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 love leaked out like the helium in a week-old party balloon, and now all that is left is a soft, shriveled ball hovering an inch off the floor behind the sofa.
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.
The Disaster Artist is decent because its subject matter is terrific. I just think it could be more honest with itself. It’s not a celebration of the outsider. It’s a patronizing pat on the back from a shitload of people who have made it to the top the traditional way.
The Big Sick is a damn fine movie, one with actual laughs, and with the effortless reminder that everyone just wants to be loved, no matter how miserable that will ultimately make them.
Star Wars is entirely about a very structured and predetermined destiny, and the gadfly writers and directors Disney hires and fires are forced to try to squeeze a little bit of personality into the cracks in the structure. Nobody in charge of this universe gives a fuck about the characters, just that we get to the next big battle and then promote the next movie.
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.
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.
If I had a time machine, I wouldn’t go back and try to fix things. I’d just go back and be nicer to the women who blossomed later. That way, today I’d have a lot more old classmates calling me a great guy and not a pervert.
Lady Bird was fucking delightful. This is a damn good movie. I still don’t get teenaged girls, but the movie is so genuine and so plausible that I may have gained a little understanding of teenaged girls.
