The plot drags itself along like a man who just had his legs bitten off by sharks. It flops, stumbles and leaves a trail of blood to the spot where it finally dies and all I can think is, why didn’t someone put it out of its misery quicker?
The Mummy is like that sixth trip through the line at the Golden Corral. It’s way too God damn much of a terrible thing. This movie is a relentless barrage of same, grayish-brown slabs of Tom Cruise proving he’s a fucking man, proving he can take a punch or get thrown, dragged or dropped.
The Circle is a great reminder that Hollywood is full of fucking phonies and frauds, pricks so far up their own assholes they think they’re doing us a favor when they point out the obvious.
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.
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.
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.
There is nothing subtle, nothing smart and nothing genuine about Going in Style. I believe Braff has the unenviable dual talents of being incompetent and underestimating audiences.
This “climate-change thriller” is as idiotic as the scientific wisdom of someone who buys magically-charged stones from Gwyneth Paltrow and won’t vaccinate her kids.
What if, in fact, the people in Hollywood actually love shit like The Emoji Movie. What if all of these executives who have risen to the top of a cutthroat international, multi-billion dollar industry aren’t cold-hearted businessmen, but instead naïve dumbasses more easily entertained than the kid in preschool who puts his hands down his pants and then smells his fingers all day?
I read a critic who said Cats was so weird it was impossible to review. That’s not true. It’s easy to review. It’s fucking awful. Even its weirdness is awful.
