Contradicting Popular Opinion:
An Enquiry Concerning Why Your Favorite Movie Sucks
Thanksgiving Special
Today is a day of giving thanks, or so implies its name. Of course, this veracity of this statement is based upon when you, the prospective audience, is to read it. It is to be published on Thanksgiving, but I’m not sure who all is out there on these here interwebs on the Turkey Day. Now, disregard this message if today is tomorrow, and tomorrow is today, and yesterday is weaving in and out.
I would imagine that the Inside Pulse macro-blog is as good a place as any to visit on Thanksgiving. I mean, I imagine those surfing the infotainment superhighway on this particular holiday are doing so within spitting distance of family. Most people are a little uncomfortable looking at pornography sites around grandma, or spitting on her for that matter. But perhaps expectorating on octogenarians is more of a Moodspins topic.
Now it is at this time when folks might be thinking that this is an odd forum for giving thanks. One of the central themes of this column is my personal inability to enjoy that which most everybody else does. The thing is, while this column is generally limited to movies, this tendency in my person is not. I don’t enjoy a lot of “popular” things. I dislike Family Guy. I never got into Lost or any of the CSIs. I change the station when U2 comes on; the same goes for Clapton, Santana, Dave Matthews, Coldplay, and so on. I am staunchly anti-Onion. Dane Cook isn’t very funny.
I fear I may be rambling. But that is okay as I am not competing with pornography today.
What I’m trying to say is that today is a day to be thankful for pornography.
Quick Reviews of some Turkeys
The Ringer
Johnny Knoxville tries to save his uncle and the fingers of his friend by competing in the Special Olympics, un-tarded.
The first twenty minutes of The Ringer is quite bad. It’s awkward, unfunny, and makes me feel embarrassed for the movie. One of the big reasons that the first act of the film doesn’t click is that our protagonist is written to be a fearful, meek and timid everyman. The big problem here is that he is played by Johnny Knoxville, who is synonymous with fearlessness.
Once the Special Olympics stuff kicks in, the movie starts with its Shallow Hal message of “make fun of fat people/retards with good humor and in moderation.” Brian Cox has a blast, and almost makes the flick worth watching. Most of this good will is used up by Gray’s Anatomy‘s Katherine Heigl in her bland, useless “romantic” subplot. Heigl’s performance can best be described as furniture-like.
Without a Paddle
Three childhood friends go on a camping trip to look for the money stolen by D.B. Cooper. They get chased by Larry Kubiac and Earl’s brother Randy as shotgun wielding redneck pot farmers. Imagine Deliverance with all the good sucked out of it, and 70 percent less Burt Reynolds.
Mathew Lillard is given money to be in movies. Something is terribly wrong with the world.
Nacho Libre
Nacho Libre proves the existence of special relativity’s time dilation. It manages to be 4 hours long within the span of 100 minutes. It’s directed by Napolean Dynamite‘s Jared Hess, and like Dynamite is more invested in being quirky than in, well, justifying its existence. Jack Black manages to deliver 12 different accents during the course of one film. His eyebrows give the best performance in the film.
Hide and Seek
Arr. As the pirate says, “Here there be Spoilers.”
Remember when Robert DeNiro routinely made good movies? This is another movie that ends with the Fight Club twist, and pull it off without too much stress on the suspension of disbelief. There are no problems with DeNiro getting into a car chase with himself or being in two places at once, etc.
The problem with Hide and Seek is that DeNiro’s is the only character which we have been given the opportunity to follow. When he is revealed as the bad guy, we are left his accomplice and two afterthoughts as our prospective protagonists. Basically, there is no reason to continue watching after the twist.
Not that there was much of a reason to prior, mind you. The direction was odd throughout. It was one of those movies that inexplicably plays “spooky” music through perfectly innocent scenes, seemingly oblivious to notions such as “contrast” or “a normal range of human emotions.”
Pimps
Wind always answers my Moodspins puzzles. He deserves pimps!
Eric quoted me, pimped me, and got in a dig. Cocksucker. It is to be expected, though. He’s Cy Tolliver; I’m just Silas Adams.
Nick quoted me, but did not pimp. For shame!
