Remember David Manning? Well, David Manning didn’t exist. He was created by Columbia Pictures when they couldn’t find real quote whores to say what they wanted you to hear. That’s right, Columbia Pictures isn’t satisfied trying to convince you their shit doesn’t stink. They have to invent invisible “critics” to lie for them. Screw you, Columbia, you worthless, dirty assholes. We know you screw us on a weekly basis. We know you don’t give a flying duck fuck whether your movies are good or bad, just that they make money. But we didn’t know you’d lie to scam a few extra bucks. It just proves why you’re in the business: to shove your bony, cold hands up our asses and yank.
This is worse sportsmanship than the time Lloyd pissed on the shuffleboard table because he was losing and couldn’t stand it. This is worse than some late night huckster using lies to shill some spray-on hair shit. We know he’s lying, and he knows we know he’s lying. But you wanted us to believe you. The only reason to make up quotes for the ads is in hopes that it’ll trick the unsuspecting to plunk their money down. That is stealing. It’s the worst kind of thievery, too: fat cats exploiting their power to steal from the poor.
It never occurs to those grassfuckers in Los Angeles that we are bored and lonely and want to be entertained. They never consider that we love going to the movies, sitting in the dark, handing over a couple hours wages for the slight hope of seeing something memorable, something to make us forget that we work at video stores and restaurants, our apartments leak, and our cars are in the shop until we can get the money to pay for repairs. They don’t give a dirty rat’s ass that the movies have always been a refuge from our miserable, insignificant little lives. To Hollywood’s elite — the executives who wouldn’t even make it as lawn at the Home Depot where we live — we’re just piggy banks to shake until every last dime falls out. And the invention of David Manning is their latest way to say “Fuck you, audience.”
A lesser Hollywood transgression is The Animal. It’s really hard to write a review about a movie as lame and tame as this, and I’m actually a little sad my retard cousin Larry wouldn’t go see it with me because it’s Chocolate Milk Day at the home. The Animal is just a boring, laughless and plotless mess. It’s the kind of bland, cheap movie Wal Mart would make if they were in the lucrative business of making bad flicks. Don’t get me wrong, Wal Mart is a fine place to buy underwear and marital aids, but I don’t want that fat lady with the mustache who stocks the office supply shelves making movies. And she might as well have been behind the camera for this one.
Imagine, if you can, a movie so bland that Rob Schneider is its biggest star. He is accompanied by Ed Asner (I thought he was dead), Colleen Haskell (the cute girl from Survivor) and some character actor named John C. McGinley. This group of actors with no distinction do everything they can to make this a movie of no distinction. Schneider is a wannabe cop in a small town. Though a series of belabored, laughless scenes, we learn he’s a loser. While responding to a robbery call, his big break with the police, he almost dies while responding to a robbery call. He is saved by a mad scientist who replaces his organs with animal parts. The joke is that Schneider takes on the traits of the animals. . Oh, and what a fine joke someone must have thought it was because it’s all there is for the remainder of this 80-minute movie that feels much longer. Schneider acts like a goat, he acts like a dog, a horse, a dolphin, etc. Ha ha ha, it’s about as funny and interesting as Wal Mart’s laundry detergent aisle. No, wait, I take that back. Purex has given me more pleasure than The Animal, and it brightens my whites.
The script, co-written by Tom Brady, Rob Schneider and an untold number of paid hacks who don’t have their name on the final product, is just a mess. Even if you think the gag of Rob Schneider wanting to hump goats and making crazy animal noises is funny, you won’t think that after the 30th fucking time this script throws it at you. It’s just the same gag over and over and, because it was so fucking funny when he humped the mailbox, over once more. Oh, there’s a little bit of plot right at the end, but it feels more tacked on than the espionage subplot in Candy Bottoms’ Pussy Huntress Goes Oriental. For those who don’t remember, that was where the big-dicked inspectors had to probe Candy for the hidden microfiche, resulting in an eight-way suckoff. They never do find the film, even though they’re wonderfully thorough.
Director Luke Greenfield never gets the movie’s one gag right, even though he’s given plenty of chances. The movie is shot with the shoddy quality of a safety instructional video. Every scene has the same unimaginative, static look. The sets are cheap, the acting subpar, and he seems to be perfectly happy with the first take of every scene. Well, I assume it’s the first take. If this acting and timing is the result of practice, then Revolutions Studios is letting anyone make movies and we need to see how much money they’ll give us.
Colleen Haskell was sort of hot on Survivor, but only a movie that needs stunt casting would hire her. She’s an awful actress with one reaction; a big smile that gets old fast. Her line readings are stiffer than my dick used to get just hoping her little bikini top would fall off on that deserted island. But the makers of this movie aren’t looking for quality. They figured she would draw people out of curiosity and she was probably dirt cheap to hire compared to a real actress. Schneider is dull and lame. He might have once been funny, but this movie tames him down in a desperate hope that someone will actually care about him. Try as they might, there are few people less inherently likable than him. And Ed Asner? What the fuck? Did he work cheap, like in exchange for free access to the lunch wagon? Why haul this fat carcass out of the deep freeze? Nobody wants to see him.
A little note about Revolutions Studios. This is a new company headed by some jackass who used to be at Disney. They specialize in underestimating our intelligence and so far have released this turd and the brain-dead Tomcats. They’re the new Destination Films:
shit on a spool.
The Animal is a One Finger dog. Sorry I can’t be more emotional about it, but a movie this bland and dull offers as little inspiration as it does laughs. Besides, I am pissed about something else right now.