Wednesday, September 21, 2016

You tell me what God would allow this?

There was a very short time in my life (basically a weekend...or two) where my friends and I would wait until it got dark and watch people in their homes. The rumor was that this one woman in this one house walked around naked, and as seventh graders, the idea of exposed breasts was seemingly worth committing a misdemeanor.

As it was laid out by my older, moderately sketchy friend, it seemed like the perfect plan. We would wait until it got dark, take our ready positions, and boom: boobs. It would take all of like, five minutes. Sure, as the super nerd of the group, I was totally scared about getting caught, but everyone else in our crew basically told me to shut the f--k up. We'd get what we desperately needed, and she'd never even see us. 

What could possibly go wrong?

Don't Breathe is f--king crazy. Like, an absolutely hold-your-junk, try not to piss your jorts, f--k all of this shit level of crazy...and I loved every second of it. And possibly even more f--king insane? My wife liked it, too. A lot.

And she (supposedly) hates scary movies. A lot. 

Three young kids of varying levels of sketchiness seem to have being f--k ups down to a science. Alex, basically the brains of the operation, sets up low-risk/high-reward burglaries for he and his two partners, Rocky and Money. It's a pretty sweet setup, as Alex is able to get his crew in and out using insider information from his father's security company. Dick move, sure, but he's a kid. Those skinny jeans aren't going to by themselves.

Rocky, the poster girl to the left, is your typical moderately hot home invader. She's probably smart enough to do something better with her life, but is basically looking for the fastest way to get the f--k out of Dodge, er, Detroit, as her homelife is a real shit show. Oh, and surprising no one, Alex totally has a boner for her, and he reluctantly keeps up the burgle business to get her more money. Lower case money, that is, as the dude named Money is a real f--ker, and consistently ruins...well, just about everything. And I'm pretty sure he's banging Rocky (I guess he has a thing for young Jodie Foster, huh?), but it's been three weeks so I might be a little fuzzy on that one.

Sunday, September 18, 2016

If you must blink, do it now.

I love a good story. Always have. But if there's one thing that I love more than a good story, it's a good storyteller. If only they weren't so elusive...

When I listen to my students tell stories (something certain kids love to do), they all too often inject their tale with lies and half-truths because they lack confidence and live in fear that their audience will turn against them. My son, who's seven, tends to lose track of where he's headed, and I generally (and impatiently) take over, leaving him to fill in the blanks. But my daughter? All three years of her? That little girl can spin the most elaborate tales I've ever heard.

Too bad they're all make believe. Like, over-the-top dogs broke into my room and bit all my dresses level of imagination. Hopefully, I'll still be alive...

...when she finally starts telling the truth.

Kubo and the Two Strings isn't like any other animated movie you'll see this year. While the breathtaking visuals and stellar voice-cast are beyond reproach, other top-tier animated films can boast similar accomplishments. Kubo distances itself by not only having a living, beating heart and soul, but a willingness to explore what it is to be alive...when everyone you care about is dead.

Despite living with overwhelming adversity in his daily life, Kubo is a good kid. A really good kid. When he finally reaches town each day (after a brutal hike from the cave he lives in with his sick mother), he earns what little money he can by wowing the villagers with brilliant tales of mystical heroes. While any good storyteller can make their characters feel alive, Kubo's actually are. Sort of, anyway, as he possesses the ability to make beautiful origami creations actually act out his captivating narrative. It's a great show, and even the most downtrodden members of his village get the chance to escape their troubles for a moment and be enthralled with the adventures of Hanzo the legendary samurai. Good storytelling, it seems, is pure magic.

But so are the evil forces that are coming after Kubo when he fails to come home before dark.

Monday, September 12, 2016

Horrible feedback from everybody.

Yes, I love her. A lot. But work with her? Professionally? No f--king way.

Oh, it's happened once, no twice before, but we were young. When you're a kid, everything your girlfriend says and does makes them even more amazing, you know? But when it's your wife? That same shit can be...well, maddening.

We waited tables together in Hawai'i (awww) in our early twenties, and later on worked at the same insurance company in Connecticut (uhh...awww? ewww?). Now the only job we share is raising two little kids, and let's just say the pay totally sucks. 

Why my aversion to working with the person I live with (and the person I occasionally sleep...next to)?

All that time together would likely lead to mixed results. I mean, even in a best case scenario, you can't exactly bring it, when you've already got it.


It's okay, I'll watch them for you.
It's probably been three weeks since my wife and I rented and watched 2016's redemption comedy The Boss, and the reigniting of my professional fire has left my willingness to blog charred to a crisp. But with The Boss, I'm back...and better than ever*.

[*same shit, probably worse]

After the steaming shit show that Tammy [review] turned out to be, I was actually surprised that Melissa McCarthy would so quickly star in another film helmed by her husband Ben Falcone. The good news, is that they've apparently learned a thing or two from their past transgressions on movie-going audiences. The bad news? They've still got a long way to go. 

And the badder news? They're trying again. But more on that in 2018.

After ruling the financial world for years, Michelle Darnell (McCarthy) abruptly finds herself locked up for insider trading and loses her entire empire. Upon being released from prison, Darnell turns to the only person in the world who can stand her, her long-suffering, oft shat-upon, ex-assistant Claire Rawlings (Kristin Bell). Claire, a devoted single mom, isn't exactly thrilled to see her old boss, but at the urging of her pre-teen daughter, takes her anyway. If only you knew how this would end...maybe you wouldn't have to actually watch it.

About that...

Saturday, September 3, 2016

That would be absurd. Think about it.

I think the obvious answer is a monkey, as it's basically a lateral move. And you can pretty much play with yourself at all times and it's totally acceptable. Even high school boys have to occasionally stop touching it.

But if coerced by a stern British woman into something a little more...exotic? I'm all in on dolphin. Mainly because of that rad thing they do where they wiggle across a pool with 90% of their body out of the water, but also because of the fantastic noises they make. Oh, and these dudes love the ladies. Sometimes...more that one.

At a time.


Sure, imagining myself as a dolphin simultaneously f--king two other super-sexy lady dolphins seems kind of weird and random, right? Of course it does. But that imagined scenario can't hold a candle to the consistently bewildering reality of director Yorgos Lanthimos' latest feature, The Lobster.

Sometime in the near future, perhaps in a parallel universe, society has broken down into two distinct groups: those who are in a committed relationship and those who are not.  Couples live in a very typical city, while single people reside in the woods like wild animals...uh, mainly because they are wild animals. Literally.

David's wife has left him for another man. And when we meet this odd fellow, he's checking in to a mysterious hotel completely forlorn and defeated. While maybe clean sheets and a hot maid who is totally willing to twerk all over your boner sounds like a nice combo for any (newly) single (or happily married, ahem) guy, this place is different. Way different. This facility, er, hotel, comes with a catch: you have forty five days to find mate for life (with one of the other prisoners guests naturally)...or you'll be turned into the animal of your choice.

Wait, what?

Monday, August 29, 2016

Sunshine Blogger Award (2016 edition)

Awww...flowers? You shouldn't have. No really.
What the f--k, man? I hate flowers.
Sati, my dearest friend and head-honcho at the insanely rad blog, cinematic corner, recently dropped ye' old 'blogger award' on ten quality blogs...and Two Dollar Cinema. 

The catch, and there's always a catch, is that you can't just shake hands, thank the other nominees and head backstage to do some blow of the back of an overpriced hooker. Uh, no. There are rules for accepting it. Like, you gotta know the password or something. And it isn't fidelio. I already tried it.

Actually, it's a lot less complicated than that.

As given, every award has a set of tiny rules for accepting it, here are the ones for Sunshine: 

1. Post the award on your blog
2. Thank the person who nominated you
3. Answer the 11 questions they set you
4. Pick another 11 bloggers (and let them know they are nominated!)
5. Set them 11 questions
6. Don't feed them after midnight

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Against the Crowd '16: BLOGATHON

My main man Dell (and his co-host KG) is once again hosting his annual Against the Crowd blogathon, and even though I'm very much up against the deadline, it's impossible for me not to participate (at least without be an asshole in the process).

Everything you need to know is in the title (and banner), but just in case, they explain the rules here.

But as I just said, I ain't got time for that noise, so here's the abbreviated, moronic version of the whole thing:
  1. Pick a movie that the world f--king despises and let every single person on the planet know how absolutely stupid they are for feeling that way.
  2. Pick a movie that the world has a giant boner for and dragon-punch it squarely in the twig and berries.
  3. Lose all credibility in the blogging community, seek refuge under a bridge.
Let's start with utter cinematic perfection, masquerading as a stupid action movie starring Jenny from the Block. 

Monday, August 22, 2016

There's a dead woman in this house. And you let her in.

In addition to the required elements of nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium, I'm utterly convinced that my family tree was also fertilized with a generous scoop of utter f--king insanity. Swinging from the branches with dead-eyed smiles on their faces, there are a host of unstable folks littered throughout my esteemed lineage. Fine, they're not total f--king psychopaths or anything, but we've definitely got some real...weirdos.

And while that should be rather unnerving, the older I get, the more I realize that just about everybody is going to end up crazy in some way. And since I'm a guy, mine is likely going to be some silently inward thing that is generally acceptable, or at the very least, tolerable.

But the ladies? My goodness. Their crazy is often this all-consuming force that drives the regulars to the brink of madness. Yes, bad things have happened many years ago, but do we have to dwell on them all of the current days? I mean, we're all haunted by demons from our past, sure, but at some point, you've got to move on and let them go.

Especially the literal ones.


With my last (summer) Bargain Tuesday staring me in the junk, the only movie I was able to finagle my way into (and still manage an on-time pick up of Matty) was director David F. Sandberg's horror flick, Lights Out. I'd like to say that nothing can be too terrifying on a weekday morning, but that was before I overheard that the next screening of Nine Lives was totally sold out. *shudder* Apparently, where I live, people love cheap pussy.

Lights Out opens exactly where you'd expect it to, a poorly-lit, mostly-deserted, textiles factory. Yep, that old place. And as yet another day of making...uh, textiles, ends, it's clear that shit ain't right. At all. Lurking in the shadows is some evil demon-thing, apparently pissed as a motherf--ker. Maybe her scarf came in like, regular black, not Satan's Heart. Whatever the case is, this lady, made entirely of the absence of light totally kills some f--king dude with her shadow hands...and we're off. Sort of.

Turns out this demon chick, (the extra dirty) Diana, is the best friend of definitely single/definitely crazy mom, Sophie (the always reliable Maria Bello). Sophie might have an old cheerleader uniform in the attic that she'll put on and show you her bushy old pom-pom, but as the mother of young kid named Martin, she ain't exactly getting it done. Unless, of course, when Diana isn't terrorizing the f--k out of ol' Marty, she's heating up Bagel Bites and checking his math homework. If only there was another, (possibly sexy) family member that he could also be haunted with go stay with. If only.

Friday, August 19, 2016

The great beyond is bullshit!

If the only thing that awaits us at the end of our lives is certain death, it's fairly reasonable to say that we should all just be cool to each other and enjoy the ride, right? But if ultimately, we're totally f--ked anyway, there's also the notion that how we treat one another doesn't really matter. At all. 

In other words, being a nice guy isn't any better than being a giant douche in the grand scheme of things.

Well, f--k me, then. (I wonder if there are any comfy railroad tracks around here?)

Unless, of course, there's something more out there. Something that could pick us up and restore our faith in the world and the (potentially awful) people that inhabit it. But not just some thing. If only there was...some place. Some place we could go every week together for a few hours and hear amazing stories crafted by divine individuals that would speak to what's good and true in our own lives. Some place like...

...the movie theater.


It's almost a week later and I still can't wrap my mind around the animated what the the f--k-ness? of Sausage Party. Caught on a busy Saturday night with my wife in a sold out theater, Seth Rogen and his crew have delivered another raunchy, laugh out loud, stoner comedy...in the form of a religious allegory of all things.

Wait, what? The f--king movie with the talking hot dogs is a morality tale? Uh...yes? Yes it is.

Hold on a second. See, before you put on your Sunday best (for me, that's my nice t-shirt), or inexplicably bring your f--king children to this, let me be clear: it's primarily about guys wanting to get high and get laid, okay? But when these tasty treats realize that waiting for them in the great beyond is actually a brutal f--king death at the hand of one of their gods (uh...us), everything totally changes. For some of them.

I will readily admit the whole concept is rather clever, and I certainly laughed my ass off at times, but between you and me, I was kind of expecting more. Yes, I realize that expecting um...much/more?...out of a movie with that poster and that concept is probably as logical as eating half the shit I willingly consume (what adult eats Chicken McNuggets?). But when early word got out about this one, I was half-expecting something utterly f--king transcendent, you know?

Something I'd bring my kids to.