I don't care what anyone says, there are such things as stupid questions. Stupid answers, too.
When I was a kid, I remember learning that Nolan Ryan could throw the ball over a hundred miles an hour. That fact warped my fragile little mind. I instantly wondered what it would be like to get beaned by his fastball. I gathered my closest friends together and took an informal poll. If you had to get drilled by a hundred mile-per-hour fastball, where would you want to get hit? One of my friends said his shoulder, another one said his foot. Fair enough, I thought, but I knew the best place.
I'd take it, get this, right in the ass.
Also getting, um, drilled, is anyone unlucky enough to expect a decent time with the horrendous Trouble with the Curve. I had read a better-written review over at cinematic corner warning of its shortcomings, but still I persisted. Worse? I brought the wife along for the ride, too. At this point, I'm batting well below the Mendoza line.
After reading that intro, it's clear that choosing the right word has never been my strong suit. I always thought I could choose the right movie, though. Here, it looked like a no-brainer. Clint Eastwood? Awesome. Amy Adams? Yes, please. Timberlake? Sure, why not? Throw in a preview that almost made me cry every time I saw it, and I'm thinking home run. Hell, I might've even called my shot beforehand.
Unfortunately though, minutes in, everything starts to crumble. We open with Clint trying to take a piss, and it's pretty much straight down the shitter. Cliche after cliche, dialogue lacking any bit of subtlety, and a final twenty minutes that made me root against humanity, Trouble with the Curve is a mess. Outside of a moment or two, I hated just about everything in it. And for a movie about baseball that also has John Goodman in it? Well, that's borderline' blasphemous.
When I was a kid, I remember learning that Nolan Ryan could throw the ball over a hundred miles an hour. That fact warped my fragile little mind. I instantly wondered what it would be like to get beaned by his fastball. I gathered my closest friends together and took an informal poll. If you had to get drilled by a hundred mile-per-hour fastball, where would you want to get hit? One of my friends said his shoulder, another one said his foot. Fair enough, I thought, but I knew the best place.
I'd take it, get this, right in the ass.
After reading that intro, it's clear that choosing the right word has never been my strong suit. I always thought I could choose the right movie, though. Here, it looked like a no-brainer. Clint Eastwood? Awesome. Amy Adams? Yes, please. Timberlake? Sure, why not? Throw in a preview that almost made me cry every time I saw it, and I'm thinking home run. Hell, I might've even called my shot beforehand.
Unfortunately though, minutes in, everything starts to crumble. We open with Clint trying to take a piss, and it's pretty much straight down the shitter. Cliche after cliche, dialogue lacking any bit of subtlety, and a final twenty minutes that made me root against humanity, Trouble with the Curve is a mess. Outside of a moment or two, I hated just about everything in it. And for a movie about baseball that also has John Goodman in it? Well, that's borderline' blasphemous.
