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...

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Dad's totally going to jail.

Days after celebrating her sixth birthday, this site's latest contributor, after badgering me endlessly, has returned. Though the official theme of the gala was equal parts mermaids and the solar system, after a recent trip to the movies, as kids typically do, all the party planning went out the window. Yeah, mermaids are cool, and the solar system's fascinating, but turns out nothing can really compete with trash. 


While he was slightly amusing in the preview, the second Forky appeared in Toy Story 4, I knew my kids were done. Even before the perfectly-cast Tony Hale started talking, the little home-made spork thingy slayed them. Combine his goofy expression with a delightful insistence he's trash, and you've got everybody's favorite character ever. Or you did.

Because Ducky and Bunny hadn't shown up yet.

And neither had Duke Caboom, Canada's greatest stuntman.

Obviously, we all vastly enjoyed the latest Toy Story movie, and I whole heartedly/unnecessarily recommend it. And being that this was the first one that came out when our kids were the right age, this is also the first time all the toys came home, too. I'd recommend those too, unless you get us a Benson. Because those are terrifying.

What follows is yet another conversation with my now six-year old daughter. She's very interested in the amount of likes this post will get, so, uh...I hope you enjoy it??? (I tried to explain to her that not everything has likes and she basically just nodded as if I didn't get it)

Wednesday, August 7, 2019

You will not stand out in any way.

The formula is easy. Watch the BBC, find something charming, take out most of the magic, bring it to America and boom - cash some goddamn checks. Done and done. Let silly Yanks think they've discovered something amazing, while savvy Brits look on, knowing better.

There's countless examples of this (The Office, House of Cards, Three's Company (!?!), etc.), but being that I'm married to a (sexy) ninety-year old woman, the one that really gets my goat is The Great British Bake Off. Er, the American version...that is. I mean, why would you ever mess with perfection and localize this lovely show? Americans, aren't charming. Or affable.

And good luck finding someone as sexy as Ruby in the States.

While I'm clearly deficient with the written word, and despite growing up in a kitchen, I'm even worse with food. But even I don't think I could f--k up a recipe that called for both Chris Hemsworth and Tessa Thompson as bad as Men in Black: International did. Or is it does?

Oh, right. Like this film, nobody cares.

When Molly (Thompson) was a little girl, an alien ended up in her bedroom while being pursued by some low-level Men In Black agents (couldn't get a Will Smith cameo, huh? Or even borrow that creepy digital version from the upcoming Gemini Man?). Her parents get their memories wiped with that stainless steel vibrator thing, but Molly, foreshadowing her resourcefulness, ducks it, and sends the alien on its way. And ever since that night, she's been obsessed with becoming an agent...of a branch of government that doesn't technically exist. Huh.

Two (film) minutes later, however, she's not only in the Men In Black, but assigned to the international division and partnered with Thor, who is basically a top-shelf a-hole/overwhelming departmental liability. Seems this hotshot once saved the world with the guy from Taken, and hasn't really done shit since. Think Lebowski Thor, but a version who still shows up to work. Uh, and obviously, the gym (f--k me, this dude is handsome).

Monday, July 22, 2019

This is not a time to celebrate.

Outside of my nephew, I don't really get the chance to talk to high school kids all that much, and to be quite honest, I'm more than okay with that. 

Typically, they're either shiftless drifters or goal-oriented weirdos, inhabiting each end of the almost adult spectrum with inherent cluelessness. The slackers don't care how much they don't know while the go-getters are certain they know everything. Either way, as an adult, you're either pulling teeth to get them to talk, or pulling your hair out hoping they'll shut the f--k up. 

And even worse, is knowing that at one point in your life, you were just like them.

(and look at you now!)

While I wasn't outright slayed by Booksmart like I assumed I would be, instead this flick is the comedy equivalent of a death by a thousand cuts. Consistently hilarious (and at times, just f--king brilliant), this coming-of-age flick features amazing performances top-to-bottom, but with especially killer turns from leads Kaitlyn Dever and Beanie Feldstein. And in the crowded sub-genre of end of high school flicks, Booksmart somehow raises an already high bar even higher.

Molly and Amy have seriously kicked ass in high school. Not only have they been involved in everything, they've excelled, and, when we meet them, are one day away from graduating at the top of their class. Unfortunately, all the academic perfection has come at a cost, as this dynamic duo has never f--ked up or around. But at least they got into great colleges, right? Yeah, well...so did everyone else. 

This jarring realization leads the girls on a quest to have four years of fun in what amounts to one helluva night. Molly is looking to hook up with Nick, the handsome jock she's secretly had a crush on for years. Amy, infinitely more introverted than Molly, would be cool if she could hang with Ryan, a skater-chick she has a thing for. If only they had the address to Nick's house, where the big party is going to be held.

(by the way, we (or should I say they?) called them ragers...which sounds so f--king lame now, huh? [though I recall certain east coasters saying rippers which is surprisingly less cool, if that's possible).

Tuesday, July 16, 2019

The most worthwhile path, my young friends, is seldom the easiest.

In Mrs. Well's room, it was Cars. The first one (!).
In Mrs. Montgomery's, it was Bill Nye videos.
In Mrs. Bleacher's room...well, they were still doing math (which is hysterical).
As long as summer vacation have been imminent, every teacher approaches those final glorious (/dreadful) days a bit differently. Some keep going till the end, others, like me, simply show a movie.

In Mr. Brown's room, the criteria for the movie is simple, though typically effective: show them something they haven't seen...and make sure it was released within the last sixth months ('old movies' will be met with equal parts scorn and confusion).


Even though they wanted to watch Endgame (these pirates have no respect for a film currently in theaters), I opted for screening The Kid Who Would Be King, which was, at the time, newly released on home video. I knew the whole knights and wizards angle was going to be a hard-sell for these kids, but so was actually basic human decency, so why not roll the dice? And being that only one of my 90+ students had actually seen the film (and I think all he had seen was the trailer), I was two-for-two with the aforementioned rules.

Good news, right? Well, yeah. But here's the rub: For each of my four classes, it would take three days to complete the latest film from director Joe Cornish (Attack the Block [review]). And while I'm just a social studies teacher, safe to say four times three equals an infinite amount of minutes with Gollum's son. Good thing young Louis Ashbourne Serkis is a pretty likable chap.

Young Serkis plays Alex (Like Alexander the Great, Mr. Brown? [no.]), a quiet product of a single-mum more than content to hang out and do magic with his buddy, Bedders. Shocking no one, the two goofballs (though mainly the amiable Bedders) often find themselves in the cross-hairs of the school bullies, Lance and Kaye. Alex, not long after we meet him, gets in a wee bit of trouble for fighting back. Proving once again, school administrators are the worst.

Monday, July 15, 2019

We are the infection.

If the world was ending...again...and I was told I had to get to Boston, honestly, I'd be pretty f--king stoked. And if my last breath just so happened to be in Fenway Park of all places, well, even better. Dying on that field is probably a dream I share with half of New England, in the literal sense of course, as the Sox have killed me there metaphorically countless times. But if you're telling it's really over, like I'm done-done, can I least touch the Monster one last time?

No, no. The green one.

No, no. The other green one. The one not shooting lasers out of his face.


Considering I grew up in the eighties, it's pretty much a given that I have a modest (and very much radioactive) boner for all things Godzilla. But after the one with Ferris Bueller back in '98 and the one without Godzilla [review] in 2014, frankly, I'd just about given up on the scaly, fire-breathing bastard. But when I saw the preview for Godzilla: King of the Monsters, like a screaming old woman in Tokyo, there was simply no way I could turn my back on the majestic beast. I mean, look at him. He's pretty much the coolest thing ever.

Unfortunately, this latest attempt at bringing him back to the big screen, while an improvement over the other two, still can't do the big fella justice.

Outside of the impossibly rad Godzilla-related turbulence the action brings (though at times, it's also impossible to see), this creature feature is bogged down by a different two-headed monster. On the left, is Incomprehensible Plot which while brutal, is nowhere near as deadly as the right side, where Family Drama No One Cares About resides. I'm not sure which head to should cut off first, but as the one dragged on, I started to think I should start with my own.

Friday, July 5, 2019

Yeahhhh.

Saying I'm reading it might be a bit generous, but I'm currently reading/experiencing(/surviving) a book called Welcome to Night Vale. I guess it's based on a popular podcast or something, but for the most part, I absolutely hate every minute of it. It's so bizarre and illogical, I feel like I'm getting absolutely nothing out of it as I get further into it. Honestly, I could derive a better narrative perusing the newly updated terms and conditions of my Amazon Store Card. That said, regardless of how nonsensical and repetitive this novel gets, I'm going to tackle each chapter until there aren't any left.

Even if it f--king kills me.

I don't even know where to begin when discussing the latest John Wick film, Parabellum. Initially, I found the film to be absolutely f--king electric (my god, he killed f--king Boban with a book! A BOOK!), but by the end of it I was nearly comatose, rendered lifeless by the sounds of incessant gunfire and shattering glass. And when I finally trudged out into the world (and apologized to my wife, again), all I could tell myself is at least it was better than Chapter 2. Because, you know, f--k that movie.

But then I did something stupid. Really stupid. I rewatched the second film. 

And I f--king loved it.

So now I don't know what to say. Like, even more than usual. Keanu Reeves is still the coolest motherf--ker on the planet, and the third John Wick has him doing even cooler shit than before (with the help of animals, no less). But in that theater, on that night? It seemed to go on forever. I'm going to assume I'll have a much better time with Chapter 3 the second time, but for now, mark me down for Parabellum landing somewhere between f--king exhilarating and impossibly tedious. Sounds reasonable...if you're an asshole.

Friday, June 21, 2019

We are rejects.


I'd like to introduce you to the newest member of the Two Dollar Cinema review team, v. brown. 

Pitbull and Wanda Sykes? Is this some sort of dare?
While she's been to a couple of movies without me, our viewing of STX Entertainment's UglyDolls marked our first trip to the theater without any one else. I passed on a second date with Avengers: Endgame, so that I could take her to this brightly-colored, pop-song induced nightmare. On the car ride on the way, I recall her saying that she was sooo excited to go with just me. Aw. Seriously, I almost had to pull over it was so adorable. But as I gathered myself (and likely ran a red light) I realized something: even at almost six years old, she was playing me. And I was all for it. 

What follows is a recent conversation we had about the film in our kitchen, minutes before dashing out to her swimming class (almost a month after seeing the film, no less). Even though this reeks of poor parenting, she was very excited to be lending her opinions to this website. Which, let's be honest, is basically a first around here.

Maybe this will be the post that she references as the genesis for her successful career as a writer, or maybe this post will be what she references when she tells the judge she'd rather live with her mother. Either way, it sounds like the beginning of something magical.


Thursday, May 23, 2019

I see this as an absolute win.

Around this time next year, er, in two years (damn you, math), Two Dollar Cinema will turn ten years old. Though nothing is set in stone, that anniversary will serve as an ending point for this project - at least as the current format goes. And when I reach the end of this long (and sometimes arduous) journey, I hope to figure out a way to not only tie it all together, but to also pay tribute to those who have been along the way.

If only there was a blueprint for how to end something in the most perfect way possible...

It might be impossible to overstate how good Avengers: Endgame truly is, but don't think that that's going to stop me from trying. Easily my favorite film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the Russo Brothers have improbably saved their best for last. 

As of this post, I've only managed to see Endgame once, and as anyone, er, everyone who has seen the film can (and will) tell you (with a glow not unlike a new bride or expectant mother), that simply isn't enough time to take it all in. It's so densely packed, so stuffed with perfect moments, I need to see it again.

And again. And again.

While rehashing the plot is foolish on countless levels (insert Charlie Day conspiracy pic here), all I can tell you is wowwwwwwwwwwwww. With storylines, plot points, scores to settle, callbacks, nods, winks, and relationships from over twenty films prior, somehow in Endgame, they all coalesce into a gripping story that simultaneously saved and destroyed me. Had I not been sitting with my brother-in-law (aka the Grinch), I'm not sure I would have made it out alive.

Friday, May 10, 2019

By the way, Harry, happy birthday...

When I told my wife that Two Dollar Cinema was coming up on its ninth birthday, I followed that up an unintended feeler, one that bordered both a question and a statement. Guess I'll do it for one more year, then finally shut it down ...? She didn't hesitate in her response:

That sounds good. 


Thursday, May 9, 2019

Get out of here, Devil!

Almost two years ago to the day, some drug-dealing asshole totaled my wife's (fairly) new car while evading the police through our neighborhood. Fortunately, no one was in (or near) the car when it happened, but I still remember my wife getting emotional moments after they towed it away. While most of her tears were because she was overwhelmed at the thought of what could have happened, I know she was also mourning the loss of something she once loved now needing to be replaced.

And worse, for absolutely no good reason.

Uh, Red? You're balls are on fire.
It's unfair to say that David Harbour doesn't do a good job in the latest Hellboy flick, when his biggest misstep may be the alarming fact that he is simply not Ron Perlman. While I'm not sure we even needed a third Hellboy flick with Ron Perlman, I'm now fairly certain we didn't need a third Hellboy flick without Ron Perlman.

But like the guy that smashed in my wife's car, even if what you're selling benefits no one, if there's money to be made...

Though I'm no scholar of Hellboy lore, obviously, similarities exist between the original del Toro films and this new one, helmed by Neil Marshall. Hellboy is still a wise-cracking demon unearthed by Nazis during WWII. He's still part of some super-secret government organization that uses monsters to, um...fight other monsters (think the Suicide Squad with more scales and less twirling garbage).

And yes, he's still got a massive right arm that he absolutely obliterates people with. The meat may be the same, but it's the potatoes that are different this time around.

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

I'm a snake.

There's room at the top. Just not enough to sit down.

I'm not sure if my dad stole that line, but of all the advice he's ever given me - that's the bit that stuck. I was probably seventeen at the time, and even at peak I KNOW EVERYTHING, OLD MAN those words not only penetrated, but they actually made sense. You can make it - you just have to work hard. Always.

I wish I could tell you that in the two-plus decades since that conversation, I have proven his words true, but I think I'd be lying on both fronts. I'm not sure I've ever worked that hard, and the payoff...uh...I do okay? (He was talking about money, right?)

While I wish I had that type-A fire, I simply don't and likely never will. Honestly, I'm about as relaxed a guy as you'd ever meet. Not like, Dude-level, but pretty close. Never too high, never too low. Hell, I rarely get upset about anything...

...even shit that's entirely stupid and unfair.

Oh, Laggies, how you've put my in an uncomfortable spot. Typically I'm okay with young people trying to figure it out (though my thoughts here might suggest otherwise), and generally speaking I love Keira Knightley doing just about anything, but good God, f--k all this noise. My dad told me I couldn't sit at the top, fine, but I didn't know it was because there's all these a-holes just laying the f--k around.

Foolishly stripped of her accent, Knightley plays Megan, a woman in her late twenties still hanging out, playing Nintendo. Her (awful) friends have grown up (represented here by being married and/or pregnant [lame]) and seems like ol' Meg should probably follow suit. But even with a shockingly supportive boyfriend (of the high-school sweetheart variety, naturally), she can't seem to find any footing whatsoever in adulthood. So, she concocts a plan (plan might be overstating it, more like if bracing yourself before going through a windshield could be considered planning) to turn her life around: she volunteers at a local orphanage and teaches parent-less children how to express themselves through cooking.

Oh, wait - sometimes my notes are hard to read. *adjusts imaginary glasses* My mistake, she actually just DISAPPEARS FROM SOCIETY AND MOVES IN WITH A HIGH SCHOOL GIRL SHE MET A F--KING GROCERY STORE.

Monday, April 22, 2019

Mom, what's wrong with your body?

For the last year or so, we've been thinking about having another child. Intentionally. Being that my wife just recently returned to work full-time, from a logistical standpoint, a baby isn't really the best idea. Add to that the fact that Mrs. Two Dollar Cinema also just turned forty (I'm currently an impressively spry...thirty-nine), and another kid likely isn't a good call from any standpoint.

Besides, you hear all these horror stories about the things that can go wrong during pregnancies (why do people love to talk about this?) and it's (more than) enough to make you dial back the let's have another talk and simply quit while you're ahead. My wife and I already have two kick-ass kids, sometimes I think having another would be akin to pressing our luck.

No matter how much fun it could be, with an uncertain ending looming...

...I'm just not sure it's ultimately worth it.

May the Fourth be with you, new moms.
Though the actual premise had slipped my mind, word that Jason Reitman's Tully had a divisive ending did not. So much so, in fact, that it was all I could think about for much of the films ninety-seven minute run-time. What could possibly happen that would upset so many people. Does someone ---

Oh. THAT.

Before THE ENDING, Tully tells the remarkably unremarkable tale of Marlo (Charlize Theron, in full-chameleon form), a tired mom, who is, when the film opens, days away from having her third child. Her youngest, the 'quirky' Jonah, is a bit of a handful (to say the least), and there seems to be some sort of loose talk about 'it' happening again.  Her wealthy brother (my [imaginary] best friend Mark Duplass) offers up the ultimate present for a new(ish) mom: a night nanny.

Apparently, heaven is real and angels exist, and oddly enough can be hired to enter your house at night and care for your infant child. WHILE YOU SLEEP. Though I never had too much trouble sleeping through the night (my pillow isn't the greatest, but I'll live), turns out it can be quite a bitch for the mother of a newborn. Enter Tully, an energetic and enigmatic twenty-something who will not only take the baby, but she'll also make bomb-ass cupcakes in the process. Oh, and she'll ride dad like a wild horse if you ask her - wait, WHAT?

Saturday, April 20, 2019

Do yourself a favor - stay away from this one.

Outside of Event Horizon where I swear the temperature of the theater was set to abandoned spacecraft degrees, the most physically uncomfortable movie-going experience I've ever had was seeing The Descent on the big screen. That movie was so goddamned suffocating, I remember feeling genuine relief when exiting the theater. Like, thank God we made it out of there, you know? I can finally breathe.

But let's be real - can we? Ghost ships are one thing, freezing theaters another, but seriously WHO THE F--K GOES IN A CAVE? Those f--kers are terrifying enough before the monsters show up.

I didn't know what I was getting into with 2014's As Above So Below, but I recall it made an appearance at my local theater awhile back, thereby catapulting it miles, um, above most of the 'short horror' available to stream on Netflix. Had I known it was a found footage flick, I might not have pressed play, but even with a tired delivery method and a moderately goofy premise, I'm not all that mad that I did.

A fine-ass archaeologist named Scarlett Marlowe is on a quest to find the Philosopher's Stone, an ancient relic that supposedly grants eternal life. Being that Scarlett is um, super hot, she rather easily assembles a crew of dudes to not only accompany her, but to also film her as she embarks on this obviously foolish journey. See, this Philosopher's stone isn't buried in the bowels of Hogwarts, but instead hidden within in the catacombs of Paris. 

While that may not completely sound like a terrible place to go-go-go -go on an adventure- once they saw what that meant firsthand, everyone should have said f--k this and headed to a café to romantically share a baguette with Gerard Depardieu. Sorry, I don't really know anything about France.

Thursday, April 18, 2019

Y'all scared of a family?

In the not too distant past, I caught a compelling story on NPR about everyone's favorite group of people - the top 1%. Seems these ultra-rich dudes were looking around at the post-election state of affairs and collectively deciding they needed to get ready. Like really ready.

For what you ask? While some would say the apocalypse, others might call it the revolution, but however you want to phrase it, the idea was simple: if the economy collapsed the extremely wealthy would be targets. The less fortunate (aka the other ninety-nine percent) would come after them and it wouldn't be pretty. Their solution? High-end luxury fortifications.

Deep underground.

While Us might actually be an allegory about an entirely different topic, I couldn't help but think that somewhere along the way Jordan Peele had heard or read a similar story. Maybe it was before he wrote the script, or maybe it was while buying his own abandoned missile silo, either way I'd like to think this disheartening example of the separation between rich and poor was on his mind. I mean, after reading the bible and watching tons of classic horror films, that is...

After getting lost as a young girl on the boardwalk of Santa Cruz, we meet a now grown-up version of Adelaide Wilson (the impeccable Lupita Nyong'o), quietly dreading a return visit with her well-meaning husband and two kids. She's beyond hesitant, but agrees to go along as long as the entire family returns before nightfall. Her husband agrees, and after a slightly harrowing moment where they couldn't find their young son Jason,  they make it back to the house in one piece. Phew.

Turns out, that relief was incredibly short-lived, as four strangers show up outside of the vacation home and do the worst thing imaginable. They just sort of...stand there.

Oh, f--k me.

Thursday, April 11, 2019

Most people don't feel like heroes deep down.

Regardless of what it says about my moral character, I still think I'm taking invisibility. Flight's cool, but c'mon - I could just sneak onto a plane. Super strength would be rad, sure - but I'm already pretty f--king jacked.

[crickets]

Fine, I might not exactly be ripped (or have any real muscle definition whatsoever), but I sure felt that way walking out of Shazam!. Not necessarily because of the movie, mind you, but, thanks to Fandango, because I had just seen a major movie release two weeks early. Who wants to f--king touch me?

Knowing nothing of the character beforehand, my son and I hustled into DC's latest armed only with the information afforded to us by that badass trailer. After some mysterious, uh, occurrence, some young orphan kid is granted great powers. But instead of the accompanying 'great responsibilities', the kid and his friend do the two things that any teenage boys would do: jack and shit.

When we meet Billy, this punk-ass jerkface is messing with the cops...seemingly, for the millionth time. While he looks to initially to be your run of the mill douchey teen, turns out this dude's on a mission to find his mom. Aw? See, back when he was just a wee one, young Billy got separated at a carnival and hasn't seen his momma since. And even if the resulting foster homes are actually kind of nice, Billy ain't having it. He needs to find his mom. Drop the question mark: Awwww confirmed.

Sunday, April 7, 2019

I have nothing to prove to you.

There's a difference between being alive in the 90s and growing up in the 90s. Thankfully, I did both.
In fact, I went from 11 to 20 in the greatest decade ever. Not bad, you know? Not bad at all.

Something called the internet was becoming a thing (cue the spine-tingling dial up noise), babies had backs for f--k's sake, and the greatest era of modern cinema was upon us (fight me).

But more important? Hell, most important? I was young. I was impressionable. And I had hair. Lots of it. And it wasn't just me, either, rocking a luxurious mane. Nick Fury had something he could comb, too. Hair he could actually touch. Hair he could actually see.

With both of his eyes.

Though it's been only a few weeks since I've seen Captain Marvel, there's little I actually remember about it. As the twenty-first film in Marvel's endless quest for universal dominance, it didn't exactly do a lot to stand out from the rest, but at this point, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Yet another person with yet another murky personal history, will rise to defeat, well, yet another not so powerful villain. But this time, you guys...there's a cat.

And he's adorable.

Mostly.

Set in the mid90s (though thankfully absent that weird looking kid and his skateboard), Captain Marvel initially takes place far from home, er, Earth, and opens on a beautiful planet named Hala. Vers (a fairly bad-ass Brie Larson) is a young soldier training under the guidance of Yon-Rogg (Jude Law at his most Jude Lawliest), trying to control what appears to be her immense powers. Think Qui-Gon and Anakin, assuming Ani was a bit older, a woman, and infinitely less prone to sounding like a frustrated sexbot.

Anyway, after shit goes sideways on a rescue mission against some shape-shifting a-holes known as the Skrulls, Vers ends up ass-deep in un-rewound copies of True Lies, bringing her intergalactic fight to southern California. There, she meets some government agents no one has ever heard of before, Agent Fury and Agent Caulson, and attests to some impending that's about to go down. Oh, word? Word.

Sunday, March 31, 2019

All you gotta do is trust me.

Before fangirling was a thing (at least by name), as a seventeen year-old man...boy?...dickhead, what have you, I couldn't help but to ruin your roommates bathrobe over the then ubiquitous singer-songwriter Jewel. Oh, it didn't hurt that she was absolutely stunning, sure, but up until that point I hadn't yet realized the power one person holding one guitar could have over me. Even with her small hands, I obsessively scoured the world for rarities and B-sides, and even saw her live on more than one occasion (front row once, too - my goodness). I uh, may have even had a poster or two in my dormroom. Or ten.

Eventually, I would move on to a steady diet of pop-punk and alternative, with multi-year stops in rap and rock. And while I would dabble in electronica, Motown and even bluegrass for a minute or two, there's nothing I've ever loved more than a beautiful woman singing an incredible song.

Well, you know, other than a beautiful man doing the same...

Turns out, after finally seeing A Star is Born, Bradley Cooper was meant for me, and I was meant for him. After two stints as Rocket Racoon (in addition to all his other work), I didn't think it was feasible that I could love Mr. Cooper any more, but after pressing play on Maybe It's Time for the 14,000,605th time, well, here we are. And as much as everyone (rightfully) lost their shit over what Lady Gaga did in this film, it's Cooper's performance that knocked me on my ass.

I mean...holy shit, right?

But as much as I love(d?)  what Cooper did as Jackson Maine, I wanted to love everything else just as much, and perhaps surprisingly, I did not. It was a good film, maybe even a great one, but even though I was completely invested in these characters, for whatever reason, A Star Is Born didn't wreck me like I thought it would. Since I was way late to the party, it was just about common knowledge that this f--ker would leave even the most hardened a-hole in emotional shambles, but here's the thing: I wasn't sad when the movie was over. I was f--king pissed. But more on that in a minute...

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.

Thursday, January 31, 2019

You will never be good enough.

EXT. IMPOSSIBLY WELL-LIT BEDROOM- NIGHT
After dinner at his parents house, GUY and GIRL lay in bed together, but facing in opposite directions.
GUY
Hey, what's wrong? Look at me. 

She turns, and it's clear she's been quietly crying.
GUY
Are you still thinking about what my mom said? She was drunk.

She turns away.

GUY
It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, okay? I love you.

They kiss, and despite GIRL never removing her bra for some odd reason, they have passionate, fulfilling sex on a bed larger than the square footage of a normal person's entire living room. And after, no one  has to awkwardly flee the scene and go to the bathroom. They simply lay there. Forever.

FADE TO BLACK

Oh, Movies. You're so silly. All these years, you've been telling us that all you need is love, but let's cut the shit, right? Love's pretty rad, sure, but it ain't shit without peace. And the only way to ever get it? Well, you're going to need something stronger than love and peace combined. 

You're gonna need Mom. (and a way better screenplay)

There have probably been ten thousand movies that tell the same story that Crazy Rich Asians does (controlling mother initially tortures son's unsuspecting girlfriend for no good reason whatsoever, but ultimately it's because, despite having everything, she's a miserably empty person void of joy and human feelings but who'll naturally come around in the end) but that doesn't make the story any less enjoyable. In fact, for a film that was released just last year, Jon M. Chu's smash hit feels like something that could have been churned out by Old Hollywood, except thankfully no one's in f--king yellowface

In case you've never seen a romantic motion picture, here's Crazy Rich Asians, as boiled down by a moron: Rachel and Nick are young and in love in the only place where such a combination is allowed, wondrous New York City. Nick's about to be the best man in a wedding back home, and invites his gloriously beautiful/borderline perfect girlfriend to accompany him to Singapore. Turns out, as handsome as Nick is, he's also rich as f--k. And somehow, not only did Rachel not know this, but his sizable fortune is major f--king problem for just about everyone involved. Aw, that sucks. Good thing my wife married a penniless troll. 

Tuesday, January 29, 2019

She's happy, though.

It's almost embarrassing, honestly.

I think about her constantly. I laugh at all her jokes, even if they don't make any sense. I'll drop just about anything I'm doing if she calls. And she calls all the time. Between you and me, on most nights? I even help brush her teeth for her.

And on the off-chance that she ever mentions that she wants to see a particular movie, well, I can't get us there fast enough. Oh, don't worry, it's not like I'd ever let her take the wheel. I mean...

...she's only five-and-a-half.

As soon as she saw the trailer again (the first time it startled her), my adorable daughter Violet let it be known, rather loudly, that she reallyyyyy wanted to see the Bumblebee movie. Being that I'll oblige just about anyone who's requesting a trip to the cinema in my presence, it was an absolute no-brainer that I take my little girl to the theater...even if it's to see the sixth frickin' Trasformers movie.

But, uh, whatever your name is, I've heard this is the best Transformers movie yet...! It just might be Voice of Reason, but if you line 'em all up, one of the times I, uh, crapped myself has to be the best time, feel me?

Set in 1987 to the max, Bumbleebee is actually a fairly reasonable origin story. See, long before the events of the first film where Sam Witwicky and his Target brand Strokes t-shirt fought Megatron for the Allspark, a yellow Autobot known as Blink 182, er, B-127, was jettisoned from Cybertron. Turns out the Decepticons were on the verge of wiping out all the Autobots, every last one of them, and team captain/Peterbilt truck/potential future President of the Unites States (nothing would surprise me at this point) Optimus Prime sends B-127 to Earth, in hopes of one day getting the band back together. Unfortunately, the military ain't all that excited to see a giant walking space car, and they attempt to blow him halfway to Hell. Bullets fly, trees explode, John Cena seems mildly irritated, and B-127 fades into obscurity. Or he would have, if it weren't for those damn meddling kids.