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So I went to see Bruno in theaters. While I loved Da Ali G show and Borat, I wasn’t as thrilled over his latest project. You see with the Ali G show or Borat, he pretended to be just an idiot, and as a result, people either got mad at him or showed their own ignorance. One of the funniest truisms that Mr. Cohen discovered on his last projects is that the dumber you act, the more people tell you what they are really thinking. This is something I have noticed in my day-to-day life as well, and often when you get people to talk to you as though you were beneath them, almost child-like, the better you can gauge just how fucked in the head they really are. I mean, as Borat on the show he managed to convince a country western bar’s occupants to join him in a traditional Kazakhstani song ‘throw the jew down the well.’ Which, they not only sang along to, but danced and clapped to as well. Easily one of the funniest god damn things I have seen in a long time, and not because he was trying to be purposefully offensive, he was playing a character. It’s how people react to his characters that make it sometimes depressingly funny, or at the very least, incredibly awkward. I mean, I sometimes had to look away during his interviews because of how uncomfortable he made people.
So allow me to explain, specifically, what was wrong with this movie. I can sum it up in one sentence.
Too much wang.
You heard me. Cock. Dick. Penis. It was the most wang-filled movie I’ve seen since Summer Bukkake Blast 8: It’s Raining Mangurt. Good lord there was a lot of wang in this fucking movie. Even more than The Watchmen with it’s constant threats of seeing yet another glowing blue Dr. Manhattan member (or members). Now I’m not one to be grotesquely horrified whenever I see a penis in a movie, or in general. Lord knows if that were the case I’d have already set my computer on fire after seeing some of the underlying horrors lurking within these internets. The thing was that I was expecting something entirely different from what I got. At the beginning of the film Bruno is openly mocking the fashion world, interviewing models who claim how ‘hard’ their job is because they have to ‘walk’ and ‘there’s a lot of pressure to turn.’ Or when he shows up in a suit made entirely of Velcro and it starts getting tangled in peoples clothes and the set props, falls out on the runway, and proceeds to walk the runway as though he was supposed to be there. That type of shit really makes me laugh, it’s so sarcastic and condescending towards the people whom he’s targeting and they just don’t get it. He acts like an idiot and they just think he’s for real and in turn show off their own ignorance. Too funny. Those moments are rare though in this film, and all the truly subversive humor is over with within the first fifteen minutes.
I hoped it would get better, but alas, Bruno was missing out on the wit end and I was forced to deal with seeing Cohen’s cock… or someones cock, spin like a helicopter before turning to point at the screen and mouth ‘BRUNO’ with the pee hole. Apparently he managed to get people to show up for a focus group for his new show, then proceeded to terrorize them with footage of his ‘show’ that involves him dancing badly, and extremely gayly, followed by an ‘interveiw’ with Harrison Ford that was just Cohen asking Ford if he could ask him some questions and Ford yelling ‘fuck off’ to him as he got into his limo and sped away. Kudos on being terse Harrison.
Click to continue reading “The Attack of Cockasaurus Rex aka Bruno.”
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Not to be confused with the video game of the same title, Silent Hill, released in theatres in 2006, is what I like to think of as a horror movie done right. It typically doesn’t descend into anything cheesy and the film is plot-oriented as opposed to character-oriented, whereby the script spends so much time focusing on each individual facet of the characters that there is little room left for telling the story. If you want deep horror movie characters, I don’t know what to tell you, you’re obviously looking in the wrong genre. In Silent Hill, they serve their purpose, and you either like them or hate them, but you don’t need to know what their favorite color is (hint: it’s probably not red).
If you’re looking for depth or intense characterization, too bad. Speaking of bad, that’s all I could come up with for cons. The pros of the movie far outweigh this one essentially meaningless concept in a movie about demons that kill the shit out of shit. Look, here’s one now.
Click to continue reading “Silent Hill (movie review)”
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While searching on Google for something to do, I came across one of the better streaming movie sites and decided to browse. Scanning the newly added titles somewhat disinterestedly, I saw several very recent releases including Slumdog Millionaire, but what caught my eye was a title I haven’t seen in years: Darkman. No stranger to fans of gritty comic book style films, Darkman still holds up surprisingly well for a movie made almost 20 years ago. It’s fast-paced, fun, and suitably violent.
Liam Neeson plays Peyton Westlake, a scientist working on a new type of synthetic skin, who, after falling victim to the assault of a bunch of goons in his lab, is grossly disfigured and left for dead. Through an experimental new surgery, he is saved from lifelong pain and, in addition, receives bursts of enhanced human strength, but also wild emotional outbursts; anger and despair for the most part. Despite his fucked up condition, Peyton gathers up his abused lab equipment and continues his work, using the synthetic skin to cover his monstrous appearance and take revenge on the people that took everything from him, one thug at a time.
Click to continue reading “Darkman”
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So, in spite of Metacritic’s hate, and indeed most critic’s apparent displeasure (ie. hate) of the new Watchmen movie I decided to see it. Mostly because I think critics are idiots who gleefully lap up whatever they are paid to like and prop up boring and pretentious movies (No Country for Old Men springs to mind) as well as write reviews that literally mean nothing. It’s like all critics go to a special school where they are taught ways to fluff reviews with sentences that are so generic they could be applied to anything. Take some of these reviews for ‘Watchmen’ for example…
“The movie is ultimately undone by its own reverence; there’s simply no room for these characters and stories to breathe of their own accord, and even the most fastidiously replicated scenes can feel glib and truncated.”
Translation from Critic to English: The movie isn’t good because it followed the script of the source, and therefore felt contrived.
That brilliant quote was brought to you by Justin Chang of Variety, and managed to both condemn the film and at the same time say absolutely nothing that anyone but he will understand. ‘Undone by its own reverence’? ‘There’s no room for the characters to breathe of their own accord’? What does that even mean? Does this dumb asshole even know what he’s saying? That paragraph could be applied to any movie that’s adapted from a book, or say, graphic novel. Basically, instead of saying his point in a way that made sense to anyone, he instead chose to try and make it sound poignant and deep, which of course ends up backfiring. Still more critical brilliance lingers on the horizon…
Click to continue reading “Who Watches the Watchmen Who Watch The Watchmen’s Watchers?”
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Like Harry Potter before it, yet somehow even more nauseating and obnoxious, the vampire romance novels and films referred to collectively as “Twilight” have taken obsessive, retarded fandom to a whole new, psychotic level. Let’s break it down.
The Twilight series is the (in)famous creation of a woman named Stephenie Meyer, who makes even J K Rowling’s pap seem more tolerable by comparison. Meyers’ Mormon beliefs evidently run thick through every soporific page filled with vampires falling in love, dealing with teenage conflict, and playing vampire baseball. That’s right, unlike Mormons, these vampires can go out in public during the day. That’s about all they seem capable of doing. But who cares about the story? It seems the majority of all fans seem to be image conscious teenage girls, so to wonder if there is any compelling content is pretty pointless. They’re vampire romance novels.
Click to continue reading “Real men don’t sparkle.”
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My city, I can not deny her. My city screams. She is my mother. She is my lover, and I am her Spirit. She is my lover, my city provides for me. It keeps me safe. It makes tender love to my naughty bits my city does. It is like a passionate lover of my mother who is also my sister on my cousin’s side. Well maybe not. But my city does care. Whenever it hurts my feelings by not calling me back after a long night on the bottle making gross sticky love to a manhole cover it always sends me a card saying sorry.
Did I mention my city is my lover? Oh no? Well let me tell you for 20 minutes while staring into the camera. My city is my lover. It is also my mother. My mother’s lover too. My city is a slut. A dirty little cheeky bitch. God my city makes my penis so hard. It gives me everything I need. It gives me shelter. It gives me food and provides protection, or longs nights without it if you catch my drift. Sometimes when I go to a glory hole my city provides to me a frightened Philippino boy to satisfy my carnal urges. My city sure is good to me.
As a reward I have given my lover, the city, which I love, because it’s my city, and I love that it loves that I love it lovingly, a gift of a shitty movie with mediocre acting and awful cardboard cut-out characters that spend more time talking to the camera than each other. She will understand my tenderness and give me protection as I hide from the feds for murdering those hookers. I sure love the city and my city’s lover. Her mother too.
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