Snatched
I have this rule about comedies; they should be funny. Snatched isn’t. It starts out with a few jokes, mostly easy, and then it wilts faster than an old man’s dick in the peanut butter.
Category: Movie Reviews
Rough Night
Rough Night is the exact opposite of visionary art. It’s the poop borne of a commercial ass, of someone whose soul–if they had one–was sold long ago. The script is the film equivalent of a Kentucky Fried Chicken billboard promoting some assortment of greasy foods food for five bucks.
Ready or Not
I get the sense the folks who made Ready or Not are with me. Why overcomplicate something when you don’t have to?
Ralph Breaks the Internet
Ralph is so of-the-moment that it already feels stale. Its themes are so tacked on that they won’t resonate. Kids won’t come back to this movie when they’re older and see deeper meaning in it. There is none.
Pet Sematary
As it plods along, it hands out the jolts with the thriftiness of an extreme couponer giving her children allowance. Loud trucks honking horns or cats scowling are supposed to scare us. Creaking floorboards and open doors rattling in the wind are supposed to set the mood.
Peanut Butter Falcon
Peanut Butter Falcon is not like those creepy videos we used to rent. First of all, it wasn’t filmed in someone’s basement. In fact, it looks fucking fantastic, shot along North Carolina’s Outer Banks, all rusted metal, rotted wood and lapping waves.
Parasite
Ho has made a pretty fucking great reminder of class divisions and of how we let the rich dehumanize us. We marvel when the wealthy rub elbows with us filthy turds. We admire the ones who stick up for our rights. We capitulate to them to make our decisions, and then are thrilled when they actually choose ones that benefit us.
Pacific Rim Uprising
If a monster climbing the side of a mountain while humans think of some way to stop it doesn’t sound very exciting, it’s because it isn’t. It’s fucking lame. And so is Pacific Rim: Uprising.
Oceans 8
Ocean’s 8 is polished and refined, glossy like those two-inch thick fashion magazines full of crap nobody ever wears. That shit is a circle jerk for people who give a rat’s ass what other people’s shoes cost.
Mortal Engines
The movie’s basic premise is a giant what the fuck. Maybe it works in a paperback geared toward twelve-year-olds, but it sure as hell fails as a blockbuster.