I don’t really know any music of any genre well enough to give an honest critique. I don’t feel the same about movies. I watch movies and I care about them enough to refuse to liek them simply on the basis of “I was entertained” or “Shit done gets blowed up good.” Some might call me snobby, even boorish, but I don’t care. Inspired by the posts on 3 Bulls about Pitchfork’s Year End Crap Fest, I will now take the Netflix Critic’s Picks to task. Unfortunately, I can’t link to the page without siging in and there is no way in hell I am showing you the tremendous amount of soft core porn in my queue or my credit card information.
Snakes on a Plane: I freaking love going to see Uwe Boll movies. I love watching phoned-in-by-the-assistant-personal-assistant-to-Mr./Mrs. acting. I love poorly conceived conceit pieces. I love shitty horrible movies, I will pay money to see them in a theater. My most prized posession is a copy of Demon Wind, a movie that I alone have been able to watch all the way through. Not once, but twice. I say all this and then say to you, I have not yet seen Snakes on a Plane. I like that they bumped it up to an R rating, probably the only movie outside of the Valley that understands that boobies are pretty and nice to look at, but I still have not seen it. Thus, it must suck at even being entertaining in the bad movie way.
An Inconvenient Truth: I am scared shitless by this movie and have yet to see it. I am already convinced due to the stuff I have read about the problem.
Hollywoodland: Hollywood sure loves to make movies about itself and for the life of me, I don’t understand why anyone watches them. These movies justify the massive narcissism that most actors and actresses exude. I don’t care about their private lives unless they are lurid and fucked up and well acted, like the movie about John Holmes or Walk the Line. Chaplin was ok, but who cares? So he slept with lots of women and had an awesome life, so what? If my life were like that, I would be telling lots of people too, but I wouldn’t expect them to care. Also, the director’s last name is Coulter, so he reminds me of mAnne Coulter and thus, is hideous by association. I hope he doesn’t have a complex about that already.
The Last Kiss: This movie is the epitome of formula. Also, your mother would love it. Let’s all get mopey and weepy and reinforce the general feeling of helplessness by which the current generation of morons (ages 25-33) already feels crippled. Please see my review of Zack Braff’s next few movies.
The Night Listener: Maybe this is good, but given the other movies so far on this list, I can’t trust it.
Jackass: Number Two: Yawn. This should have been titled “Too Hot for America’s Funniest Home Videos.”
Scoop: Not even Her Royal Boobness is enough to make me see this.
Accepted: Justin Long, you try my patience. I know you have to pay the bills and all, but please stick to the beauty of Galaxy Quest or Idiocracy.
Gosford Park: This one is in my queue. I am giving it a shot.
Calendar Girls: Helen Mirren is hot and maybe someday, she’ll say the same about me.
I don’t even want to touch the Top 100. The venom within me would boil your blood from the heat emanating from my fiery rage and other cliched sayings would vomit forth upon the page as I described that epic list of mediocrity.