her life. Here’s the rub, I watched The Killer Inside Me last night, which is such a contradiction in perspective to that era that this movie comes off indecently sweet and idealistic, to the point that I find myself unconsciously feeling for cavities with my tongue. That said, I must applaud Renee Zellweger for her mature take on fading beauty in elder individuals. As the giants of our era shuffle along and make space for the Zack Efron’s of the future, God help us, it is interesting to see movies come along that deal with what it is like to no longer be the freshest fine face on the fabulous front page, such as Red. I feel slightly bad about that last comment; we do have good actors like Christian Bale, Mark Wahlberg, Matt Damon and Leonardo DiCaprio. I thought I had to clarify that to appease the budding trolls. Where was I? Yes right, I was talking about the movie in which the men are mostly jerks and the woman a prone to bouts of sickening naivety. At least the movie is accurate to some degree. If my sentiments about this movie are unclear, I will inform you that the movie has started playing again and I am torn between turning towards the screen and running to the remote and turning it off.

If you enjoy movies set in the 1950’s, have a hard-on for Renee, southern accents and young boys coming of age, or have recently been divorced, then you would probably enjoy this movie. But if you will excuse me, my eyes are starting to water from the pain.

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Easy A

I always saw eye to eye with Reese from Malcolm In the Middle when he said “no matter how easy an A is, a D is always easier”. So when I saw this movie on the shelve I thought to myself, hey you should be studying, but I think this may be relevant to you in some form, facet or function. So here I am preparing for further procrastination masqueraded as work.

What is it with rust headed witty high school girls in the media? I call it “Daria Syndrome”. I mean Juno was pregnant with it, I mean… fuck it, and I’m keeping the pun. Now we have Easy A, which thankfully has a far more enduring protagonist. I think what makes this movie a fiction, and many more in its genre, is the fact that a girl this edgy, cool and attractive is not popular in some form or another.

The literary reference to The Scarlet Letter in the title is great, hey I can even go on about how every character is well portrayed, they even have the illusion of a third dimension. I could even tell you how the story spirals deeper and deeper into intrigue in such a way that you find yourself haplessly drawn into it. I almost forgot how the movie tackles adolescent identity construction within a society that takes to rumors like /b/ takes to memes about Boxxy, with pose and an interestingly fresh perspective. But these are things you will probably find out for yourself when you copy this movie from a friend’s hard drive and watch it after you’re bored of porn or can’t get past the boss in [insert game you’re playing]. But you want to hear some of the problems now don’t you.

There is one huge, and I mean massive, gripe I have with this movie. In an conteporary Highschool one girl has sex and it’s a national event almost, as though no one in that school has ever had sex, come on. I get what they were stabbing at but really, that kind of thing happens far too much for this to be more than a momentary problem, unless I went to sleep last night and have now awoken in Prudes-Ville. I know it’s not much but I’ve had a good week so I am not quite brimming with latent rage.

Overall the movie is recommendable if taken with half a cup of salt and maybe a hand-job. But really watch it. Or just re-watch Daria, but not Juno.
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Love and Other Impossible Pursuits

Before I even watch this movie I sift through my list of “enjoyed movies”, I come to realize there are quite a few of them that star Natalie Portman. But looking at the cover makes me think I may not enjoy this movie as much as her other screen performances. Only time will tell, 98 minutes to be exact.

Well, the movie was good, in the way Indian food that makes you shit embers is good. Even though the acting is great-ish, and the narrative will take you on a roller-coaster of love, loss and anything else you would expect from a heartstring plucking movie that has the word love and a picture of a kid on the front cover. It has infidelity, pregnancy, a dead baby and its resulting heart ache, divorce, re-marriage and in and amongst it all a lonely kid. So if you are planning to rent this movie, think carefully, read the lady well because this movie will either get you soppy make-outs or an early night with Vaseline and a dishcloth called Miley Cyrus. I mean the story just keeps piling on tragedy after tragedy. After a while you can’t help but sit back and think “really, I mean more, but wait… oh no there’s even more”. It gets to such a point of deep emotional desolation, then in steps a montage and makes a turn for the better. Proof again that a montage trumps all else as a narrative device. I can just see it now, a company offering life changing montages. “Do you need to build a house, have a montage? You know that term paper that due tomorrow, have you tried a montage?” Everything else I the movie is explored in painful details but the healing, the getting better, that’s mere frames and moments. The personal growth was trivialized; as a result I was robbed of a satisfying catharsis. The end is like a Tiny Hello Kitty cupcake, cute but unsatisfying. I know the movie only has a limited amount of time to present the story to us, but I felt cheated. Was going to make a few orgasm jokes, but I think I have sufficiently covered my disappointment, and if you respond by saying, “that’s what she said”, I will reach out from this text and bitch-slap you across your troll-fag face. Just saying. If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be watching the Short Film intro for The Darjeeling Limited by West Craven called Hotel Chevalier. All I am saying is, Natalie Portman, nude, Booya.

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Tangled

Right. I am at work; it’s quiet, so I think to myself, why not pop in Tangled and see what it’s all about. There have been a myriad of fairytale reinterpretations, and surprisingly I have enjoyed quite a few of them. I wonder, will I face-palm, laugh, or leave sporadically for a smoke, hoping that the inescapable fear of impending cancer numbs me to the horror that is the film transpiring before my eyes.

And play. Yay, this DVD has fast play... Boo, trailers. Yes Disney, I get it, Blue-ray is just so much better, thanks for reminding my lower middle class ass that I can’t afford to watch your movies in all their intended glory.

Finally the movie
Wow, their 50th animated motion picture, and the narrator gives us a very American Beauty style declaration of death and tons of for shadowing. I might just end up enjoying the movie. A Hot blond, a cynical narrator, Stockholm syndrome, this might not be all bad. Hold on, this is Disney, something is missing. That’s right, singing about mundane events.
Ten seconds into meeting the narrator and I wish I was locked in a tower, waiting to be rescued. He’s so edgy and cool.
Is it me or is the evil witch who captured Rapunzel, well, aesthetically considered what is quint essentially Jewish. “Stay with mama, mama knows best”…. I so don’t hear a stereotype at all, do you?
Okay, the narrator is a self-absorbed prick, but I smell personal growth. Besides the movie has some great comical timing. Actually, the comical timing is rather fantastic.
PS: Go horse!
I am getting quite wrapped up in this movie; I’ll get back to you when it’s done.

[Insert rest of the movie’s events here]

Cheesy end credit music aside, I thoroughly enjoyed that movie, which I must admit, I did not intend to. As far as the creative use of hair, we have Indiana jones hair, bondage hair, ladder hair, hammock hair, ninja rope hair, swing-across-caverns hair, glow-when-I-sing hair, glow-makes-me-young hair, super-healing hair and color changing hair. Let me recap some of my favorite moments. The notion that Boys make girls disobey their mothers who are in fact trying to keep them hostage in order to maintain their own youth through their daughters. Yip, it makes sense. A choir of Grotesque thugs singing about their very non-masculine dreams that is so made of win I dare say it challenges Gaston’s barroom melody. No, really, I watched it three times in a row and laughed harder every time. Then there’s the characters strange awareness of the ridiculousness of the plot and its events. Over all I would say, watch this movie.

Now it’s time for the fun part, the rant. Don’t you just love the genetic determinism in Disney movies? Even though Rapunzel was raised by a witch in complete social isolation, constantly bombarded by tails of the outside world’s evil, she remained joyous, free spirited, well-adjusted and caring, In summary, epitomizing the ideal characteristics of a princess. Oh, but she’s bare foot, so she’s obviously down to earth and approachable, and not at all conceited, which they actually did a good job of characterizing but still, I mean really, don’t think we don’t see you for the foot fetishists you are Disney. *mumble, mumble, glass slipper, mumble*
Her hair so does not stay the same length… a petty gripe I know but I’m just warming up.
I knew there was this one thing that really made my skin crawl, what was it? That’s right; Rapunzel’s flash back to a moment as a baby, in full color, lying in a cot with the king and queen doting on her. I could believe the dog like horse wielding a sword; I could believe the sentient cummelian; but as far as a narrative cop out goes, that was just weak. I can almost imagine the writers sitting in a conference room with a pile of junk food, many cups of coffee and mountainous ashtrays, trying to figure out how she realizes that she is in fact the princess. Then, let’s call him Rape-Face-Tony, pipes up with a little jem like, “Hey, this is for kids right, and their not all that smart, right. Let’s just throw in a flash back, queue a confrontation and we can all go back to our hotel rooms and have fun with the underage hookers we have waiting for us”. To summarize in classic internet terminology, “epic face-palm”.
Also landing on the horse from a twenty story drop should have rendered him infertile and induced earth shattering pain. On the topic of horses, how did the horse call the thugs, and am I the only one would realized that as the chief of the guards he accepts bribes.

Honestly, from my perspective, the flaws of the movie were overshadowed by my enjoyment. In a time of great cynicism, critiques and hipsterism, sometimes is nice to just let your hair down and enjoy a movie with the illegitimate children you have tied up in the basement. I was hoping the imagery would distract from the horrible pun.

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The Tourist

I don’t think this movie even deserves a rant. It reeks of M Night Shyamalan. The end twist is so predictable it was painful to watch the movie until the end. What is it with Angelina Jolie and silly spy movies with convoluted twists and betrayals? Don’t bother wasting your time with this one. And yes, the guy who protests to not be the guy, is in fact the guy. Wow, you say, really. I know right, what a twist. If I wasn’t spending the time playing solitaire while the movie was on I would say it was a waist of my time. Who am I kidding; it was a complete waste of my time. I was at least hoping for a shot of Jolie’s tits, but no such luck. That would have at least made the movie bearable. If you will excuse me I am going do something more productive, like stick knitting needles in my urethra

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Twelve: Reasons you should not watch this movie

1) Fifty Cent is in the cast. Now I am not saying because a movie has a popular, and I use this term very lightly, artist in it it’s going to be bad, Justin Timberlake proved that. However, if we are to look at his previous forays in to other forms of consumable media, well they all blow more chunks than a bulimic who just downed a bottle of ipecac.

2) Fifty Cent’s bare ass humping an underage white virgin who is giving her body to the drug dealer for a hit. Now the ass I could handle, I sat through Bear City and Another Gay Movie without flinching once, but when coupled with such an atrocious cliché that fell out of a poorly written underground rap ballad, then I start to get a bit queasy

3) The narrator, who sounds familiar but I dare not look up his name, out of the morbid fear that I loose control of my kicking foot and it goes on a violent ball breaking spree. Honestly I can’t blame him for sounding so atrociously out of place that it induced violent shudders and a strong desire to be spooned by Carmen Electra instead of the brechtian vervreemdend effect. I blame the casting directors, who I fear may be women, another fact I was too bored to bother looking up, because then I could not punch them in their testicles.

4) The flashbacks, although only presenting the salient elements of the memories, which is in fact a clever way of presenting them, seemed a bit out of place for the more recent memories and eventually just felt cheap and lazy. It’s like the movie rocked up at a hippy party stoned with a tie dye shirt, leather pants, biker jacket and metal studs hollering “look at me, I’m arty but edgy but gritty but insightful and that makes me cool”. No, it makes you a schizotypal douchebag.

5) The premise, oh the premise. It’s a disjointed concoction that has elements of Catcher In The Rye, Requiem for a Dream, and many other clichés I struggle to recall due to my hangover. It feels like a middle class kid’s idea of what it’s like to be rich, but be hard and still have sufficient loss and suffering to justify their brooding disposition. This it does not pull off in the slightest. That’s it, the script writer is so going on my “to kick in the balls” list.

6) Cancer mom. The movie tries to present in the bleakness of her illness as juxtaposed to the memory of her by providing an angelic veil. This should make her enduring and tug at our little hearts as they weep “oh so sad, but oh, look how beautifully he remembers her suffering”. The actual result was me having a spit-take with my Mountain Dew and laughing at the creepy half alien creature comical represented on the screen. Maybe it’s a reason to in fact see the movie, but when the failure is taken in to context, it just makes the movie look cheap.

7) The hottest chick in school, because, well, she really is not that hot. I know I may have a strange taste in women, as well as recreational drugs, but come on guys, stand with me on this one. She isn’t all that, least of all a bag of chips. I mean, she’s okay, but nothing that would cause the entire campus to buckle at her whims. She must have some hidden talent that, many moons ago, robbed her of her gag reflex.

8) Its directed by the pice of T-rex poo who put nipples on Batman, Joel Shoemaker

9) The parties are silly

10) The character development is as believable as the story about me, the three FHM models and the crazy drug fueled orgy that lasted three days and four nights

11) I found throwing a ball against a wall and catching it more enthralling than the movie I was supposed to be watching.

12) I spent over six hundred and fifty words telling you not to.

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Inception- psychology with guns, *sigh*

If you want details on the actors, directors or silly motives, go wiki the movie. This is a rant, and trust me, rant I firkin shall. So we have a movie were people go into each other’s dreams. Oh, there is no explanation as to how exactly this happens all we know I that there is a strange device in a suitcase and bang, we all dream together. Yeah that makes sense. I mean seriously, the science and psychology in this movie is so soft I spread it on my toast this morning for breakfast. That’s not my big gripe with the movie, inexplicably machines that let people do weird and wonderful things is part and parcel with the sci-fi genre. It gives story tellers the space to tackle with interesting and complex elements of humanity, to answer the integral elements of existence, and in this case, they use guns. Wait what. That’s right, give a great idea to an American and all of a sudden the negotiation of the subtle intricacies of the human mind turns into a gun fight. I feel like I am swimming in a sea of absolute silly here. I rather liked the idea of covert mind spies that enter into the preconscious (yes, that’s the right term) and extract information by laying carefully set mazes for the mind. However all that gave the movie was cool sets to blow up in expensive ways. Co much could have been done with the creation of a world for the intention of tricking the mind. But all they did was go, um, deeper into another dream. I really am trying hard to take this seriously, you can tell right. Why then does everything still to some degree still look normal? I would think the deeper into the mind one goes the further one is from the symbolic representation of existence and the closer one gets to pure, blind drives and repressed desires that are incomparable to the conscious psyche. By the third dream state the world should look like it was spewed from the LSD addled brain of Salvador Dali and Picasso’s bum baby. The problem is that the basic idea of the movie is so brilliant, but instead of being a strong suspense based psychological drama were the creative wit of many defeats the psychological defences of an individual, lots of guys get shot. And the ending; I am not even going to justify it with a well deserved insult. Just watch the movie so together we can go, “oh come on really, this what you did with the concept. Aren’t you edgy and cool? Douche bags.”

She Held Me at Pen Point

Now, I may be a lot biased dew to the fact that this artist is giving me a drawing of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman that is so stupidly amazing that every time I remember it I am forced to smile, which does much harm to my hardcore cynical image. That aside, Prints of Kathleen Sawyer’s work will very soon be available for purchase, so you too can own a little bit of awesomeness. Her work is that strange mix of photo realism, strewn across subtly macabre fantasy with a soft blend of beauty and horror that sparks the sublime. I suggest that you take a look at her work in far greater detail as my description does it no justice. You’ll find her work at http://katsaw.deviantart.com/gallery/

Go to it and love it or else small goblins will come to your house while you sleep, take your DNA, splice it with the DNA of Carrot-Top, and when you have kids, they will switch your babies with the half Carrot-Top mutant babies. Is that what you want, is it?

Welcome

Ah, good day too all those that have come first are have found their way to the bottom of the entire dreadfulness that brought you here. What I have done, or am about to do with this page is scratch around, find things in the world that so offend or delight me, that I have no choice but to dispense all my views and thoughts like excrement onto my keyboard and hopefully into your monitors. Together we can hold hand, touch genitals and pretend we were too drunk to remember the night before, all in the name of the internet’s greatest power, giving no bodies the platform to shout at other nobodies.