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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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...

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.

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.