Welcome to detention.

Video games, for the most part, are supposed to be fun.
Movies, too.

It's a pretty simple formula.

That pretty much every movie about video games totally f--ks up.

After raking in a bajillion monetary units at the domestic box office, I assumed rather incorrectly, that I would enjoy Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle. I love The Rock and Jack Black, like Kevin Hart enough, and am always up for a pretty woman unnecessarily kicking ass in unnecessarily tight clothes. Sold, sold and...totally sold.

Yet, by some sort of shit miracle, the combination of all those aforementioned things amounted to absolutely nothing for me. My son, who is eight and a half had a decent time with the flick (I think he sniffs out my like/dislike before), and it looks like most critics did as well. Maybe it was the thirty seconds I stepped out to piss that made the difference, or maybe I fell asleep and only imagined a painfully unfunny movie where nothing happens, but whatever the case may be, I will never understand the praise slathered all over this one. Like, ever.

This time around, the mysterious Jumanji game isn't made out of cardboard and plastic, but instead it's an Atari-like video game system. Four kids, who have ended up in detention for reasons that I would personally celebrate (in my own classroom), are tasked with cleaning the bowels of the school. Instead of clapping erasers and taking crayons out of pencil sharpeners (or whatever, I had already stopped giving a shit/damn), this rag-tag crew ends up balls deep into Jumanji. Literally.

This will be a game night to remember.

She f--king loves board games.

Maybe even the occasional video game, too, (I have the late eighties photos of her enthusiastically face down in a Game Boy), but a board games are definitely her thing. Just make sure you have enough time for her to thoroughly read the directions. Aloud. Then, and only then, can we proceed.

But she just likes to play, you know? Winning, well that's completely unnecessary to her, and pretty much besides the point. It's all about spending time together. Having something called...fun?

Sitting on the other end of the spectrum, er, couch is me. Her husband. And when it comes to games, I greatly prefer video to board. But regardless of the medium, unlike my lovely wife, I play to f--king win. At all costs, dammit.

Well, kind of. I play games mainly so, in the name of competition, I can be an asshole and talk shit.

And you can talk a lot more shit when you win. 

If these are the choices, I call red.

I know it's early, but if I see a funnier movie this year than Game Night, I probably won't make it out of the theater alive. Turns out, it's pretty hard to breathe when you're laughing your ass off.

Max and Annie (Bateman and McAdams) are the perfect couple. Too bad they'd greatly prefer to be the perfect parents instead. It seems ol' Max is shooting blanks, and it may have something to do with his overly competitive nature. The guy simply tries to hard at everything. Including of course, party games, a love he and Annie have shared since the day they met.

When it comes to games, King Kong ain't got shit on Max. But the one larger-than-life creature he could never defeat is his older brother Brooks, a handsome and charming guy who's just that much better than Max...at everything. What a dick, right? Well...no, actually. Brooks is pretty f--king awesome.

As is his version of game night, that Max and Annie begrudgingly attend (along with two other couples), eschewing the traditional festivities at their own house. Shocking no one, Brooks' game promises to be bigger and better, as it's apparently a hyper-realistic murder-mystery/escape room type of thing. Like, holy shit, right? This is way more intense than pretzels and charades at Max's house. Those guys that stormed in and kidnapped Brooks? They really looked real. 

Damn, Brooks. This is going to be, like, so much fun!

This never gets old.

People who like to argue about trivial matters (myself included), will often argue that a hero or heroine is only as good as his (or her, for f--k's sake) villain. Makes sense, I suppose, as you can't really save the day if the threat is as intimidating as a basket full of black kittens. So, it begs the question, what makes a good villain? 

You'd think that'd be easy, right? Motivation! Backstory! And what they're planning on doing because of it! Then why do so many movies botch the bad guy?

Typically, it's an all-too familiar, potentially too personal of a reason. Rough childhood. Tough break. Maybe a dash of long-festering criminal insanity, perhaps? All fine reasons, sure, but at this point, I'm not exactly leaning forward in my theater seat.

But what if we took all of those reasons, and added something like, say...oh, I don't know...abject f--king racism, perhaps?

Black Panther does something pretty f--king remarkable for a movie that is, all things considered, the eighteenth entry into the MCU: it's a comic book movie that has legitimate weight to it. It matters.

Oh, it has rad costumes, cool gadgets, kick-ass fights and cool one-liners - all the prerequisites of the genre are here and accounted for. And it's no slouch on universal accessibility, either.

But under all of that, Hell, triumphantly standing next to all of that? An ugly reality of racism, exploitation and greed fueling just about everything. Director Ryan Coogler deftly toes the line between an action movie and a call to action. And like any skilled move, I never saw it coming.

Many years ago, a mysterious object crashed into the African nation of Wakanda and bestowed upon its people an ultra powerful element known as vibranium. Yep. Whatever the Hell it is, it's the Swiss Amry Knife of shit from space, and allowed the Wakandans to transform their entire society into a utopia of technological badassery. Sweet, right? Well, it would have been, but eventually word, er, vibranium, got out, and the fate of the Wakandans was altered forever.

The Mt. Rushmore of Movies '18 LINKS

Last year, we had an excellent turnout for the 2017 version of the Mt. Rushmore of Movies. Ten rad sites produced some very groovy monuments honoring everything from Ed Harris to the best scenes featuring food. Both equally tasty, amirite? Anyway, uh...there was even a monument about beards for f--k's sake! Beards! I mean, what?

This year, despite the numbers being a bit down, I'm here to tell you that once again, people carved the shit out of some incredible Mt. Rushmores. Some really cool stuff will be featured below. And while I hate to spoil anything, I might have to break your heart and tell you that there won't be one monument dedicated solely to beards this year. Nope.

There will be two.

CLICK ON THE BANNERS TO VISIT THE SITES

created by: Sati

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Epic Sam Rockwell Dancing Scenes

Materials: Sick Beats and Dancing Feats 

When visiting: If you fall off the mountain trying to emulate the sweet moves, at least you'll die happy. Oh, and stop by the on-site tattoo parlor. Rooster designs are their specialty.

created by: Sonia

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Movie Villains

Materials: Charm, Arrogance and a touch of the Crazy

When visiting: Keep the windows up and the doors locked. And for the love of all things holy, don't pick up any hitchhikers. Even the handsome one with the big smile. Especially that guy, in fact.

created by: Getter

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Sam Rockwell Beards

Materials: Sharp looks and dull razors

When visiting: Pack an extra sandwich and make sure your phone's charged. Your wife and your daughter? They might spend an extra hour...or five...um, visiting. And the moaning? Don't worry. They get a lot of that sort of thing.

created by: Dell

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Pam Grier Fight Scenes

Materials: Stink Eyes, Horny Guys and Nice Thighs

When visiting: Bras are totally optional (if not outright banned). And don't worry about dinner. The salad bar is, uh, stacked.

created by: Brittani

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Marvel Beards

Materials: I don't know where they got it, but I'm pretty sure they used Vibranium (what can't it do?)

When visiting: Try to keep it together, ladies. Like these guys aren't handsome enough...

created by: Jordan

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Bonkers Ladies

Materials: Hot Women and Cold Stares

When visiting: run in the other direction as fast as you can, goddammit! She's gaining on you!

I expect better manners from you, Dick.

Four years ago, it was clutch neighbors. The kind that would help you in a pinch. It was ode to all the people that have supported Two Dollar Cinema over the years.

Last year, it was boobs. Because, well, boobs. Boobs never need a boobs, erp, reason.

This year, for the third (and final?) installment of The Mt. Rushmore of Movies, I've decided to go with something you would simply never expect from a highbrow site like mine. Something you'd never expect to find carved into the granite walls of a majestic mountain in South Dakota. Welcome (former?) friends, to, you guessed it, The Mt. Rushmore of Dicks.

*spits out drink* Excuse me? 

Laser focused with a half thought-out plan.

I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it. - Mitch Hedberg,

There are a lot of stands to take these days, as the world, on a daily basis it seems, is becoming an incessant us vs. them cage match. I can't think of anything I've ever been staunchly opposed to, as I tend to roll with my good buddies, indifference and sarcasm. I'm not proud of this way of living in the least, but the things I love and the things I hate are so blatantly obvious, it would seem frivolous to make a stand one way or the other.

But if you believe in something, and it means a lot to you? Well, I support that.

As long as it's for the right reasons...

I 900% support the boycott of Sony Pictures' Peter Rabbit, but it has nothing to do with allergy bullying (I guess that's...a...thing...). The real reason parents should march against this film is because it's just short of f--king abysmal. I'd rather have a catastrophic allergic reaction induced by a small woodland creature shitting down my throat, than to ever see a single minute of this movie again.

Fine, maybe I wouldn't exactly line up for a squirrel to take a nutty dump in my face, but at least it'd make for a better story than the abomination that is Peter Rabbit. What I recall was a rather charming (if ultimately boring) series of books, has been bastardized into the most unlikable children's movie I've ever scene. And trust me, I see a ton of them.

Peter, voiced by the moderately douchey James Corden, is a total prick. Living in a picturesque little garden with his sisters Floozy, Boozy and Swampass (possibly not their names), this rat bastard harasses some codger named Old Mr. McGregor (the still [somehow] awesome Sam Neill) to f--king death. Literally. Cue McGregor's f--kwit nephew, Thomas (a severely demoted General Hux), fresh off getting shit-canned for being an asshole, to move to the country and into the old man's house. Thomas hates the rabbits, the rabbits hate Thomas, and me, well, I f--king hate everybody.

Until...

It's me. I'm a mess. I need to get my shit together.

As a former frequent flyer of the friendly skies, I've certainly had my share of delays, cancellations and missed flights. They totally sucked at the time (holy shit, now I would kill a bitch for some unaccounted hours), sure, but looking back, there was always a silver lining.

Ten hours in Brussels? Ate a waffle out of a vending machine.
Eight hours in Minneapolis? Rented a DVD player and watched American Pie [so 90s]
Stranded overnight in Honolulu...on Christmas? Ate a burger (and two scoops of rice) on a picnic table. At midnight. With my dad.

But, honestly, I would have traded that greasy burger, Nadia and all the Belgian waffles in the world for one thing, and one thing only:

William H. Macy.

Turn the box over, and all the hardcore scenes are on the back.

Well, okay, not the actual f--king guy or anything (nice as he may seem), but rather the entire premise of the last film Macy directed, 2017's limp misfire, The Layover. 

Enthusiastically pissing in the face of anything resembling women's progress, The Layover tells the story of two impossibly beautiful women, seemingly of the BFF variety, shredding all forms of human decency in an effort to f--k the shit out of a guy with a severely bent dick.

What, that's not what you were expecting? Here's another shocker: I f--king hated every single minute of it.

Once again, my love of wondrous bosoms Alexandra Daddario ruined what should have been a nice evening, as The Layover fails on every front imaginable. It's boring, stupid, decidedly female ass free, and worst of all, painfully unfunny. I'd rather watch an eighty-eight minute version of a typical in-flight safety video than ever see this bullshit again. Like, please, please Flight Attendant Lady, show me again how to buckle a f--king seat-belt. I totally missed it the first time.

Blogathon '18: Mt. Rushmore of Movies

Where it used to be a triennial celebration around these parts, with our latest commander-in-chief behind the button (not to mention that nervous dude in Hawai'i sending out false alarms), I'm not sure we can wait once every three years. So, grab a handful of pink and red M&M's, dump the dead roses in the trash and take a shot of the dirty water they were sitting in, because Two Dollar Cinema is once again choo-choo-choosing you.

Like, I want them to participate, Gary, but not like this...

In honor of President's Day, yep, that seemingly random February Monday we have off for no reason, I'm once again politely asking/totally begging you to participate in a little blogathon known as the Mount Rushmore of Movies.

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 concoct will be accepted, so feel free to get a bit loose with it. Pour some wine, change out of those stuffy work clothes, grab whatever tools (ahem) you need, and let's do this.

Whether you want to do a Mount Rushmore of Marvel Cinematic Universe characters, the top four Noose Rooster flicks, or a tribute to the most shocking endings of all time, embrace the madness and run with it. Four selections may seem like a lot, but depending on the topic, those spots can fill up quickly. Four years ago, some crazy bitches went wild with their monuments [take a peek here], and last year was more of the same [really]. Let's see if the 2018 can follow suit.

And of course, the business end of this thing I'm not paying you for:

1. I'd like to have all posts done by Friday, March 2nd (where I'll create a master list, linking back to all of your, er, both of your sites), but it's cool if you finish way before that. Or later. I honestly don't mind.
2. Send me a heads up/steamy nude pic on twitter @twodollarcinema , reply in the comments below, text me, e-mail me (twodollarcinema@gmail.com), fart in my general direction, whatever you want, when you've finished, okay? That would be mighty kind of you.
3. In your post, please use the rad banner my wife designed when she should have been working.
4. Share the announcement with every single person you've ever met. Or being that we're all bloggers, you're digital friends.
5. Be awesome. And if you're here, already know that you are anyway.

And even if it's way ahead of time, thanks to everybody who participates, and even to those people who inevitably wished they had/could give a f--k about this nonsense. 

No, really. Thanks. For nothing. Ya bastard. That's real presidential of you.

Trust me, once you go down there...you wouldn't wanna come back up again.

Everybody who grows up in Hawai'i has a shark story. Sure, it was probably a dolphin while you were surfing with your cousin, but it sounds way f--king cooler if it was a shark.

I guess I should have started this post with the word almost, because despite growing up in the middle of the Pacific, I routinely found myself in the middle of a movie theater. But one with a great view of the ocean. 

Turns out I don't have a shark story, let alone a good one, unless I tell you about that time Samuel L. Jackson got eaten by a great white mid-f--king sentence! Or when that lady from Open Water was totally naked for absolutely no reason.

(Sorry, I don't watch a lot of shark movies)

And after catching 47 Meters Down on Netflix with my wife the other night, safe to say I won't be rushing out (or in) to see anymore. While The Shallows [easily one of my favorite reviews] was f--king awesome a few summers back, Mandy Moore vs. a Shark is anything but. Good thing, like an actual shark attack, it's all over faster than you can yell Barracuda!

When we meet Lisa, the tall one (Moore), she has just been dumped by her boyfriend. Fiancee? Tennis Instructor? F--k, I don't know, someone she was previously in a relationship with. Apparently, she never let her hair down (anybody?), and homeboy had to cut her loose. So instead of non-alcoholic margaritas and super-protected missionary, this Mexican getaway is gonna be a pity party.

Filling in for the guy is Kate, Lisa's flirty younger sister. While Lisa is looking to wallow, Kate's looking to swallow. Sea water, you silly goose.

Anyway, after meeting two dudes who look like they might cut out your organs while you're sleeping, Kate plays the be a little adventurous card to Lisa, and basically double-dares her to go shark-diving with the fellas. What's a boring, overly-cautious, perpetual party-pooper gonna do? Well, like me pressing play on 47 Meters Down, something woefully against her better judgement.