Friday, October 18, 2019

With family, one hopes for the best.

It's hard to play games with my wife, board games, that is (ahem), because as she'll repeatedly claim, she's not into the competition part of it - just the fun. Cool story, lady, but frankly I don't see much fun without the competition part of it.

In the past we'd play the odd game of Connect Four, Battleship or Yahtzee, but our longest rivalry centered around a game called [nerd alert] Dropmix, where the only real losers are the hammer anvil and stirrup of nearby people. Recently, we dabbled in Scrabble for the first time in forever, though I'm not sure how much fun she had (I totally kicked her ass). Words, as you can so obviously tell, is my good...thing.

In the absurdly kickass Ready or Not, the game is less triple-word score, more quadruple homicide. Set just hours after a rather hoity-toity wedding, the lovely Grace finds herself playing an initially awkward game of hide-and-seek...against her in-laws (oddly enough, on my wedding night, I was also hiding from my in-laws).

Apparently, her husband's family, after amassing generational wealth in the lucrative board game business, partakes in a silly tradition where the newest member of the family has to *insert Jigsaw voice* play a game. Grace picks a card any card, and out comes the seemingly innocuous children's game. Though, when we played it, as best as I can remember it, no player was issued a f--king crossbow.

I know you already knew all of  that, you knowledgeable devil,  but short or repeating the killer premise, everything else is as spoiler-filled as that goddamned trailer. Grace has to survive the night, and judging by the already announced sequel, she will, but holy shit are there some major surprises along the way (my favorite being something that would easily get me fired, but might just be worth it regardless).

Monday, October 7, 2019

The Dump #2: Magic Week 2019

You f--kers that are lucky enough to not be (inner-city) (public school) teachers (with young children of your own) will likely never get it, but summer vacation can be a bit of a nightmare.

Oh sure, you get nine consecutive weeks off from being intermittently skullf--ked in each of your orifices by students and administration alike (the Natural Disasters ain't got shit on that tag team combo), but it's rare you get to really enjoy it. The time, not the...skull--, nevermind. . Uncle Ben may have said With great power comes great responsibility, but I think what he meant to say was with great freedom comes immense guilt. Or mo' money, mo' problems. Something like that.

Anyway, what I'm really trying to say is that this summer was one of the worst ever (I love my kids, but f--k me all I did was drive them places). Luckily, there was a magic week in mid-August where my children were back in school...and I wasn't. My wife was at work...and I wasn't. It was the best of times...but it was also the blurst of times.


Of course I had some domestic duties to take care of that week, but whenever I crossed off the day's to-do list, armed with my minty-fresh Regal Unlimited membership, I headed directly to the cinema. 

Monday, September 30, 2019

The Dump #1: Disney Does It Again

Look, we all know it's never going to stop.

When it comes to these live-action Disney remakes, you can love it, or you can loathe it, but either way? You're going to have to accept it. 


I didn't want to see The Lion King remake. After initially raising an eyebrow (or two) at the trailer, the lukewarm early reviews made it seem like it was legitimately skippable, even with that badass cast. And when my dog died suddenly the week after it came out, there was no f--king way I was going to see a flick brimming with adorable animals. Not a chance in Hell. But then...well...overwhelmingly out of character, my son suggested we see it. I was too wrecked to pick up on it, but my wife pulled me aside and let me know Matty wasn't into the flick at all, but he just thought I might be happier at the movies. He'd probably never seen his dad cry so much.

Oddly enough, the next night, in an attempt to rejoin society, my wife and I attempted to see Once Upon a Time in Hollywood...but that f--ker was sold out. The only movie that still had seats? The Lion King.

Fittingly, my wife fell asleep ten minutes in, leaving me to hate-watch Disney's latest remake all by myself. Oh, I had three high-school girls to my immediate right, and though they weren't too pleased with the antics of Uncle Scarface (I shit you not), they seemed to enjoy the flick....whenever they inadvertently looked up from their phones. But me? I detested almost every (Seth Rogen-free) second of this CGI nightmare. I love Favreau so I'll go ahead and blame it on being absolutely gutted over my dog, but being that I loosely connect the two events (the flick and losing my pup), I will absolutely never give this film another chance.

Thursday, September 12, 2019

Maybe I've reached my limit.

It's got to be tough to be a cop these days. People are probably being dicks exponentially. And when you show up to deal with them, every motherf--ker on the scene whips their phone out, just in case you're about to have an extremely shitty day (I just assume most days are regular shitty).

So what can you do to combat the pitfalls of being a cop? Outside of starring in your own segment of Live PD, that is. My guess is, like the rest of us, you f--k around a bit, you know? Play some kids in basketball. Ride the mechanical bull at a call for a noise complaint. I don't know - something! But what you can't do? What you absolutely can not ever do...ever? 

Joke about f--king meth gators, mmkay? Cause that shit ain't funny.

But what is funny, hysterical in fact, was seeing my hardass nephew jump out of his f--king skin a half-dozen times during what could possible be the most summerest summer movie ever, Alexandre Aja's Crawl. Only four people in the world call me Uncle, and I took two of them to see this eighty-seven minute masterpiece. 

Okay, it's actually pretty f--king stupid, but perhaps obviously, in the best way ever. 

Disenchanted University of Florida swimmer Haley (yep, she too is a f--king Gator!) inexplicably heads home in an F5 to check on her dad, Dave (ex-sniper and current/actual plumber Barry Pepper) who isn't, you guessed it, answering his damn phone. Things ain't exactly peachy between these two, but ol' Haley isn't going to let swirling cows and Johnny Law keep her from checking in on her pops.  And shocking no one, he's in a bit of a spot. And by spot, obviously I mean an absolute F--KING GATOR ORGY. Assuming...you know, that's a thing.

I'd tell you more about the plot, but you guys, that's it. It takes about seven or eight minutes to get going, and then it's buy one get one on gators. Oh, and you might think giant f--king alligators are slow or at least can be heard approaching, but you'd be wrong. And by wrong, clearly I mean, armless and swimming in your own bloody urine level of wrongness.

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

Holy shit, right?

I repeat, the only thing worse than not having a boyfriend or girlfriend, is, of course, having a boyfriend or girlfriend. 

While in my last post, we were talking about the beginning of a relationship, holy f--k, can we take a minute (or ten) to, uh...talk about the end?

Those ain't sad tears, huh?
Like Peter and MJ before them (but replace all starry-eyed awwwws with bewildered looks guttural moans), up next is yet another borderline couple traveling abroad, Dani and Christian. But instead of being at the beck and call of a one-eyed secret agent, in Ari Aster's latest Midsommar, these two lovebirds are held in check by an unhealthy mix of curiosity and manners.

Like, yeah this shit is f--ked, but I'm kind of interested in where it's going...and...well, it would be pretty rude to just leave. Which is kind of how I felt about this movie.

About two minutes in, we realize that Christian is a shitty boyfriend, but Dani, likely due to immense trauma (more on that...if I can stomach it) doesn't seem to mind his aloofness all that much. And when a friend of Christian's invites them to a midsummer festival in Sweden, perhaps a rekindling of sorts is in the cards. Or equally likely, everything will end up infinitely worse and Christian will be stuffed in a f--king HOLLOWED-OUT BEAR and I will stumble to my car praying for the sweet release of death. You know, one if those.

Sunday, September 8, 2019

I need that. The world needs that.

The only thing worse than not having a boyfriend or girlfriend, is, of course, having a boyfriend or girlfriend. 

The f--k of it all starts early, frankly, as the whole asking the other person out process is generally the worst thing ever (ladies, you may not know how much inner-turmoil/explosive diarrhea the lead up is responsible for), a close second to breaking it off and ending it. Oh, sure...the middle, or at least the early middle is pretty f--king sweet, but it's bookended by utter f--king chaos.

Well, that's what I hear, anyway...as I never asked out anyone. Nor was I ever dumped.

Um, officially.
Notice there's no Orlando sticker. Or Anaheim...


I'm likely too far removed to really tell you any of the finer points of Spider-Man: Far From Home, but the long and short of it goes like this: after being depressed three-thousand, Peter Parker heads abroad on a fairly epic high school field trip. More than the dream of just being a friendly neighborhood tourist, ol' Pete's really down for finding the perfect moment to ask M.J. to be his girlfriend (assuming that's still a thing, because when I see Zendaya now, I'm thinking dick pics and fentanyl, not do you like-like me? [circle one]). Anyway, I'd ask her at some really romantic time, like when Jaws pops out of the water at Universal...

But famed international boner killer Nick Fury intervenes, and with some mysterious threat looming, he's calling on the kid to, you know, keep the world safe. Thanks for that. Dick.

The threat, as I recall, both is and isn't Mysterio, who for the uninitiated is a bowl-headed inter-dimensional oddball. This a-hole has been (allegedly) battling some giant monsters known as The Elementals, and needs Peter's help in the fight.

Sort of?

Wednesday, August 21, 2019

Isn't normal wonderful?

Maybe early Weezer. Maybe
Red Hot Chili Peppers, too. 
The entire Pieces of You album? Probably (Don't ask). 

If I was gifted the curse of recreating an entire band's catalog, I'm not sure I could do it. I mean, obviously, I couldn't do it well, but holy shit, I'm not sure I could do it at all. And if I had to, like, had to, I could probably give you most of Appetite for Destruction...uh...including that weird-ass drawing that came with the lyrics, too. (anyone?)

No Octopus's Garden? Blasphemy.
Luckily for all of us, in Danny Boyle's oddly-maligned flick Yesterday, the guy responsible for bringing back (/inventing?) The Beatles has an impeccable memory, and is an excellent musician. And rather handsome. And honestly, a pretty nice dude all around (another miss for me there, too).

Set in a world where the Fab Four never existed, this delightful little flick is essentially the lowest of low-key sci-fi (assuming that's a thing) mixed with the very typical dude, she's been right in front of you the whole time romantic comedy. Incredibly sweet and consistently charming, I was all in on Yesterday. I'm not even a massive fan of The Beatles (I know the hits...er, most of them), but I worship Boyle, and found myself marveling that this was his movie, you know? It's just so...serene. And not even a drug-induced serenity, either.

My sister initially protested because she thought it was some corporate way to keep John, Paul, George and Ringo commercially relevant, but I told her to cut the shit and stop sounding like a pretentious a-hole. I heard the same thing about Lilo & Stitch and Elvis and that movie was f--king awesome. STFU and please get some Reese's Pieces. (my sister is the only person on the planet that I know of that always gets candy at the movies)

Sunday, August 18, 2019

Why are you doing this?


If you were ever lucky enough to be a young boy in the 1980s, there's no doubt you can remember rewinding a certain scene over and over again. Maybe you had a fancy button that did it automatically, but the way I remember it, somebody had to man the VCR like a member of the bomb squad. While most scenes that got this, um, delicate treatment usually contained a woman in a bedroom, the one that I can recall watching a million times in a row, involved, of all things, a doll on an elevator. [if you've got twenty seconds, you can check out what captured the minds of deviant youth here.]

That's some real bullshit right there.
No way Chucky's taking out a sheriff.
Unfortunately, I'm not sure any part of the rebooted version of Child's Play captured much of anything, outside of my six bucks on Bargain Tuesday, that is.

Back again but with Mark Hamil voicing Chucky this go-round, and featuring an all-too young Aubrey Plaza as a moderately trashy mom, this latest entry into the killer doll franchise is basically more of the same. A friendless kid gets a creepy-ass doll as a gift, and said doll is rather, well, overprotective. And oddly literal. Instead or riding bikes and reading books together, Chucky goes on a modest murder spree in the name of friendship. Because, well, of course he does.

Outside of the wee bit of nostalgia I have for the original, I never really got down with the sequels and all the Bride and Son level of nonsense. If this shit is your scene, you'll probably enjoy the reboot, but I'm tapping out here. I appreciated the integration of smart features in the doll, and how this is perhaps a bit of an allegory about our reliance on tech (a stretch, but still), but I came for the gore and even that didn't quite tickle the pickle. If you really want to see a killer doll, go ahead and check out Good Boy's. But more on that in a bit...