Movie Reviews

Total Protonic Reversal

Total Protonic Reversal
or
Bustin’
or
Never Read the Comments

a kindly review of Ghostbusters (2016)
by David Clemmer

Introductory paragraph! Acknowledgement of the intense negative backlash! Mention of the source material! Years! Directors! Writers! Stars, former and current!

Look, you know all this. You know that some of the world’s biggest assholes have been stretching open their existential orifices and pouring their existential waste all over this movie. I don’t need to go into it. Either you’re reading this and you are a decent human and are like, ‘Just talk about the movie’s merits and pitfalls; fuck,’ or you’re an idiot trash person and are like, ‘Brog! Ooga! Ook! Movie bad! [experimental raspberry] [suddenly fascinated raspberry] [giggle while touching own tongue] [more experimental raspberries] [angry, functional masturbation] It trilby! Not fedora! Ug! Og!’

[As if an echo from the past…] ‘Just talk about the movie’s merits and pitfalls; fuck.’

Sorry. Let’s talk about this legitimately funny but forgettable, functionally hampered movie, and make reasonable comparisons and stuff.

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The Mutant Mummy Returns

The Mutant Mummy Returns
or
Welcome to Some Decade
or
‘Now We Know the Third One Is Always the Worst’ Is an Actual Line Spoken In this Film

a kindly review of X-Men: Apocalypse
by David Clemmer

In ancient Egypt, there was a vastly powerful man. At the height of his glory, in the middle of Some Magical Shit or Something™, he was betrayed and contained for centuries until awoken in the more-or-less modern age. Two hours of bad screenwriting and CGI later were wished back by thousands, and that wish was denied by a cold and empty cosmos.

my manOnly, you know, blue.

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Are We Still Friends?

Are We Still Friends?
or
Earth’s Most Numerous Instances of Things Happening™
© 2008 – 2019 Marvel Studios Inc.

or
Donut Prison Blues

a kindly review of Marvel’s Captain America: Civil War
by David Clemmer

I am, at this moment, going to tell you what happened to you. You were sitting in, like, a big room with a bunch of comfyish chairs shoveling bad food into your mouth, and you and all the other people in the big room were staring at lights organizing themselves to represent moving pictures on a big wall at the other end of the room. Before the really long moving picture, you watched a bunch of really short moving pictures that gave little exciting glimpses of long moving pictures that are coming out in the future. One of them caught your interest: Captain America and Iron Man punching each other, and oh, there is Spider Man; there he is.

You said to yourself, I am going to see this movie.

Am I creeping you out yet? That’s fine. Go to sleep.

You said that to yourself—or maybe to someone else in the big room with chairs, whether you knew them or not—because you like superhero movies. Or, specifically, the milestones of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Because, by this point, you’re aboard the Marvel train and you’re going to the end of the line with the rest of us.

Worry not, friends: Marvel didn’t start sucking, by any means. If you liked the previous Marvel movies, you shall like this one.  So, if that’s all you need, I’ll just be on my way.

Well, unless you want to hear why it’s going to go down as just another Marvel movie.

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I Need to Be Drunker for This

I Need to Be Drunker for This
or
Just, No. Just…Just Stop
or
Fuck

a kindly review of whatever the fuck I just watched
by David Clemmer, drunk right now

Still drunk from having to self-medicate my way through Zack Snyder’s groundbreaking vision of filling his pockets with as much of DC Comics’ money as they were willing to desperately shovel out of the cargo manifest of their rapidly sinking vessel, I am going to write a review of Batman versus I’m not finishing the title.

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We’re Home

We’re Home
or
You Will Remove These Restraints and Leave This Cell with the Door Open
or
I Thought of ‘Up In Snoke’, Which Isn’t Really Applicable to the Tone of This Review, but Now That I Thought of ‘Up In Snoke’, I Can’t Think of Anything Else. So Consider This My Reservation to use ‘Up In Snoke’ for a Future Star Wars Movie That Actually Features Plot Points Involving Snoke

a kindly review of Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens
by David Clemmer

Star Wars movies go like this in release chronology: great, great, er…good, shit, fucked shit, fucked shit that’s a little darker therefore evincing possible internal bleeding. I don’t need to go into detail about any of this because you, indisputably, feel the same way, and I, arguably, would be unable to divorce myself from comparing the prequels to different bodily afflictions that use your BMs to tell you to go to the hospital.

Less-gross analogy here (arguably): Saying that something is better than the execrable prequel trilogy is like saying something that’s not a McDonald’s Fish Filet is delicious after eating nothing but McDonald’s Fish Filets for ten years. So, you can go ahead and chalk this one up to a big, long, ‘Duh.’ A dumpster fire is objectively better than Episodes I-III, to the point that not even the edited-down fan-edit can save it. Like, once you’re not eating Fish Filets and sitting criss-cross-applesauce inside an actual dumpster that is on inextinguishable fire, most things just feel better—even if it’s eating a burger from Red Robin while sitting in an air-sealed ’90 Volkswagon Jetta in 102º F weather.

Let’s move on from my analogy game altogether, shall we?

I got to be a guest on the podcast this week, so you’ll hear my thoughts alongside those of Jason and Robbie’s—which are, more or less, in confluence. Also, I’m not the first person to write about The Force Awakens on the internet.

Therefore you already know that a lot of people are saying it’s good, go see it. We all said that on the podcast, and I’m writing it now. It’s fun, it’s good, and it feels like a Star Wars movie.

After the ‘Read More’ line are a bunch of spoilers. If you’re on the actual page for the review, I’ll pad the spoiler parts by putting them after this wall of .gifs.

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The Bond Identity

The Bond Identity
or
Licensed to Die
or
‘Shit.’

a kindly review of 007: Spectre
by David Clemmer

Spectre, the twenty-somethingth, umpteenth, whateverth installment in the (rebooted?) Sexist Misogynist Dinosaur franchise, is possibly the worst one ever. Of course, I wouldn’t really know, nor would I want to know, because that would mean drinking and distracting my way through a bloated and tired back-catalog of movies that have done nothing to serve our culture other than to glorify violence and virility.

Like, Oh, okay, that car’s supposed to be sexy. Or something. I’m supposed to’ve read about this car in some magazine or something, and discussed its virtues over some liquor I can’t afford at a men-only poker game. And that woman is supposed to be the very ne plus ultra of my every primal desire. I’m supposed to desire naught else but to ███████ her in the ██████ █████ ███████ ███ while    then    into a $1,000 pair of Vicuna socks. And the manner in which he dispatched those bad guys was top-notch gentlemanly, and his quip could fuel a sex-rocket to Alpha Centauri.

That’s why my interest picked up in the Craig-era movies. Because these tropes started to fall off like all the crisp skin flakes of all of Jimmy’s sexually-transmitted diseases. But now the infection is back, and it’s raging, and no ointment is going to erase the burn unless you amputate.

What, you thought you’d have to click ‘Read More’ before getting to a dick reference? I have my own tropes too.

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Crimson, Blood, Death, Yeah, You Get It

Crimson, Blood, Death, Yeah, You Get It
or
Bland’s Labyrinth
or
The Screaming Skull, 1958

a kindly review of Crimson Peak
by David Clemmer

Have you ever seen The Screaming Skull? The 1958 Alex Nicol thriller? Season 9, Episode 12 of Mystery Science Theater 3000? Because if you have, even if it was with a guy and a couple robots cracking jokes at it, then you’ve essentially seen Crimson Peak.

I’m going to spoil the everloving balls off of this movie in the ensuing review, and I don’t have the technology to use spoiler boxes on WordPress. Therefore, please note that clicking the ‘Continue Reading’ thing, or reading past the third paragraph, is tantamount to clicking  a spoiler box.

Unspoiled nutshell review: If you had to choose between watching Crimson Peak, and going to a financial meeting at a company you don’t work for, consider the meeting. You could gain some insight about Verizon’s budget concerns and projected outcomes. You could gain some free crappy Safeway cupcakes. Or a stale bagel with runny cream cheese. You could be arrested for being there in the first place. Seriously, how did you get in here? Where did you get Janice’s access badge? What did you do with Janice?

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Not a Nasty, Dirty, Wet Hole

Not a Nasty, Dirty, Wet Hole
or
Nor a Dry, Bare, Sandy Hole
or
A Hobbit-Hole, and That Means Comfort

a kindly review of There and Back Again: David Killstein’s fan edit of The Hobbit
by David Clemmer

In a hole in the ground, there lived a movie trilogy. It was a cumbersome, maladroit, swollen trilogy that blundered through its source and supplemental material like a warped creature that will starve to death unless it is fed giant leafy mountains of hundred-dollar bills. Like, it sucked ass and stuff.

One day, as the trilogy sat bloating on its front porch, it was approached and good morninged by a wizard named David Killstein, thereafter taken for a journey that would change the trilogy forever. It packed its stupid bags and put on its stupid coat and trudged its stupid feet down the path—not knowing whether it went toward its betterment, or its peril.

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Hi, I’m Scott

Hi, I’m Scott
or
Don’t Tell Cap About This
or
I Almost Wrote This Review In Tiny Font, but I Didn’t; You’re Welcome

a kindly review of Ant-Man
by David Clemmer

The Marvel Cinematic Universe might just be one of my favorite things right now. What it’s bringing to the filmic potluck in product, monument, and ethos is so cool on my audience-member end of things that I wait with nary a shred of skepticism and ennui for the next installment. Even Dr. Strange and Inhumans and Tina Fey’s Squirrel Girl starring Chloë Grace Moretz

If even one of you readers immediately opened a new tab to google ‘mcu squirrel girl,’ I’ll die happy.

This excitement was applicable to Ant-Man from the moment that tiny trailer came out, and hearing that Paul Rudd was going to be riding ants, getting coached by Michael Douglas’s Hank Pym, shot at by Corey Stoll (a.k.a. the drunk senator from House of Cards, a.k.a. the drunk Ernest Hemingway [is that redundant?] from Midnight In Paris), and punched in the mouth by Evangeline ‘Resting Do-I-Smell-Farts Face’ Lilly. And yes, my excitement waned when Peyton ‘Who?’ Reed stepped in for Edgar Wright, and when I looked Peyton Reed up and went, ‘…oh.’ But it didn’t wane by much. And rightly so. Wrightly so?  No. Don’t chuckle at that. I said stop it.

Continue reading Hi, I’m Scott

WolfCock

WolfCock
or
Boober Magazine
or
RIP, Nipples the Cat

a kindly review of WolfCop
by David Clemmer

So-bad-it’s-good movies never have resonated with me unless there was a guy sitting with his two robots at the bottom of the screen, but I’ve always wanted that resonance. I see movie posters of things so high-concept and schlocky that I want to see them, but I rarely ever do. When WolfCop popped up ‘Popular on Netflix,’ I added it to my list immediately but thought I’d never watch it.

Then, like a wolf penis growing through a human penis, the desire to watch something bad burst through my penis. Head. My head-head, not my… Where’s the RESTART button on this review?

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