At one time, I truly believed my car was haunted. No, seriously. I don't believe in curses or ghosts or any of that supernatural mumbo-jumbo, but it was the only way to assess the inexplicably random instances where my car alarm would go off. At first it was whenever I stuck my key in the lock, so I installed an wireless unlocking system. If I didn't press the button for exactly three-and-a-half seconds, the alarm would go off again. Anything set that motherfucker off: a fallen leaf brushing its hood; somebody commenting on the nice interior; during the final seconds of the series finale of Lost. Hell, one time I just looked at my car and it went off. Eventually I traded it in due to sleep deprivation. Which leads us right into our movie this week:
Source Code stars Jake Gyllenhall in his most confusing movie since Donnie Darko. Hell, Duncan Jones makes Richard Kelly look like the less-talented Farrelly Brother with this one. Gyllenhall, who accepted the role as Darko earlier in his career and is now a stud, must have looked at this script and shit his pants thinking it was the latest Kelly atrocity to piss off moviegoers. However, since it was Jones, in his follow-up to 2009's much beloved Moon, he must have thought Jones was going to put on some aesthetic touches to make it watchable.
He was right, but watchable is my best possible compliment. While Moon told a tale of psychologically deteriorating turmoil, Source Code merely leaves character development and mind-games on the horizon. The best comparison I can make is to The Fountain, except Gyllenhall never shaves his head. It's a beautiful and strange journey that serves more as an intoxicating, mind-numbing drug used to arouse the senses than a film that would spark a wave of critical essays breaking down its underlying themes and political statements (and thank God for that).
Watchable sounds bad, but hell, this movie is incompre-fucking-hensible plot-wise, so who cares that Gyllenhall must retrieve a forgotten password that will destroy half of Japan from the dead captain of the Titanic's ghost? It's a dazzling scene featuring Gyllenhall weaving through endless streams of dazzling-colored coral stretches and Synodontidaes as he approaches the long-lost wreckage.
Oh, sorry, I might want to back up. You're undoubtedly confused. I know it doesn't sound like the trailer, which does make up the first 15 minutes of the film, only to never return. But to be honest, that convoluted mess of a situation would have never been solved. Jones was quoted in Variety saying that once he had written the first dozen pages of the script, he stopped and said to himself, "What the fuck am I doing?" Jones regards himself as a trooper, however, and "refused to give up." Jeez, you'd think he'd at least rewrite it? I mean, it's not like he was wasting a bunch of paper or something.
Some of you might even be screaming, "Don't tell me what fucking happens you hack!" Firstly, I must say that any scene I describe in this review really won't spoil much. This particular scene I've described last only two minutes in this two-hour endeavor. Each scene moves abruptly, but also in a seamlessly pleasing manner, from scenario to scenario. As soon as I was about to say, "what the fuck was that?" I became intoxicated with what new unexplored universe Jones was offering up. It wasn't until the end of the film that I realized I was drooling all over my shirt.
Anyway, you can take the movie as it is or leave it. However, I hope Jones enjoyed the Aronofskian style-over-substance trip while it lasted, because Source Code cost an estimated $316 million to make, edging just past Avatar and exceeding its original budget by $275 million. And, as somebody from the fucking future, take my word for it: it doesn't quite break even at the box office.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Hop - Opening April 1, 2011
Well, it's not like you need a guy from the future to tell you how horrifyingly painful it is to sit through Hop. Sporting a cast of B-list television actors, C-list movie actors and Russell Brand, who's an A-lister in England but universally abhorred by everyone else, Hop is a giant melting pot of awful: acting, script, plot, creepiness, egg droppings and the live action/animation combination that was fresh and cute with Who Framed Roger Rabbit? and vintage Woody Allen, but got weird after The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle. And then unbearable with Alvin and the Chipmunks.
And guess who directed the Chipmunks atrocity? Why none other than Hop director Tim FUCKING Hill!
One surprise, however, is Hop's poor showing at the box office. Purely geared towards kids, the racy excremental images assuredly scared off conservative parents, while Kaley Cuoco's acting scared off the sensible ones. The small Friday audience created a backlash that killed the movie, wherein several children suffered seizures from the copious amount of colored eggs flying from the cartoon bunny's ass.
You know, I thought that scene in the trailer, the one where the bunny poops eggs on James Marsden's car hood, was weird, but I dismissed it as pure fun a five-year-old child may chuckle at. But Jesus, did it have to become such a major component of the film?
OK, so...damn, it's hard to explain the plot without my heart aching and a strong wave of depression rushing over me.
The film stars the Easter bunny (Russell Brand), or E.B., which even mentally-challenged pre-schoolers wouldn't find clever, who is injured by Fred (James Marsden). After accidentally severing E.B.'s foot with his riding lawnmower, Fred feels obligated to defy the laws of nature and allow the cartoon to sleep in his non-cartoon home. E.B. is a horrible house guest, tracking muddy rabbit footprints all over the floor and reupholstered furniture. But Fred keeps E.B., however, because he's mixed up in some heavy bunny mafia shit...and he's just so darn cute! E.B. fights off these individual bunny henchmen with his shitting shenanigans while Fred comically runs around like a buffoon boarding off windows and doors, screaming things like, “Easter used to be fun!” and, “You guys sure multiply fast!”
The movie's complete and utter failure to make any bit of fucking sense undoubtedly lies with director Tim Hill, who's last two movies abused the shit out of the live action/animation combo (Alvin and the Chipmunks and Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties). Hill called Hop a “departure” from his previous cartoons-infused-with-reality films, saying, “Well, (Hop) got a PG rating for 'some mild rude humor.' So adults can connect with the underbelly themes reflecting one's search for meaning, while kids just take the egg droppings at face value and laugh. And, oh, will they laugh!"
They didn't laugh.
And guess who directed the Chipmunks atrocity? Why none other than Hop director Tim FUCKING Hill!
One surprise, however, is Hop's poor showing at the box office. Purely geared towards kids, the racy excremental images assuredly scared off conservative parents, while Kaley Cuoco's acting scared off the sensible ones. The small Friday audience created a backlash that killed the movie, wherein several children suffered seizures from the copious amount of colored eggs flying from the cartoon bunny's ass.
You know, I thought that scene in the trailer, the one where the bunny poops eggs on James Marsden's car hood, was weird, but I dismissed it as pure fun a five-year-old child may chuckle at. But Jesus, did it have to become such a major component of the film?
OK, so...damn, it's hard to explain the plot without my heart aching and a strong wave of depression rushing over me.
The film stars the Easter bunny (Russell Brand), or E.B., which even mentally-challenged pre-schoolers wouldn't find clever, who is injured by Fred (James Marsden). After accidentally severing E.B.'s foot with his riding lawnmower, Fred feels obligated to defy the laws of nature and allow the cartoon to sleep in his non-cartoon home. E.B. is a horrible house guest, tracking muddy rabbit footprints all over the floor and reupholstered furniture. But Fred keeps E.B., however, because he's mixed up in some heavy bunny mafia shit...and he's just so darn cute! E.B. fights off these individual bunny henchmen with his shitting shenanigans while Fred comically runs around like a buffoon boarding off windows and doors, screaming things like, “Easter used to be fun!” and, “You guys sure multiply fast!”
The movie's complete and utter failure to make any bit of fucking sense undoubtedly lies with director Tim Hill, who's last two movies abused the shit out of the live action/animation combo (Alvin and the Chipmunks and Garfield: A Tale of Two Kitties). Hill called Hop a “departure” from his previous cartoons-infused-with-reality films, saying, “Well, (Hop) got a PG rating for 'some mild rude humor.' So adults can connect with the underbelly themes reflecting one's search for meaning, while kids just take the egg droppings at face value and laugh. And, oh, will they laugh!"
They didn't laugh.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Sucker Punch- Opening March 25, 2011
SUCKER PUNCH!!! No, it's not a cheap shot to the balls you deliver to your brother while wrestling, it's the new kick-ass action extravaganza propelling female youths across the country (no, the world!) into fighting mode. Although most girls will probably use their newly-found fire to merely bat away those pesky molesters and rapists, the implications the film will have on our nation's youth is scary, making Sucker Punch Zack Snyder's first true cinematic disappointment.
I hate reading reviews where the author believes he or she is writing something thought-provoking and fresh by attacking one aspect of the film that has nothing to do with what's important, things like cinematography, acting, sound mixing, artificial lighting and cleanliness of sets. But the irresponsibility Snyder displays in pushing teenyboppers toward a life of crime really killed the movie for me.
Noted, it's almost forgivable, as it's a bittersweet dilemma. At the core of the storyline, it's about a girl, Baby Doll, and her struggle to free herself from a decadent mental asylum where they unforgivably serve her moldy cheese-stuffed artificial turkey nuggets and force her to listen to post-Pinkerton Weezer albums on repeat for hours at a time; the torture would engender the killer in the best of us. Snyder even cleverly forces the audience to to endure the pain along with Baby Cakes through his controversial and revolutionary movie technique that engages the audience more than 3-D could ever strive to. He does this, of course, by serving those very same turkey balls to the audience, who sign a liability waiver upon ticket purchase, and sentencing them to not one, not two, but FOUR Weezer sessions, totaling in at 12 hours. That's enough Beverly Hills and Can't Stop Partying to make you wish waterboarding was on the menu instead.
While the gimmicks are cute, they also help you understand her plight. Sweet Cakes must do whatever it takes to escape this hellhole. But at what cost to our youth? Snyder deceivingly uses awful Rivers Cuomo lyrics to distract the audience from why Sweet Mama is in the mental asylum in the first place: she is an unstable psychopath with the untapped ability to unleash a gunfirey onslaught upon her peers. Her stepfather, unfairly villainized in the film, realizes this and sends her away for a much needed lobotomy.
While Quentin Tarantino inspired a generation of females to only use killing for revenge in Kill Bill, Snyder's miscalculated approach gives Hoochie Mama's dreamed-up killing fantasy of innocent lives the OK. At one point, we see our protagonist blowing the head off a giant robot with her 500 Magnums during one of her fantasies. In reality, Hoochie Muffin is repeatedly stabbing the front-desk intern in the face with a broken broom handle. Snyder's unabashed portrayal of blood and gore in the scene is bold, but the scene proves to be a bit much for the light-stomached.
Again, this is just a bias I can't seem to get around. But all in all, Snyder's film proves to hit home on every other level. It's worth noting that this is his first film not based on a source material. Both 300 and Watchmen were based on graphic novels, Dawn of the Dead was a remake, and Legends of the Guardian: The Owls of Ga'Hoole is clearly based on Snyder's childhood. This explains why Sucker Punch's universe is more complex and seizure-inducing than any of his films, as Snyder had no constraints and penned the fuck out of this script. Snyder was reportedly forced to whittle down the script from its original 5,912 pages, but the DVD will feature a director's cut.
We've all seen the trailer a billion fucking times, so I don't need to delve into the greatest aspects of the film, including the dazzling special effects and festive acting from Emil Browning as Baby Muffins and Vanessa Hudgens, who further establishes her bad-ass movie persona after the racy High School Musical trilogy.
To quote drmcninja17's featured review on imdb.com: “I love this movie for exactly what it is...a good movie that appeals to me in every way.” I couldn't agree more. Movies that are both good and appeal to me in every possible way are the ones I typically love. But because of its social shortfalls, Sucker Punch proves to be an exception. Instead of caring for the central character, I'm only left worrying about that poor intern. Sorry, Baby Doll.
I hate reading reviews where the author believes he or she is writing something thought-provoking and fresh by attacking one aspect of the film that has nothing to do with what's important, things like cinematography, acting, sound mixing, artificial lighting and cleanliness of sets. But the irresponsibility Snyder displays in pushing teenyboppers toward a life of crime really killed the movie for me.
Noted, it's almost forgivable, as it's a bittersweet dilemma. At the core of the storyline, it's about a girl, Baby Doll, and her struggle to free herself from a decadent mental asylum where they unforgivably serve her moldy cheese-stuffed artificial turkey nuggets and force her to listen to post-Pinkerton Weezer albums on repeat for hours at a time; the torture would engender the killer in the best of us. Snyder even cleverly forces the audience to to endure the pain along with Baby Cakes through his controversial and revolutionary movie technique that engages the audience more than 3-D could ever strive to. He does this, of course, by serving those very same turkey balls to the audience, who sign a liability waiver upon ticket purchase, and sentencing them to not one, not two, but FOUR Weezer sessions, totaling in at 12 hours. That's enough Beverly Hills and Can't Stop Partying to make you wish waterboarding was on the menu instead.
While the gimmicks are cute, they also help you understand her plight. Sweet Cakes must do whatever it takes to escape this hellhole. But at what cost to our youth? Snyder deceivingly uses awful Rivers Cuomo lyrics to distract the audience from why Sweet Mama is in the mental asylum in the first place: she is an unstable psychopath with the untapped ability to unleash a gunfirey onslaught upon her peers. Her stepfather, unfairly villainized in the film, realizes this and sends her away for a much needed lobotomy.
While Quentin Tarantino inspired a generation of females to only use killing for revenge in Kill Bill, Snyder's miscalculated approach gives Hoochie Mama's dreamed-up killing fantasy of innocent lives the OK. At one point, we see our protagonist blowing the head off a giant robot with her 500 Magnums during one of her fantasies. In reality, Hoochie Muffin is repeatedly stabbing the front-desk intern in the face with a broken broom handle. Snyder's unabashed portrayal of blood and gore in the scene is bold, but the scene proves to be a bit much for the light-stomached.
Again, this is just a bias I can't seem to get around. But all in all, Snyder's film proves to hit home on every other level. It's worth noting that this is his first film not based on a source material. Both 300 and Watchmen were based on graphic novels, Dawn of the Dead was a remake, and Legends of the Guardian: The Owls of Ga'Hoole is clearly based on Snyder's childhood. This explains why Sucker Punch's universe is more complex and seizure-inducing than any of his films, as Snyder had no constraints and penned the fuck out of this script. Snyder was reportedly forced to whittle down the script from its original 5,912 pages, but the DVD will feature a director's cut.
We've all seen the trailer a billion fucking times, so I don't need to delve into the greatest aspects of the film, including the dazzling special effects and festive acting from Emil Browning as Baby Muffins and Vanessa Hudgens, who further establishes her bad-ass movie persona after the racy High School Musical trilogy.
To quote drmcninja17's featured review on imdb.com: “I love this movie for exactly what it is...a good movie that appeals to me in every way.” I couldn't agree more. Movies that are both good and appeal to me in every possible way are the ones I typically love. But because of its social shortfalls, Sucker Punch proves to be an exception. Instead of caring for the central character, I'm only left worrying about that poor intern. Sorry, Baby Doll.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Unknown- Opening February 18, 2011
Turns out my time-travels take a hefty chunk out of The Orchid's budget, so I was only allowed to go back and see one movie this week. I saw Twilight, so I didn't need to see I Am Number Four. And as for Big Mommas: Like Father, Like Son, I didn't think there would be much more story in the left for the series' 28th installment. So I chose to do Unknown, the latest movie featuring Liam Neeson as a bad-ass. I almost eliminated Unknown because it looked too much like Taken, but then I heard the movie is confusing as fuck. So I took up the challenge.
Unknown features Martin Harris (Neeson), sorry, Dr. Martin Harris, who gets in a car accident. Waking from his coma, Martin realizes nobody knows who the fuck he is because (Da Da DAAAA) his identity has been stolen! He rushes to find his wife Betty Draper (January Jones)...I mean, Elizabeth (also, Jones), but she doesn't even know who “this crazy guy” is. A flabbergasted Martin then sets out to find the fake Martin Harris...or real?
Yeah, I just did that. Hey, you're the one reading a newspaper from the future, don't you kinda want things spoiled for you? Besides, if I couldn't write up a complete plot synopsis, this article wouldn't be much longer, or fun. What, you want me to discuss cinematography? Praise pithy dialogue? Compare and contrast Unknown with director Jaume Collet-Serra's debut House of Wax? Fuck it: this story is dynamite and fully unwraps itself into a colossal tale of free will, self-identity and existence itself. And I'm gonna tell the whole damn story:
[EDIT] OK, once my editor saw that I had done a complete write-up of the entire film, he said something along the lines of, “Please do a normal review.” Except I think he said “Listen here,” instead of “Please,” and then followed it up with “I will fucking fire your ass.” He then smashed my Macbook Pro to bits with a baseball bat and shoved my nose in its wake, screaming, “Do I have to treat you like my fucking dog?!”
Anyway, I'm a little flustered at the moment to do a normal review. I'm also exhausted from typing my former 12,000 word review to start a new one. Just know Neeson kicks some ass, Frank Langella is in this fucking movie, and Jones acts like a robot (because she is one?). Yeah, I did it again. I gotta hurry up and leave the office before Hitler comes back with his bat. Peace.
Unknown features Martin Harris (Neeson), sorry, Dr. Martin Harris, who gets in a car accident. Waking from his coma, Martin realizes nobody knows who the fuck he is because (Da Da DAAAA) his identity has been stolen! He rushes to find his wife Betty Draper (January Jones)...I mean, Elizabeth (also, Jones), but she doesn't even know who “this crazy guy” is. A flabbergasted Martin then sets out to find the fake Martin Harris...or real?
Yeah, I just did that. Hey, you're the one reading a newspaper from the future, don't you kinda want things spoiled for you? Besides, if I couldn't write up a complete plot synopsis, this article wouldn't be much longer, or fun. What, you want me to discuss cinematography? Praise pithy dialogue? Compare and contrast Unknown with director Jaume Collet-Serra's debut House of Wax? Fuck it: this story is dynamite and fully unwraps itself into a colossal tale of free will, self-identity and existence itself. And I'm gonna tell the whole damn story:
[EDIT] OK, once my editor saw that I had done a complete write-up of the entire film, he said something along the lines of, “Please do a normal review.” Except I think he said “Listen here,” instead of “Please,” and then followed it up with “I will fucking fire your ass.” He then smashed my Macbook Pro to bits with a baseball bat and shoved my nose in its wake, screaming, “Do I have to treat you like my fucking dog?!”
Anyway, I'm a little flustered at the moment to do a normal review. I'm also exhausted from typing my former 12,000 word review to start a new one. Just know Neeson kicks some ass, Frank Langella is in this fucking movie, and Jones acts like a robot (because she is one?). Yeah, I did it again. I gotta hurry up and leave the office before Hitler comes back with his bat. Peace.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Justin Beiber: Never Say Never - Opening February 11, 2011
Holy shit. My first movie review out of the time travel gates and I get The Biebs? Hell yeah motherfucker! Wait…and it’s in 3-you’ve-got-to-be-shitting-me-D!!!! Dude, J.B.’s voice was straight flying out of the screen. Floating music notes were hitting me left and right. Life just doesn’t get any better.
I get to take one person with me on my time-traveling expeditions, and of course my little cousin wanted to go. She loves Justin Beiber. She’s got posters and magazine clippings and photographs with Justin’s eyes cut out throughout her room. She even wrote his lyrics all over her wall in red ink (or her blood), such as “I’ll buy you a Panini and some Spanks to make you teeny” and “The truth I need a pillowcase.”
"The truth I need a pillowcase."
But she’s a creepy little bitch, so I took my friend so we could make fun of the movie and everyone attending. We sat ourselves right in the front, sniggering with our pockets stuffed with noisemakers. There were all these annoying little girls there who wouldn’t shut up about My World 2.0, so needless to say, we couldn’t wait to ruin their night. But, then…it started.
I hope this review has accurately portrayed, up to this point, my progression of thoughts on the film. At first I was sarcastic, dismissing Never Say Never as a joke. Then the little girls of the world pissed me off with their obsession so I began to take an deliciously dark pleasure in returning the favor. The third step: amazement.
You know, I think it was because I never really paid much attention to J-Bibble. That dude can fucking dance! And he’s, like, only 15-years-old or something. And his voice…man! Of course the auto-tune and studio over-production kills his voice on the radio, but there’s a voice of an angel buried beneath it all.
At one point during a concert, Baby Bieber pulls a girl out of the crowd, brings her on stage and serenades her with a cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” While singing, Justin walks around the stage…and then out of the fucking screen! Are you kidding me?! He walked right up to me and placed his hand on my knee as he told me, “Your time has come to shine. All your dreams are on their way.” I swear I could feel his holographic hand burning through my jeans.
Oh, and Bieber Bear listens to Simon & Garfunkel? How fucking sexy is that? Wait, cool! I meant how “COOL” is that…
Well, regardless, I’m now a bona fide Bieber buff. I went out and bought his albums, and then downloaded his acoustic one because it was sold out at Best Buy and Wal-Mart. I promise I’ll pay for it, but I just couldn’t wait for it to come back in stock.
I guess this wasn’t a great review. Really, it's just Bieby McBiebers singing for three-fourths of the film, so it feels more like a concert than a biography. I guess that’s because they want you to buy his actual autobiography. Which I read. Twice. My favorite line is, “Singers aren’t supposed to have dairy before a show, but we all know I’m a rule breaker. Pizza is just so good!”
Oh, I never mentioned the hair. Isn’t it just goddamned perfect?
I get to take one person with me on my time-traveling expeditions, and of course my little cousin wanted to go. She loves Justin Beiber. She’s got posters and magazine clippings and photographs with Justin’s eyes cut out throughout her room. She even wrote his lyrics all over her wall in red ink (or her blood), such as “I’ll buy you a Panini and some Spanks to make you teeny” and “The truth I need a pillowcase.”
"The truth I need a pillowcase."
But she’s a creepy little bitch, so I took my friend so we could make fun of the movie and everyone attending. We sat ourselves right in the front, sniggering with our pockets stuffed with noisemakers. There were all these annoying little girls there who wouldn’t shut up about My World 2.0, so needless to say, we couldn’t wait to ruin their night. But, then…it started.
I hope this review has accurately portrayed, up to this point, my progression of thoughts on the film. At first I was sarcastic, dismissing Never Say Never as a joke. Then the little girls of the world pissed me off with their obsession so I began to take an deliciously dark pleasure in returning the favor. The third step: amazement.
You know, I think it was because I never really paid much attention to J-Bibble. That dude can fucking dance! And he’s, like, only 15-years-old or something. And his voice…man! Of course the auto-tune and studio over-production kills his voice on the radio, but there’s a voice of an angel buried beneath it all.
At one point during a concert, Baby Bieber pulls a girl out of the crowd, brings her on stage and serenades her with a cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” While singing, Justin walks around the stage…and then out of the fucking screen! Are you kidding me?! He walked right up to me and placed his hand on my knee as he told me, “Your time has come to shine. All your dreams are on their way.” I swear I could feel his holographic hand burning through my jeans.
Oh, and Bieber Bear listens to Simon & Garfunkel? How fucking sexy is that? Wait, cool! I meant how “COOL” is that…
Well, regardless, I’m now a bona fide Bieber buff. I went out and bought his albums, and then downloaded his acoustic one because it was sold out at Best Buy and Wal-Mart. I promise I’ll pay for it, but I just couldn’t wait for it to come back in stock.
I guess this wasn’t a great review. Really, it's just Bieby McBiebers singing for three-fourths of the film, so it feels more like a concert than a biography. I guess that’s because they want you to buy his actual autobiography. Which I read. Twice. My favorite line is, “Singers aren’t supposed to have dairy before a show, but we all know I’m a rule breaker. Pizza is just so good!”
Oh, I never mentioned the hair. Isn’t it just goddamned perfect?
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