Tuesday, March 19, 2019

That's what scientists do.

If there's any person on the planet that knows the feeling of living the same f--king day over and over again, it's a parent. I know you young a-holes out there have your own daily grind, but trust me, until you have kids (that have to be places at seemingly every hour of every day), you have no idea how impossibly repetitive an existence can seem.

So maybe, one weekend, you mix it up, you know? You drop the kids off at your mom's house, and you go see a horror movie on a Sunday afternoon. Maybe you could use a good scare, right?  Just to mix things up.

Uh, about that...

Being that I didn't want to see Happy Death Day 2U alone, and also that I'm not (yet) That Guy that takes way too young kids to horror movies (what's with these dudes?) I needed a wingman. So after badgering her endlessly, my wife not only caught up with the first one [review], but then Mrs. Two Dollar Cinema even provided me with fairly solid recap of the first one. Sweet.

If you don't know, in the first flick, sexy-ass Tree (as in Teresa?) was stuck in a time-loop, where she was dying in hilarious fashion over and over... and over again. Good thing she solved the mystery, and moved on with her, uh, life.

Well, it was, until she wakes up, yet again, in this sequel, somehow back in the infinite f--king death loop again. But she ain't even close to being disappointed about this, no. She's f--king furious.

This time, and stay with me here, instead of reliving the same day again and again, Tree (and her tight-knit squad) is reliving a different version of the same day again and again. If only I could embed the Tom-from-Blink WTF gif right here...

Turns out, Tree's (eventual) boyfriend's...roommate...is a bit of a science nerd and has been developing a, you guessed it, quantum reactor, nearby on campus. And instead of being sucked back into the same day, Tree's been sucked back into the same day...in a parallel universe. 

Go ahead. Hurry up. Pick up those eyes that just rolled right the f--k out of your head. Aw, jeez. At least wipe them off on your shirt first...

Monday, March 11, 2019

I'm more of a Keaton guy myself.

Turns out, everything was awesome.

I don't even know exactly how long it's been since I took the kids to see The LEGO Movie 2: The Second Part, but that damn catchy-ass song from Rent seems about right. Uh, I think. Anyway, while not necessarily five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes, it's been a long time regardless. And honestly, being that I really didn't give a damn about the movie the second I left the theater, it's been exceedingly hard to give a damn about writing the review. But here goes.

And at the end of the first LEGO Movie [review], the father and son had reconciled their brick-based differences, and were now seeing eye-to-eye on how to play with LEGOs (dad was a normal person, who wanted them built once, the right way, then glued forever, while the son, clearly under the direction of Satan, thought it was more fun to just build whatever you want). The catch, and there's always a catch, is that the sister was now allowed to play, and she was bringing her whack-ass Duplos to the table. Got it? Good/who cares.

When the sequel gets going, things in LEGO-land have gone to Hell, and it appears the sister is taking pieces and doing whatever the Hell she wants with them. Some of the gang is kidnapped, and taken to this weird place that kind of resembles a little girl's room. Shocking no one, the haplessly nice Emmet it left to save the day. Wait, the timid guy needs to step up and save the day? What a novel idea? Heck, it's so good, THEY PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE USED IT IN THE FIRST ONE.

Tuesday, March 5, 2019

The Mt. Rushmore of Movies '19 LINKS

In a shocking turn of events, the Mt. Rushmore of Movies blogathon had a better showing this year, than it did in 2018. Better being open for debate, as the number of participating websites went up, but the quality of what we've all produced ...

...WENT EVEN HIGHER.

Fine, not all of us typed our entries with one hand, but a certain degree of perversion seemed to permeate throughout the majority of the entries. But, hey. That's what handsome men do to girls like us.

Wait, what?

Even though I kind of feel like those poor bastards sweeping up Time's Square at 12:15 in the morning on January 1st, no matter how much (sexy?) fun we've all had, this party is just about over.
But before we fill the dumpsters with confetti and Trojan wrappers one last time, let's sharpen our chisels and erect some scaffolding in honor of cinema's finest ______________.

Click on the banners below to visit the sites!

created by: Steve
Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Cinematic Bosoms
Materials: Underwire and Overexposure
When visiting: If your visit longer than four hours, please contact your doctor or physician immediately.

created by: Sonia
Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Marvel Abs
Materials: The presence of weights and the absence of shirts
When visiting: Watch your step, as the trail can be rather slippery. We're not sure if that's ladies' drool, or the tears of men, but either way, you should probably sign a waiver just in case.

created by: Getter
Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Man-Butts
Materials: Take what mamma gave ya, then you shake it
When visiting: Please refrain from putting your fingers in any of the cracks.

created by: Brittani
Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Thorgasms
Materials: Really impressive... hammers.
When visiting: Drink plenty of liquids, as your leg muscles might get a little...shaky. And keep the Zeppelin down to a reasonable volume, thanks.

created by: Margaret
Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Zac Efron Movies
Materials: Blue eyes, Red shorts, a love of the gym, a hatred of the library
When visiting: Even if there isn't a cloud in the sky, trust us, bring an extra set of dry clothes.

created by: Katy
Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Hot Beards
Materials: Long nights and Impending fights
When visiting: Best to leave your razor at home. And your wife, too.

created by: Dell
Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of (Cult) Movies About Running Out of Time
Materials: Ticking clocks and beating hearts
When visiting: Nothing matters, just f--king hurry up, dammit.

created by: Birgit
Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Legendary Women
Materials: Brains, Longevity and Control
When visiting: Mind your P's and Q's, buster. These ladies ain't playing around, see.

Monday, March 4, 2019

Do you like sex, Mr. Lebowski?

Don't let the Disney inspired logo fool you...
There's only one way to end this.

Five years ago, I wanted to honor my blogging friends, and I did, with the Mt. Rushmore of Clutch Neighbors.

Apparently, that little spark of (non-perverted) creativity was rather taxing, so I took two years off to gather myself and come back with something legitimately important to say.

Of course, it was a monument to boobs, because, as they say, write what you know/obsessively think about when you should be PAYING ATTENTION TO THE ROAD. From there, in 2018, I decided to enshrine the biggest dicks in the history of cinema. But not the kind you're probably thinking about. 

What started with Fisti's monument to wanking it, has blossomed into a blogathon, more or less, mostly about sex. And while I'm more than all for it, for me, in what will likely be the last time I ever create a Mt. Rushmore of anything, I think it's about time I just straight-up bottom out. And while I wish that was code for the Mt. Rushmore of Great Asses, though heavily (/desperately) considered, it isn't. Instead, I'm going to fight all the sexy, with something decidedly unsexy.

May I present to you, dear reader(s?), with the Mt. Rushmore of Horrible Sex Scenes.

(and if you haven't figured it out by now, well, this one ain't exactly for the wee ones)

Thursday, February 21, 2019

Hooker who can't afford hooks.

Did you ever play the video game Sega Bass Fishing? Or more importantly, the sequel Sega Marine Fishing? It's so good, you guys. So. Good. You throw the thing in the water, the fish bites it, you jerk the controller around, pound some buttons, and boom! You catch a fish. A…um, virtual fish.

And while maybe this isn’t something I should admit publicly (f--k it, I’ve admitted to much worse), I played the absolute shit out of these games. But as much time as I’ve spent with these, uh, fishing simulators…

…I never made it to the level where I got to f—k Diane Lane. For money.

As much as I would have preferred to just aggressively mash my genitals against this keyboard for a half an hour, instead, I’ve decided to attempt something much more painful – to produce a coherent review of Serenity, the French Bulldog of modern cinema.

Somehow existing when it absolutely should have died off years prior, I’m still utterly baffled top-to-bottom regarding this (not at all steamy) piece of science/pulp fiction. I was so shaken afterward, upon arriving home I curled up and went to sleep like the older brother in Hereditary [review]. I mean, Matthew McConaughhey’s career was just trying to get some fresh air, you know?

*major spoiler(s) to follow…sort of*

Ten seconds into Serenity, you can feel it in your soul that this will be an absolute shit-show. The film opens with a tight-shot of a teenager’s face, and the camera swooshes deep into his eye, seemingly entering his adolescent brain. While that alone is the reddest of red flags, I’m assuming the filmmakers felt like they owed us this from the outset, as each of the next one hundred and three minutes is even more f—king bananas than the one that preceded it. And the only possible thing that could possibly explain any of it? Is that some d-hole kid is imagining whatever is on screen, while, one can only assume, masturbating vigorously.

But more on that in a bit. The imagination part... not the, uh... anyway.

Monday, February 18, 2019

Blogathon '19: Mt. Rushmore of Movies

A lot of people take shots at Valentine's Day, you know? It's not a real holiday. It's something made up to sell candy and overpriced cardboard. I can't believe you fell asleep. Again. Fine, but if we skip over Valentine's Day, you know what's next on the calendar don't you? Uh huh.

It's President's Day.

And if you think celebrating love is a waste of time and money, shit, what about honoring forty-five(ish) predominantly white guys that a large percentage of people would have never f--kin' voted for in the first place? That doesn't sound like too much fun, either.

Two Dollar Cinema, I'm asking you to help me celebrate President's Day (with a dash of Valentine's Day love) by joining me in the Mount Rushmore of Movies blogathon.

It seems only fitting that the guy who played Two-Face...
...also played the President of the United States.
So you know what I'm going to do? I'm taking it back. I'm taking 'em all back. For the fourth(ish) time in the esteemed history of this blog, I need help. Your help.

The rules are simple:

To participate, simply choose the top four of anything cinematic and explain why they should be carved into the side of a mountain forever. Remember, these are real people carved into imaginary rock - so choose wisely!

Whatever ridiculous(ly fantastic) monument you dream up will be straight magic, so by all means, let your freak flag fly.

Whether you want to do a Mount Rushmore of Oscar snubs, the top four Zac Efron shirtless scenes, or a tribute to the quintessential films of the 90s, embrace the madness and run with it. Four selections may seem like a ton, but once you get started it can get a bit dicey narrowing it down. Last year, things got a touch ... hairy [seriously], so fingers (and legs) crossed that 2019 will keep it flowing, er, going.

Alas, both the nitty, and the gritty:
  1. I'd like to have all posts done by Friday, March 1st (where I'll create a master list, linking back to all of your lovely sites), but it's cool if you're an overachiever and finish early. Or not at all.
  2. When you've finished, send me a heads up/dick pic on twitter @twodollarcinema , reply in the comments below, e-mail me (twodollarcinema@gmail.com), make circles out of black smoke that Amy Adams will decode, Hell, cut a note out of old newspaper headlines, I really don't mind. Just let me know that you're in and that I love you so much. 
  3. In your post, please use the rad banner my wife designed in eleven minutes.
  4. Share the announcement, if possible. I don't really know anyone, uh, except you. 
  5. I just want to tell you both good luck, we're all counting you.
I think she was mad at me this time.
I'll be on a week-long field trip with middle schoolers starting in the morning, so I may be a bit out of the loop. Well, even more than usual. And while I probably be wishing I was dead, know that your participation is what will keep me alive in the darkest of dark days ahead.

So, yeah. No pressure. 

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

Learning is always a painful process.

*turns on the news*
*talks to another human*

*reads own blog*


Yeah, maybe 10% is being generous.


Late July of 2014? I opted for 22 Jump Street instead.
Not only did I take the time to watch Lucy, but I also took the time to purchase Lucy, the latter decision still haunting me days later. Because outside of personally suffering a traumatic brain injury that impairs judgement and reason (even more so, assuming that's possible), I couldn't imagine a scenario where I'd find the need and/or desire to watch this f--ker again. But didn't you assume that before you bought the movie, a-hole? There you go, showing off that moderately functioning brain of yours.

In case a super drug culled from expecting mommies has burst open inside of your body and you've been travelling the world as sexy energy ever since, let me break down Luc Besson's 2014 flick for you the best I can.

Even if you already know everything about it.

As played by the infinitely sexy (/ gloriously jiggly) Scarlett Johansson, Lucy, even before her, um, transition, initially appears to be a bit of an odd bird. We find her hanging out in Taiwan with some guy who looks like he's saving up for a moped, and luckily for everyone involved, he's immediately killed. As often is the case when your sketchy boyfriend is brutally murdered, Lucy is whisked away and immediately offered a job. Despite zero bargaining power, she politely declines, a brilliant move on her part, and wakes up with a bag of umbilical cord pills sewn into her stomach. Yeah, that ol' outcome. But even worse, her current captor wants to get it on with her sexy post-hasty surgical self, and when rebuffed he punches her in the gut. Not cool, bro on multiple fronts, which sends the drugs spewing into her body, transforming her into, you guessed it, Neo from The Matrix.  

Whoa?

Friday, February 8, 2019

This will be my final evaluation.

Seeing a great movie, with a bunch of people? That's an A night.
Seeing a decent movie...alone in a mostly empty theater? When you're my age, that's a B night.

And seeing a movie where you demand some sort of earth-shattering twist ending? Yep, you guessed it.

That's an M Night.

After setting the theater ablaze with the twist ending of 2016's kickass Split [review], writer/director M. Night Shyamalan's tying up loose ends with Glass, (what may or may not be) the final entry in his brilliantly subversive superhero trilogy. Starting (cue LaBamba) in the year two-thoooooooouuuuusand with Unbreakable, this trilogy, is equal parts incredible and inexplicable.  And while I may have been just a tad disappointed with the end of this story, I'm more than psyched at could be next. 

But more on that in a bit. 

After the reveal of The Horde near the end of Split, Glass opens with an even more grizzled David Dunn patrolling the streets of Philadelphia. He's looking for whatever the Hell The Horde is, and would like to find him/it before four missing high school cheerleaders are served up to the beast as breakfast, lunch and dinner (and fourthmeal, I suppose).

Unfortunately, after tracking down his arch enemy and freeing the girls, the ensuing brouhaha spills out into the streets, and both David and Kevin/The Horde are captured and taken to a psychiatric facility. Along with an totally incapacitated Mr. Glass who's already a resident, all three will serve as involuntary subjects in a hush-hush medical study. The goal? To fix people who share the same seemingly psychotic belief that they are anything than more than regular a-holes from Philly. Meaning? Dr. Ellie Staple, the program's director, wants to de-super these superheroes.