I don't suppose you could dash down and get my trousers?

That's a fugazi? How do you know it's a fugazi? You looked at it for two seconds.

Outside of a couple of autographs and a lone (seemingly minuscule but) shiny diamond, I've never really worried about any thing's authenticity. Love, words, imported DVD's? That's a different story. But as far as I'm concerned, if I think it's real, it's real. But sometimes, I get it.You just have to know, right? So, you go to a guy like Donnie, and you show him what you got. And hopefully he says it's real, and you're not a stupid asshole. But what if he is?

New to Redbox, but originally released in 2012, Gambit is a remake of an old Michael Caine flick from the 60's. This version, with a screenplay by Joel and Ethan Coen, retains and revives that goofy charm of long-dormant, old-school heist flicks.

Fifty years ago, movies featuring cat-burglars stealing some rich jerk's valuables to quirky jazz beats were seemingly a dime a dozen. Now? Not so much. And while there might be a good reason for that, after a moment of initial hesitation, I was all in for a revisit. My wife? She bailed halfway through in favor of designing a mousepad on Shutterfly. Speaking of shit that you never see anymore...

While the poster and the premise may make your head and genitals throb in disgust, the cast and the story will massage each with great vigor. Harry, a mild-mannered art curator (the always charming Colin Firth), concocts a clever scheme to rob his douchey boss Lionel (motherf--king Hans Gruber!) of twelve million pounds. The ruse? To sell Lionel a forgery of an oil-painting he has coveted for quite some time. But being that Harry can't just show up with the fake, he recruits small-time rodeo star PJ Puznowski (a miscast [though still very hot] Cameron Diaz), to claim that the masterwork has been in her family for years. Lionel will certainly buy whatever she's selling, but only once it's been authenticated.

Clearly, I'm not the most credible source, but I found this one to be a good time. In fact, there was one bit that made me laugh for at least five minutes after it occurred, which despite my juvenile tendencies, isn't something easily done.

I have always loved, no, f--king loved Alan Rickman, and it's nice to see him play a real shitbag in Lionel. And while it took me a little while to come around, Colin Firth is another one of my favorites, as he knocks the dejected everyman routine out of the f--king park once again. If they had somehow thrown in Bill Nighy, I think the portion of me that loves older British men (apparently, that would be the gay portion of me) would have exploded all over my living room, but even his absence can't sully this one. It's light, it's silly, but it's charming, too. And if you can overlook one giant misstep (coughDiazcoughcough), I'm pretty sure you'll have a good time.

Speaking of inexplicably bad decisions, here are the Yays and Boos for Gambit. Apparently they thought this movie was about Magic Mike throwing explosive playing cards. Whatever the f--k that means.

He's also wondering why the Coen's didn't direct this...

Yaaaaaaaaay!

• Snape's ass. Generally I don't find naked men funny, at all, but Rickman sitting at his desk with his dick out? Hilarious!
• Monet's Haystacks. Loved the way they handled the history of these two pieces. Very well done.
• You have to love a movie that starts with a ten minute version of how it should have happened.
• British insults, or the best legal firm ever: Pratt, Cad and Wanker.
• Jumping rope. Truthfully (and sadly), I never could master the art of jumping a f--king rope, but at least all that childhood pain was forgotten for a minute as a hot-ass Cameron Diaz double-dutched her way right into my heart. And by heart, clearly I mean pants.
• Firth gets punched in the face with such regularity, there's talk of having the cartilage removed.
• Secondary Brilliance! Stanley Tucci, who I think appears in every film ever made, is funny as Harry's rival appraiser, Martin Zaidenweber. But even better? Tom Courtenay as The Major. I loved his fond remembrance of being flogged.
• Tertiary Awesomeness! This goes to the inspired lunacy of Chuck, the possibly-retarded (and extremely clever) Japanese translator. 
• And finally, Colin Firth: Manwhore. Somehow, quiet ol' Harry develops a reputation for being a pretty serious male prostitute and I loved every minute of it. There are two scenes he has with this old woman that still crack me up, forty-eight hours later. If you can watch Firth's face as he says Three-eighteen? and not f--king crack up, then please, find a bridge and jump the f--k off it, you joyless, sack of shit. That's Mr. Darcy, motherf--ker. Show some respect.

Turns out he now owns Nakatomi Plaza.

BOOOOoooo!

• I'm sure that animated opening was a nod to the old days, but sweet Jesus was it too long! I almost lost my wife before we'd seen an actual person.
• Oh, and the sleuthy, jazzy soundtrack? We probably could have stood for at least two or three minutes of the film not to feature this bullshit. Maybe even four.
• Cowboy Monkeys, aka monkeys strapped to dogs. And while PETA probably thinks this is an outright Boo, I'm only upset by the fact that I still haven't seen this in person. Yet.
• And finally, Diaz. Let me count the ways...
• Why do hillbilly characters always have to say dumb shit like Well, like my mama used to say... I hate this. It's not funny. And it's not even remotely realistic. I was born in Texas. This never happened. Ever. In fact, it's like my mama used to say, Cut the shit, will you?
• Worse than what she says however, is how she says it. Yeah, I hate to call the ol' Accent Police, but her Texan accent is atrocious. Mostly she sounds like someone who just bit their tongue, trying to talk to someone hard of hearing. Shit. Makes me wish I was deaf. 
• Way too heavy on the Aww, shucks shit, too.
• But the biggest offender, and likely the low point of the entire movie, is when she lassoed a lion. Yeah. Not only is she in a situation where that's an option, which is soul-crushing enough as it is, but then it actually happens, and things go from bad to f--k you in a matter of seconds.

Look, I'm never going to sell any of my signed basketball cards or my wife's engagement ring, so it's not like I'm susceptible to nefarious authentication. I mean, do you know how much I make from this blog?



Also, do you like Larry Bird? Does your husband? Oh, I see. You're not married, yet.
Does he need a ring?