Bad Ass (2012)
VERDICT:
7/10 Amber Lamps
Gotta love that YouTube generation.
Bad Ass is about a kind, elderly Vietnam vet who lives in a crime-ridden neighborhood that’s only getting worse. One day on his bus ride home, he winds up breaking up a fight between some angry skinheads and a helpless old man. Since skinheads aren’t exactly the most understanding folk, they turn their aggression on the vet instead of going on their merry way. One thing leads to another, and the skinheads get the ass-whooping of a lifetime. Thanks to the apathetic Samaritans on board who figured that filming the incident with their cell phones is about the same as physical intervention, the video of the beat down goes viral and the vet becomes an overnight hero. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but once the violence hits home and the cops won’t do anything about it, our vet straps on his fanny pack and gets to cleaning up the streets old school.
Man, this whole thing just cracks me the hell up. A few years ago, there was this actual viral video that went by the name of “Epic Beard Man.” If you haven’t already seen it, I highly suggest filling that void in your life before reading any further. It’s a three-minute video that shows an escalating confrontation on a city bus between a white, elderly Vietnam vet and a possibly intoxicated African-American named “Pinky.” They exchange words, things get heated, and when he finally gets pushed, the elderly vet ends up cleaning Pinky’s clock. Not all that funny when you think about it, but it’s the details that make this sucker gold.
It’s the Epic Beard Man’s appearance, for starters. Waist-high gym shorts held up by a fanny pack, white beard of epic proportions, and a sky blue shirt that reads “I AM A MOTHERFUCKER” of all things on the back. Then it’s the confrontation. Epic Beard Man moving to a different seat on the bus, Pinky’s friends egging him on by shouting, “Whoop! His! Ass!,” and the complete surprise reaction from everyone on the bus when Pinky gets dropped like wet soap. Then, finally, it’s the aftermath. Epic Beard Man storming away and ranting about his innocence, Pinky’s friends informing him that his face is “leaking,” and, of course, Pinky trying to pronounce the word “ambulance.”
As far as street justice videos are concerned, it’s right up there with that Australian kid who body-slammed his bully at recess. As far as “only in America” internet oddities go, it’s pure gold. This is the kind of stuff my friends and I howl over, the kind of stuff on YouTube that absolutely kills my productivity. Folks, few things are sweeter in life than watching thugs get their due.
Anyway, the point of this story is that writer/director Craig Moss apparently saw the said video and was so profoundly affected by it that he decided to turn it into a full-length motion picture. Apparently he found some financial backers who agreed, which leads us here today. My gut reaction the day my friend sent the trailer to me: “You’ve gotta be kidding.” Upon further thought after watching the trailer three time: “I have to see this.” What can I say, this is the world we live in, and this is my kinda guilty pleasure. Major, major reason why I enjoyed it so damn much.
I gotta say though, props to Moss for approaching this the way he did. From what I understand, the real-life Epic Beard Man is a pretty shell-shocked individual, not the kind of person you’d want driving your story. Anyone who wears a shirt with that written on the back doesn’t strike me as the most personable fellow to sit next to on the bus. So instead of going down the “tortured soul” route, Moss writes him as Frank Vega (aka: “Bad Ass”): the bastard lovechild of Paul Kersey and John Rambo. He’s a kind-hearted veteran who never asked for trouble, but when trouble came knocking, he kicked down the door. Super likable, super easy to root for, and what’s not to love about geriatric justice?
Good call, Moss. Right way to go. Not to mention that Danny Trejo was the absolute perfect guy to play him.
Part of it has to do with the way Epic Beard Man’s sudden notoriety mirrors Trejo’s own fame so late in life (plus his troubled past), but it mostly has to do with the fact that when you have a character named “Bad Ass,” you cast accordingly. This is Trejo’s bread and butter right here: run train on fools, mock them when they’re down, and be the most amicable mother-effer in town just by being you. That’s the formula, he does not disappoint, and it’s great to see him have such a blast with the role. More movies need Danny Trejo in them, and if you’re not on the bandwagon, it’s time to hop on board. Machete Kills can’t get here fast enough.
By now, I’m sure this doesn’t sound like the high-brow darling on the festival circuit that you were all expecting from the title, but that’s okay, it’s on the level. This here is a B-movie all the way and it’s not really trying for more. Low-budget, totally ridiculous at times, and since it doesn’t take itself too seriously, it doesn’t take much for us to follow suit. It’s just R-rated, direct-to-video fun that works far more often than it should. Still doesn’t mean it works entirely though.
The plot’s pretty uneventful as Bad Ass spends a majority of the busing it across town in search of the jerk that killed his friend, and the one-liners in particular don’t always land like they should. They’re the kind of one-liners that made Commando the unintentional comedy classic it is, and there’s no shortage of ’em either. But what saves it is the way the script recovers them. For instance, in what is hands-down the gnarliest scene of the movie, Bad Ass introduces a dude’s left hand to a garbage disposal after the punk refuses to snitch on his boss. As you can guess, the tactic works like gangbusters and the guy gets to snitchin’. So just before Bad Ass leaves the kitchen while his friend’s on the floor staring at his bloody stump, Bad Ass says, “I want to thank you for giving me a hand.” Swing and a miss, cue eye rolls. But then, just as he’s about to walk out, he turns back around and adds, “By the way, you’re wife’s got a message for you. She says to go fuck yourself! I hope you’re a righty.” Too-freaking-good, and Trejo delivers it beautifully.
Whether it’s Bad Ass stealing weed from a guy he just tossed out a window, or his young friend next door freaking out over pie, the script is riddled with stuff like that. Way funnier than I was expecting, had me laughing out loud right up to the end. Also does a surprisingly thorough job of paying tribute to its inspiration, which is extra hilarious considering how little there is to actually honor.
But by the same token, that’s me, the dude who was on board the second he saw the fanny pack on Trejo. If that’s not you, then don’t take my word on this as there’s a really strong chance you’ll find Bad Ass stupid as sin. Seriously, watch the video, then make your decision. Or don’t watch the video and watch Machete instead. After all, the best laughs here are the inside ones, and no one likes being on the outs with these things. Yeah, the target audience is specific, but speaking from experience, it’s a fun one to be part of. This ain’t rocket science, it’s barely long division. Then again, I came this close to giving it an 8, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s a passing grade.
The Vow (2012)
VERDICT:
4/10 Forget-Me-Nots
It’s like 50 First Dates…minus 49…plus prettier actors. Yeah, that didn’t add up for me either.
The Vow is about a young, bohemian, happily married couple who are driving down the street one day, stop at a red light, lean over to kiss each other, and get rear-ended by a Mack truck that slams them into a wall. The husband gets banged up, but his wife gets put into a coma. A short time later, she wakes the hell up with a mean case of amnesia. Doesn’t remember her husband, still thinks she’s engaged to her ex, and since she can’t recall anything from the past four years, she’s pretty much a stranger to her boo. But since he’s one of those hopeless romantic types who watches The Notebook a lot and thinks love is stronger than memory loss, he doesn’t give up. No matter what the cost, and despite her insistence on rekindling old flames and reconnecting with her estranged family that thinks he’s no good, he stays the course and tries to make his wife remember.
What a guy.
As you may have noticed from the poster, this here buzzkill fairytale is in fact “INSPIRED BY TRUE EVENTS.” Caps lock is a must for these kinds of stories. And according to Wikipedia, it actually seems to stay pretty faithful to its said inspiration. Apparently the real-life couple got through their ordeal thanks to their faith in God, but that sounds like the only big difference between them and these secular heathens of ours. Granted, it’s a pretty appealing story, the kind of thing that would get you a book, get you on Oprah, and get you a movie that would totally come out on Valentine’s Day. But that’s the thing about this story: it’s a novelty item, a flavor of the week.
Now, I’m sure this isn’t an isolated incident, that there have been couples throughout time who’ve had to work their way through amnesia. And being the big fan of fidelity that I am, that’s great, those couples rock. But by the same token, it’s not the most relatable story in the world now, is it? When I think about the kind of “couple problems” that my couple friends and I have, the go-to’s tend to be money management, planning for the future, and how many kids to brew up? Believe me, there are others, but forgetting your spouse and mentally traveling back in time isn’t one of ’em. It’s not that stories are only effective if they make you think, “Holy crap…this is about me!,”although for this particular story, it would have helped.
Because when all is said and done, there’s only so much to be taken away from this movie outside of a healthy reminder that Channing Tatum’s still ripped. If I had to take a guess at the moral of this story, I suppose it’s that true love waits. But since it actually doesn’t wait in this particular instance, it’s hard to actually say what I was supposed to gain. Buckle up, maybe? I don’t know. Really wish it could have bridged a gap in some way by using their struggle with her amnesia as a metaphor for something more universal. It’s really too bad that it doesn’t and remains a passing fascination, one that makes you think, “Sucks for them,” before moving on with your life.
On top of that, it’s painfully repetitive. Like, We Need to Talk About Kevin-repetitive. The whole damn plot is just Channing Tatum devising a new ideas to jog his wife’s memory, Rachel McAdams trying to be open-minded to it, the idea inevitably backfiring on them, them getting into a screaming match, leading them right back at square one. Sounds fun, right? Since it’s not the most unpredictable bastard of a plot either, I don’t think I’m spoiling anything by revealing that this is the formula for the entire movie up until the last ten minutes or so. Perhaps there are folks who like these kinds of movies, ones where the characters make zero progress from start to near-finish despite their very best efforts. If somewhere out there those people exist, someone needs to give them a hug, ’cause that ain’t my cup of tea and this here is a bummer and a half.
There’s also the whole issue of the chemistry between our two leads, and to be honest, I’ve always been lousy at determining these things. If it was The Vow: starring Rachel McAdams and Hitler’s ghost, that’d be one thing. But Rachel and Channing, they’re fine together. Sure, they could have been better, but alas, it was out of their hands.
See, given her condition and circumstances, McAdams has to go the whole movie wearing this face of utter shock and confusion, because apparently a major side effect of amnesia is looking like a dramatic squirrel. Add that to all the time she spends being stubborn as hell and moping about the husband she doesn’t know for the bazillionth time to anyone in earshot, and you’ve got yourself one seriously exhausting individual. Can’t really knock McAdams for any of that because she’s giving it the old college try. Can totally knock the writers and director though.
And since I already spent the majority my 21 Jump Street review gushing about him, I’ll keep things brief and just say that I’m still on the Channing Tatum bandwagon. Unfortunately, he doesn’t really bring much of note to the table, and from a completely superficial standpoint that I’m ashamed to even be taking, he doesn’t exactly strike me as a McAdams’ “type” either. But that’s neither here nor there. Like McAdams, he serves his purpose and is just as much eye candy for the ladies as she is for the fellas. However, given all the surprisingly good and against-type stuff he’s been doing this year, it’s frustrating to see him front and center in the lovey dovey, Nicholas Sparks-y crap that he was doing such a good job of distancing himself from. Whatever they’re paying him, it ain’t worth it. Your better than this, C-dog.
Ugh, serenity now. I need to see Magic Mike already.
All the same, there’s nothing egregiously bad about The Vow, and though it wasn’t my vote for movie night, it wasn’t torture to sit through either. Aggravating, yes, but pretty low on the Richter scale in terms of capital offenses. It’s just a very forgettable way to kill time, which is kind of fitting considering the context. Also really tired of the amnesia card being pulled in any story in any medium, but since this is one’s actually grounded in truth and there’s no ulterior motive where Rachel McAdams turns out to be Keyser Soze or something, it gets away with it. Still, it could have been more.
But, hey, it’s probably super helpful if you ever, like, have amnesia.
ParaNorman (2012)
VERDICT:
8/10 Dead Residents
Oddly enough, itS the best zombie movie I’ve seen in ages.
ParaNorman is about a kid who’s been outcasted by his peers and more or less shunned by his family because he says he sees dead people, even talks to ’em, too. As one might imagine, life ain’t too peachy when no one believes your best friends are ghosts. But then, one day, Norman finds his calling in the form of an estranged, creepy uncle who also happens to hang out with dead folks. Apparently, his uncle’s been busy keeping the spirit of a dead witch at bay by reading fairy tales at her burial ground at the same time every year. Realizing he doesn’t have much time left, the uncle entrusts Norman to carry the torch, then promptly drops dead without giving him all the details. With time ticking away and few people to rely on, it’s up to Norman to save the town before everyone else starts seeing dead people.
So, this whole let’s-be-the-cool-older-brother-by-taking-your-little-brother-out-to-the-movies thing has really been paying off lately. Diary of a Wimpy kid was just what the doctor ordered and now there’s ParaNorman: one of the best times I’ve had in a theater all year, maybe one of the best movies I’ve seen all year, period. Believe me, I’m as surprised as you are by the way this review is shaping up. Heck, I thought I was biting the bullet with this one. The title’s unfortunate, so were the trailers, and, given that I haven’t seen Coraline and never had much desire to fill that void, the Laika studio connection wasn’t doing it for me either. But, since I ended up laughing from start to finish, drooled all over myself from how pretty everything looked, and now that I’m stuck with this urge to track down Coraline, this is yet another reason why you should never trust a trailer.
Except for the title. Still pretty unfortunate.
Now, a semi-easier way to explain what’s really going on in ParaNorman is that it’s like The Sixth Sense-meets-The Goonies-meets-Bully. Yes, one of these things is not like the other, and, no, I don’t think anyone going into this movie was expecting life lessons on understanding and acceptance via zombies and witches. In theory, it’s a stretch; a Scooby-Doo rerun with some feels on the side. Although, in practice, it’s this unexpected connection that makes this movie pretty great.
In the few months after I watched Bully, the thing I remember most is that it could have done more, could have served as a catalyst for change instead of just shedding light on devastating cruelties. Don’t get me wrong, it was important as heck and there was much to be gained; but, the more I think about it, the more I’m becoming partial to how ParaNorman tackles the issue. The lessons are the same, they’re just addressed with a lighter hand. With Bully, the vibe was more, “Treat other people as you would like them to treat you, or the absolute worst could happen.” With ParaNorman, it’s more, “Live by the Golden Rule because it’s the right thing to do.” At the end of the day, the latter approach is the one I’m gravitating towards and I think a younger audience would, too. Nothing too heavy-handed, just some subtle, effective, true-to-life wisdom about the perks of getting to know people and not being swayed by the opinions of others. Kid you not, it nearly brought me to tears.
It all goes back to Norman. What’s great about this kid is that he doesn’t seem weird, even though it’s easy to see why he people walk all over him. It’s easy to sympathize/empathize with him because the whole ghost whispering thing was just the hand he was dealt in life, a hand that he would rather keep hidden despite the fact that everyone already knows about it. In a nutshell, the kid’s misunderstood, he can’t help who he is, and since everyone else is too caught up in their prejudices, they can’t see Norman as anything but a freak. I think everyone’s felt like Norman at some point or other, and I love the way everyone else develops around him in turn. Even the most minor of characters are flat-out great, and if The Goonies had had characters like these, I would totally like The Goonies. Please don’t hold that one against me. It just wasn’t my thing.
Anyway, time to lighten up the mood here because ParaNorman is also hilarious. Already mentioned that, but since hilarious PG movies are about as rare as a blue duck, it bears repeating. I’m 25, my brother’s almost ten, we saw this in an empty theater, and I completely drowned him out. For the record, he was laughing a lot. As I’m sure you know, it ain’t easy finding a movie where the laughs keep coming regardless of how old the audience is. So, yeah; hat’s off to Paranorman.
Now that I’ve avoided the obvious for this long, let’s get down to brass tax and talk about how gorgeous this thing is.
From the way Norman’s hair keeps reverting back to that Wayne Static look, to the outrageously curvy, anatomically impossible character models that synch up perfectly with the personalities associated, this sucker is a treat to behold. Just incredible how much character and personality went into every last detail of this movie, and it only gets more impressive as the story progresses. There’s just something about claymation, something very old school and vibrant about it that’s hard to find in other mediums. Not that I have anything against computer-animated or hand-drawn movies (save all those so-real-it’s-creepy CG movies that Robert Zemeckis won’t stop making), but clay is something else. As great as the gang at Aardman Animation is, they certainly have some friendly competition going for ’em.
Worth it just for the climax alone. Absolutely stunning.
Plus, it’s got a fantastic little score that roped me in and started working those heartstrings real early on, and a killer cast that made me smile like a doofus once I started matching names to voices. Every one of ’em is top notch, but big ups to whoever pegged Casey Affleck to voice the dimwitted, hunky jock of the group. Wouldn’t have been my first pick, but, boy, did he work like gangbusters.
Aside from the hundred different ways that ParaNorman surprised the pants off me, what truly sets it apart is that it tried something new and came out on top. Up until now, the only lessons I ever learned from zombie movies were to book it to the mall and aim for the head. Not the worst advice in the world, but, for a genre that tends to wade in the shallow end, it’s pretty amazing how deep this one went. There is truly more than one way to skin a cat, folks, and ParaNorman did just that. If I didn’t have a nine-year-old to tag along with, this would have been a pretty hard sell. I’m guessing the same is probably true for a lot of the adults reading this. However, if there’s anything we’ve learned today, boys and girls, it’s that preconceptions are for suckers. Somehow, someway, I loved ParaNorman, and if my reputation counts for anything these days, I’d risk it on this.
Beasts of the Southern Wild (2012)
VERDICT:
9/10 Bayou Countries
Sometimes a movie just knocks you right out.
Beasts of the Southern Wild is about a little girl named Hushpuppy who lives with her daddy in The Bathtub – a fictional island community nestled in the rising waters outside The Levee. They don’t have much, and sometimes they don’t even have that, but when a mighty storm threatens to wash The Bathtub away, they batten down the hatches instead of heading for the mainland. Lo and behold, The Bathtub gets flooded. So Hushpuppy and her daddy get in their flatbed/dinghy and start searching for their friends. But as her daddy’s health worsens and the world starts crumbling down, Hushpuppy starts doing her best to fix things while learning life’s hard truths in the process.
I’ve had a good two weeks now to mull this one over, and it’s hasn’t gotten any easier to pinpoint what it is about Beasts of the Southern Wild that makes it so special. Maybe it’s because it’s ultimately more of an experience per se than it is a movie. Or maybe ’cause it doesn’t follow the conventions we’re used to, opting instead to tell its own story in its own way. Granted, there’s never just one thing you can point to in a movie to say what makes it good or bad, but it is rare to find one that’s so good on so many levels that you don’t even know where to start.
I’ll do my best to elaborate without sounding like a broken record, but yeah, this is one you just have to see for yourself.
For starters, writer/director Benh Zeitlin must have been using some black magic to get this sucker looking like it does. It has been a while since such an obviously fictional movie looked like it was anything but. At least for me it has. Off the top of my head, the last time I felt this way was six whole years ago with one of the all-time greats, Children of Men. It’s not that I was unaware that English women are in fact super fertile and weren’t actually waist-deep in the baby apocalypse, but if I hadn’t known better, I think I would have bought it without checking the price tag. Same goes for Beasts. Not like I was under the impression I could book a flight to The Bathtub and that aurochs have up and returned from extinction. But the reason Beasts is so visually enthralling is the same reason Children of Men was: it looks more like the world we live in than a world that’s been conjured up.
Children of Men is arguably the most realistic-looking apocalypse movie that’s ever graced this fine Earth, and Beasts of the Southern Wild makes the fairy tale world of The Bathtub look like a bucket list destination we’ve all been missing out on. That’s what’s so amazing about set design and art direction when its pulled off like this: it makes you believe. Given all the detail and identity that goes into every inch of every set, I honestly couldn’t differentiate from the authentic and the staged. It all looks so lived in, so hand-made and personal to everyone involved in this story. I realize there’s a good chance that none of what I just said may sound like much of a selling point, but when you see it, it goes a long, long way in getting you invested right quick. The fact is, you just don’t see too many movies with this kind of seamless effort and this kind of boundless creativity in ’em.
There are just these scenes, man. Like when Hushpuppy narrates about how her mama was “…so pretty, she didn’t even have to turn on the stove. She just had to walk by and the water would start boiling.” Cut to her mama gliding through the kitchen, waving her hand over an oven, and lighting the burners without touching a dial. It helps to see it in action, but damn if that wasn’t the most awesome scene I’ve seen all year. And the movie is filled with moments like that! “Wow” moments that bring all this tough love and Southern mysticism to life like you wouldn’t believe. It’s got character, and if Terry Gilliam and Terrence Malick had themselves a celluloid love child, this is probably what would end up in the delivery room. Although even that is selling it kinda short.
And speaking of Hushpuppy, little Quvenzhane Wallis here is a freakin’ firecracker. What that girl lacks in size, she makes up for in gusto.
So if there’s one thing we’ll all be agreeing upon, it’s that there’s no denying how gorgeous this movie is on the outside. See it, get back to me, at least we’ll have the visuals. But then there’s the inside, and that’s where things get interesting.
The thing about the script is that I’m almost tempted to call it sloppy. There are a number of underlying conflicts here to drive the plot along (eg: the damn storm, the declining health of Hushpuppy’s daddy), but that’s about as familiar as it gets. For the most part, things tend to fly by the seat of their pants. Characters don’t develop like they usually do, the overlying conflicts seem to kinda happen as they happen, and by the time it all comes full circle, it’s not worth asking how we got there because the answers don’t come easy. If it were any other movie, I probably would call it sloppy and move on, but somehow it isn’t. Instead, it’s all part of the adventure and it’s nothing short of magical watching it flow right along.
You see, the overarching theme of the story is that everything in life has its purpose, and when even the smallest of things falls out of line, the universe follows suit. To paraphrase Hushpuppy, the thing that matters when order turns to disorder is what we do to stop the bleeding and how we pick up all the pieces. It’s an epic take on life as we know it, and it’s amazing to watch these Bathtubians rise to the occasion. With each new friend that Hushpuppy and her daddy find, and with each new roadblock they hit along the way, they’re always trying to make lemonade out of the situation. Bathtub’s flooded? Screw going back to the mainland with the rest of those deserters, we’re gonna build us a floating house! Salt water’s killin’ off the fish? Wrassle up an alligator hide, throw some dynamite in it, and start doggy-paddlin’ for The Levee! Again, probably sounds kinda weird out of context, but it’s really, really moving when it’s all going down.
But as enjoyable as that all is, the beauty of Beasts of the Southern Wild is this feeling that everyone who sees it is going to come away with something different. It’s a very open-ended movie, and right up to the end, it’s hard to say exactly what it is that we’re supposed to gain from each development and conversation. But the impact is there: this gut feeling that’ll have you running the emotional gamut even if you can’t put those feelings into words. Even after all this rambling of mine, I still feel like I haven’t even come close to putting down a concrete explanation of how this affected me. What I can say is this: it’s a story about living and about learning how to. It’s about grabbing life by the horns and sucking out the marrow. It’s as invigorating as anything I’ve seen all year. I loved it.
That’s as concrete as it gets.
It might put some people off – not being able to say what the movie’s “about” after 93 minutes – then again, I like coming up with my own explanations, it gets people talking. For those keeping track, I’m pretty sure I said the same thing about The Tree of Life last year, and that one’s still backfiring on me. But everyone who just rolled their eyes at that last sentence, fear not, this is far easier to appreciate than The Tree of Life. Plus, no dinosaurs.
I feel like I should have more to write about with Beasts of the Southern Wild, but some movies are just bigger than words. It’s the score, it’s the heart, it’s The Bathtub, it’s the evolution of Hushpuppy; it’s the whole shebang, man. I wasn’t sold when I bought the ticket, but by the opening sequence was over (which is likely the best opening sequence I’ll see all year), I was hook, line, and sinker. I watch that trailer now and I get goosebumps. Always great when movies make you happy to be alive, make you want to live as large as they are. The world needs more movies like that.
Killer Joe (2012)
VERDICT:
3/10 Hick-Fil-A’s
Some envelopes just shouldn’t get pushed.
Killer Joe is about a white trash kid from a trailer park in Texas who finds himself $6,000 in debt after his mom steals his coke to fix up her truck. Naturally, he comes up with a plan to off his n0-good mama so he can cash in on her life insurance policy and pay off his dealer in turn. Now, since he’s new to this whole matricide thing, he gets his dad, sister, and step-mom to join in on the fun. But since they’re new to the whole matricide thing too, they request the services of “Killer” Joe: a local cop who does some – you guessed it! – contract killin’ on the side. Eventually, Joe obliges them with his expertise, but being that they’re so poor they can’t even pay attention, he decides to take the kid’s sister as his retainer of sorts. While the kid isn’t too keen on this agreement, he’s not too keen on being dead either. So with time running out and options running low, the kid hounds Joe to get on with his mom while Joe’s busy getting on with his retainer.
Oh, Texas. You so crazy.
Not that it warrants clarifying, but this here movie is pretty effed up. Like, Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead-effed up. Granted, it’s a lot funnier and a lot more entertaining than it sounds, but “pretty effed up” has been the go-to answer each time I was asked, “How was the movie?” And the more time I’ve had to think about it, the more I’m not really sure what compelled me to see this Southern fried sick puppy over all the other fine options at my disposal. I mean, I’ve got all kinds of time for Thomas Haden Church, and I’ve always had a soft spot for Matthew McConaughey, but Emile Hirsch and Gina Gershon are what you’d call “red flags.” That, and something about the poster and title just weren’t doing it for me. As a proud advocate of not judging books by their covers, you can color me hypocritical, but when you’ve got two hours to kill and a ten spot in your pocket, why not go for the NC-17 movie?
And since that’s always the million dollar question with these things, let’s just start with the obvious: does Killer Joe deserve its NC-17 rating?
As idiotic as the MPAA’s ratings system is and as much as I want to take the side of the censored…the rating’s pretty accurate. Up until the last 15 minutes or so, it’s actually more like a rock-solid R. Lots of nudity, lots of bad words, plus all that noise about killin’ parents and crooked cops sleeping with girls who aren’t “all there.” Don’t bring the kids, but nothing mom and dad can’t handle. But there is those last 15 minutes, and those right there are a deal breaker. After all the NC-17 nonsense with Blue Valentine two years ago, I’ve always thought the rating was a bunch of hooey caused by rich folks who have nightmares about teenagers seeing private parts. But this is no Blue Valentine. Blue Valentine‘s about as racy as the Car Bears compared to this.
Folks, sometimes even the prudest of prudes get it right.
As for those last 15 minutes, I’ll get to them in a bit, but the second most important thing to know about Killer Joe is that during that whole time when it was still rated R, it was cruising at a solid 7. As usual, Emile Hirsch did nothing for me as our coke-pusher, Chris; and the same unfortunately goes for Gina Gershon as his step-mom. But also as usual, Thomas Haden Church is a total trip as Chris’ uber-gullible, simple-minded dad; Juno Temple – who I’ve never seen before – is pretty darn good as Chris’ sister who can’t keep her damn clothes on; and it’s also one more glaring reason why Matthew McConaughey needs to quit doing rom-coms.
As you can probably guess from the pictures, McConaughey plays “Killer” Joe. Aside from his instantly eerie Johnny Cash getup, he does a great job of confirming our suspicions about Joe by not doing anything all that blunt to get him there. It’s the grisly stories he tells over morning coffee without batting an eyelash, the level-headed manner he keeps when everyone around him’s in dire straits, the feeling that there’s an evil behind those shades, an evil that’s just waiting to boil over. You watch McConaughey as Joe, and you don’t need a body to know his nickname was earned. It’s a really good, subtle performance from a guy who keeps letting himself get typecast in shit that’s way, way underneath him. Call me crazy, but just you watch, this year’s gonna be a good one for old Wooderson.
And the script’s not too shabby either. Tracy Letts throws some great one-liners in here and has a real knack for getting laughs out of the royally grim circumstances he creates. Not much going on in the way of plot as it takes these characters a really long time to start doing something other than what they were doing to begin with, but whatever, it’s fun to just watch them do as they do. The only thing that bugged me was that, since it’s adapted from the stage, that’s exactly how it ends up coming across. Characters don’t just have everyday conversations with each other, they speak in stories. Like if you went up to your buddy at the bar and said, “Hiya, Phil! Whatcha’ drinkin?,” only to have Phil respond, “You remember the old railroad down by the river? Johnny and I used to love that old railroad. One time, back when we was little, we almost died on those there tracks. Did I ever tell you that story? Well, it was the end of summer. That’s right, I remember it now. Mama done told us to stay away from those tracks. No, wait. Maybe it was August…”
You get the idea. It’s all in the way these people talk to each other and it’s like that from one scene to the next. Not the worst thing in the world and it’s not poorly written by any means, it’s just that it all feels more like a well-filmed Broadway production than a decently-filmed movie. Personal preference: I’d go for the latter.
So that’s all well and good for the most part, but then there’s this scene in the last 15 minutes that I keep alluding to…
Since I’m not in the business of spoiling movies, I can’t get specific about what happens in the said scene – which is convenient because I wouldn’t want to anyway. But just to give you an idea of what happens, try imagining an unhappy medium between The Killer Inside Me and Irreversible. Not gonna be the guy who recommends two of the most misogynistic movies of all-time just to prove a point, so if you haven’t seen ’em, you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one. It’s not so much that the scene comes out of nowhere, it’s just hard to justify such brutal violence towards women as anything but unnecessary and despicable. Seriously, if you’re looking for a great way to ruin a movie in one fell swoop, beat up on a girl or worse. As you can see, it works every time.
I’m guessing there are folks who’ll defend the scene as “character development” or “pitch black humor,” and at the end of the day, that’s their prerogative. Different strokes for different folks. But I’m not on the bandwagon, and it’s a mighty fat chance that I’ll be getting off. If it was meant to shock, it was a sound success, which is unsurprising given William Friedkin’s penchant for shocking the shit out of people. The problem is that there’s a fine line between shocking and sickening, and Friedkin treads heavily towards the latter. To tell you the truth, if I didn’t have a movie blog to report back to, I probably would have walked out. I’ve never walked out on a movie before, and I’m frankly shocked that no one else walked out amidst the echoes of “Jesus Christ!” throughout the theater.
It’s also got a pretty wacky ending to boot. I overheard a couple people on the way out of the theater talking about how it was, “One of the better endings I’ve seen in a long time,” but that struck me as a pretty subjective statement. It certainly leaves us on an inspired note, I will give it that. Although given everything that goes down leading up to it, it was all just too much for me.
It really is a shame I couldn’t give this movie a higher Verdict because Killer Joe is not without its merits. It’s actually got merits up the wahzoo. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t, in good conscience, recommend it in the slightest. I can only imagine the looks and comments I’d get from folks if they saw this just because I went and gave it an extra four “Hick-Fil-A’s.” If you could have seen the seat-squirming going on in that theater, you would understand. But my own reputation aside, the deciding factor in all of this is that it’s very difficult to support a movie that’s ultimately so deplorable, even for such a short amount of time. One of those scenes that makes you feel awful for those involved and makes you wonder why it exists in the first place. Or maybe it doesn’t, but it sure did for me.
Just glad I saw this by myself. Friends don’t take friends to see Killer Joe.
And the best Batman movie is…
THE DARK KNIGHT!
Wasn’t expecting such a landslide, but after one month and 87 votes, the proof is in the pudding. Hell of a movie, hell of a trilogy, and can’t wait to see how Hollywood screws the next one up!
Swell voting, folks.
RESULTS:
– The Dark Knight: 51 votes
– The Dark Knight Rises: 13 votes
– Batman Begins: 5 votes
– Batman: 4 votes
– Batman: The Movie: 3 votes
– Batman Returns: 3 votes
– Batman: Mask of the Phantasm: 3 votes
– Batman: Under the Red Hood: 3 votes
– Batman & Robin: 1 vote (someone misunderstood the question)
– Batman: Gotham Knight: 1 vote
– Batman: Year One: 0 votes (at least it’s the best graphic novel)
– Batman Forever: 0 votes
Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days (2012)
VERDICT:
6/10 Deadbeat Summers
One more reason why it pays to listen to nine-year-olds.
Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days is about a nerdy seventh-grader whose plans to play video games all summer are ruined when his dad catches him lying about his daily activities, unplugs the TV, and tries to get him (dun-dun-DUUUUN!) an internship at the office. Rather than spend his days in a cubicle, and at the risk of being sent to a dreaded prep school, the kid thinks fast and lies about getting a job at his friend’s country club. Luckily, his dad buys it, and so our soon-to-be eighth grader tries to make the most out of his vacation by hanging out with best friend, avoiding his older brother, and working his way out of the friend zone with the girl of his dreams.
Believe it or not, I’m pretty unfamiliar with the Diary of a Wimpy Kid franchise. Haven’t read the books, haven’t seen the other movies, and if I didn’t live ten minutes away from my nine-year-old brother, I probably wouldn’t be writing this review. Not that I have anything against it, it’s just that my days of getting excited over movies that star a ginger kid named Fregly are long, long gone. Then again, my brother is the man, and if he vouches for something, I’m taking that suggestion to the bank. So like the good brother I am, I got on the bandwagon, brought my wife (the trooper that she is) along for the ride, and proceeded to have a good old time.
Despite this being my introduction to the franchise, I can totally see the appeal. Sadly, the story of our wimpy kid Greg Heffley is almost a mirror image of my own life at 13. He’s an “indoor person,” a kid whose perfect day boils down to: 1) gaming non-stop, and 2) eating, bathing, and urinating only when absolutely necessary. Lord almighty, have I had days like that. He’s also the kind of kid who makes one screw-up decision after another, all of which go against his better judgment, and all of which come back to bite him. I won’t go into detail being that some memories are better off repressed, but, again, the similarity is striking. Not to mention his possible banishment to prep school, which totally happened to yours truly.
Kids, it pays to do your homework.
I forget the exact moment when my wife and I both came to the realization that Greg is Aiden and vice-versa, all I remember is smiling at her on the verge of laughter while she hung her head in shame. In my defense, I’ve grown up a lot since 13, and I’ve always been athletic for that matter, but who am I kidding, I’d still grab the PS3 if my house went up in flames.
I really wasn’t expecting to see so much of myself reflected so accurately in this movie, and it really went a long way in getting me way more invested than if I’d been, say, an Eagle Scout. I also think a lot of kids today are like Greg and I, maybe to an even more unhealthy degree. Nothing in this world will harsh an adult’s mellow like watching a kid playing his PSP on gorgeous, sunny day, but alas, that’s just the generation we live in, folks. If there’s one thing I can truly applaud Diary of a Wimpy Kid for, it’s how true-to-life it is, depressing as it may be.
But don’t get me wrong, it’s only depressing because I’m getting all nostalgic right now. The movie itself is the furthest thing from depressing, nor is it out to make our children feel like bums. In fact, it’s actually pretty funny, provides some worthwhile lessons for parents and kids alike, and has an amusing cast of characters to boot. There was a part of me that felt kind of bad for laughing with these wimpy kids, especially Greg’s best friend Rowley who looks like a cross between John Denver and Canteen Boy, but they are endearing and they’re more than just punchlines. Same reason I don’t feel bad laughing at everyone in Napoleon Dynamite. Special mention to Devon Bostick who plays Greg’s older brother, Rodrick. Kid clearly has a knack for this thing and sings that god-forsaken “Baby” song way better than the Biebs ever did.
Also great to see Steve Zahn as Greg’s dad. I don’t care what anyone else says, Steve Zahn is awesome. Always has been, always will be. Why isn’t he a household name yet?
Anyway, I enjoyed myself, but 25-year-olds with beards and wives aren’t the target audience here. So when it was all over, I referred to my brother: the superfan in residence. Completely straight-faced so as to not sway his opinion, I leaned over and asked him, “So what’d ya’ think?” With a big ol’ smile on his face and an enthusiastic thumbs-up (a look synonymous with his older brother), he replied, “Pretty good!” Nodding in agreement, I asked him how it compared to the other movies, to which he pondered, “I don’t know, I kinda like them all the same.” And as to how it compared with the source material, he reflected, “Well, there are some things I like more about the books, and some things I like more about the movies. So they’re both good.” Not to badger him any more than I already had, I finished with one question: “Better or worse than The Avengers?”
Another big smile. “The Avengers.”
And there ya’ have it. My brother is the man.
It’s kinda weird to write about a movie like this since I’ve gotten so used to rambling about the deeper meanings and broader implications of all these “grown-up movies” I watch. Granted, there’s not a lot of that going on here, but after all the artsy fartsy, R-rated, and generally kid-unfriendly stuff that I inundate myself with, it’s actually really nice to step back and lighten up for a change. Sure, the editing’s a mess and there’s a lot going on, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to smiling the whole way through. It also gave my wife some major giggle fits, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. I kid you not, the woman was convulsing.
Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days is just harmless fun, and at the end of the day, us grown-ups could use more harmless fun in our diets.
The Grey (2012)
VERDICT:
8/10 Black Deaths
Well, that came out of nowhere.
The Grey is about a man with a very particular set of skills that he’s acquired over a very long career spent hunting wolves on an Alaskan oil refinery. His wife has left him, he’s at the end of his rope, and he’s heading home with the team of oil riggers he’s been hired to protect. But then they hit a blizzard, their plane crashes in an Alaskan tundra, and the survivors find themselves smack dab in the middle of wolf territory. With supplies and options at an all-time low, the hunter takes command, leads what’s left of his team into the wilderness, and searches for civilization before the hounds get them first.
As far as misleading ad campaigns go, this one was a doozie. Let’s face it, the only reason any of us cashed in on this movie was under the promise of seeing Liam Neeson bare-knuckling wolves for two hours. When that’s the last image you leave viewers with in a trailer – Liam Neeson charging head-first at a goddamn wolf – you’ll put some asses in seats. One of those moments that either made you wonder why Liam Neeson was sabotaging his own career, or confirmed your belief that Liam Neeson is a living god. But as much as I like Liam Neeson, I thought it looked stupid as hell, even if there is an awfully strange appeal to fashioning nips of Jack into brass knuckles. I’m still not sure what side of the fence most folks ended up on after taking this all into account, but one thing was for certain: this sucker was taking itself seriously.
It was some ad campaign alright, but for all the time I rant about how trailers are the antichrist, how they give too much away, and how they just provide false impressions for the movies they’re promoting, every once in a while you get one that actually does the movie a service. So with my hesitations on high and my expectations running on empty, I prepared for a movie I didn’t want to see. And whaddaya know, I got something else.
Interestingly enough, The Grey works in a lot of the same ways that writer/director Joe Carnahan’s last effort, The A-Team, worked. Also not sure about what side of the fence people are on with that one, but as weird as it is for me to say this, I kinda love The A-Team. Much like The Grey, its reason for existing was suspect at best, the action scenes looked to be staged by a six-year-old on a Pixy Stix bender, and the trailers weren’t doing much to sell it as anything but that. But then I watched it, and it had me grinning like a simpleton from start to finish. It wasn’t Shakespeare, but it was a blast.
I liked spending time with B.A., Murdoch, Hannibal, and Face because they were having as much fun flying a tank through the air as I was watching them from my couch. They knew it wasn’t Shakespeare, they acted like people instead of characters, and it made all the difference. If they had acted differently, it would crashed and burned like so many of its peers, and the same is true for John Ottway and the crash survivors. Because if there’s one thing Joe Carnahan knows, it’s how much salt to take things with.
The reality of the situation is that this could have been some frustrating shit to sit through. I could easily see some Hollywood fat cat greenlighting a movie where every scene has some asshole freaking out like Bill Paxton right before he gets his head chewed off, all while Liam Neeson whales on a wolf with some Rambo-like trap he MacGyvered out of twigs and berries. Thank you, Joe Carnahan. Thank you for not making me sit through that. Not to say that there isn’t action and suspense to spare, but while the steps these men take to secure their physical survival is driving force of the plot, that’s not what this story is about. Ultimately, The Grey is a meditation on death, its inevitability, and how we answer the door when it finally comes knocking. Again, certainly not the movie I was expecting.
Hopefully I’m not bursting anyone’s bubble, but one of these days, we’re all gonna check out. Death is some scary shit, and its fascinating to watch the different ways in which these characters come together and come to terms with that fact when it’s staring them in the face. Even more fascinating in how it makes us reflect on our own lives and deaths. And there are a lot of characters here, a lot of whom die. But what matters is that they don’t feel expendable. Their experiences, their actions, the fates that befall them all serve a purpose, whether it be for their own sense of closure or for those around them. Under someone else’s direction, they could have been dog meat, but these guys are as human as they come, and it makes all the difference.
In fact, there’s only one stock character in the bunch: that dude with a chip on his shoulder who, for reasons unknown, insists on making life difficult for everyone else around him and is naturally the first one to ask, “Who made you the boss?,” when Ottway starts giving orders. For a while there, this curmudgeonly bastard was the Achilles’ heel of this movie and was glaringly out of place amongst a cast of characters who clearly understood the value of common sense. But then in one fell swoop, the script becomes self-aware and changes all that for the better. Not only do his shortcomings become his strengths, but he becomes the most interesting character next to Ottway himself.
And that’s what’s great about this script: the way it keeps evolving, keeps adding unforeseen layers, and keeps getting better right up until the very end. This is deep stuff here, and it’s incredibly effective to boot. It handles its circumstances with the seriousness they deserve, it provides some universal, borderline profound insights along the way, and completely rises above the preconceptions that came along with it. It does get a bit heavy-handed at times, mostly due to how many times Neeson gives his “Live or die on this day” speech like he’s George-effing-Patton, but despite how many frat boys probably have that speech up on their Facebook profiles right now, it’s a pretty minor gripe in light of everything else this script achieves.
Not to mention what a fantastic, fleshed-out character Ottway is and what an awesome call it was to have Neeson play him. Still blows my mind how Liam Neeson has turned into such an undeniable badass over the past few years, but things are obviously working out for the guy. They’re making Taken 2 for chrissakes. Wonder what that one’s gonna be about.
Anyway, I’m still pretty surprised by how much I liked this movie, not to mention how impressed I am by Joe Carnahan these days. Not to piggyback off the same point, but the thing that’s so special about The Grey is how unexpected it all is. It had all the trappings of being a vapid, idiotic, testosterone-charged excuse to watch The Actor Formally Known as Oskar Schindler go to town on some mutts, and I thought that’s what I signed myself up for. It should not have been good, but it was. It looks great, it plays out brilliantly, and it continually digs deeper instead of staying in the shallow end.
I’m sure there are folks out there who were hoping for some hardcore man-on-wolf combat here, but alas, this is much, much more than that. Then again, give it another year. Someone in Hollywood is bound to make that movie.
God Bless America (2012)
VERDICT:
8/10 Moral Crosshairs
About damn time.
God Bless America is about a single father with a good job, a spoiled daughter, and an ever-increasing intolerance towards the warped society we’ve created. Then our single father has a bad day. He gets fired from his job for sending flowers to his co-worker, his doctor tells him he has an inoperable brain tumor, and his neighbors still won’t shut the eff up. So he goes home, surfs through one deplorable reality show after another because there’s nothing else on, and then he puts a gun in his mouth. But just as he’s about to pull the trigger, My Super Sweet 16 comes on. Realizing the “good” that can be done and what little he has to lose, he spits out the muzzle, steals his neighbor’s car, and heads out to off the said teenager. And so with the unlikely help of his biggest fan (a 16-year-old girl), he begins his cross-country killing spree to rid the world of everyone we could do without: the mean ones.
It’s a lot like Super actually, only better in every way.
Back when I lived in Manhattan, rarely a day went by without me experiencing what I like to call “Groundhog Day moments.” Moments when I fantasized about taking a pair of scissors, cutting through the headphones of the ignoramus standing next to me on the train blasting Rihanna so loud that reading a book became an immediate non-option for everyone on board, and not worrying about the repercussions/ass-kickings that followed because I’d just end up repeating the same day anyway like Phil Connors. Once or twice it got so bad that I actually made those fantasies a reality by verbally unloading on the most intolerable of commuters, and while I choose to believe I won those battles, reasoning with the unreasonable is a war hard-won.
The point is: I’m all for toleration and acceptance, but some people just have their heads up their asses and there aren’t enough people out there doing their part to either, A) pull them out for some much-needed fresh air, or B) calling them out for being the roto-rooters they are. Perhaps I’ve just grown hard from having lived in The Big Apple for so long, but I think that we all have these urges at one time or another: to throw self-preservation to the wind and let loose on the inconsiderate.
And that’s what’s great about writer/director Bobcat Goldthwait, because he’s tired of reasoning, too. Interestingly enough, the crux of the story in God Bless America and the initial breaking point for our overnight vigilante of the hour is none other than William Hung of all people, or at least the fictional equivalent of William Hung. While part of me finds it odd that so much of this story revolves around the infamy Hung gained through American Idol, it does make perfect sense. Contestants like William Hung were the only reason I ever started watching that show, and the more I think about it, the more ashamed I am. That poor kid got paraded around for us like a tone-deaf jester, and a whole lot of us ate it right up because it was easier to laugh than to consider how we’d feel in his shoes. It was a bully mindset that got William Hung famous, and the worst part is that it’s only gotten worse.
The fact is, for everything that’s great about the world we live in, it’s gotten pretty malicious and ass-backwards over the years. Making a sex tape will make you famous, FAIL is the new WIN, and the most popular books in the country are not only horribly written, but are about vampire girlfriends with low self-esteem and subordinate sex slaves with low self-esteem. Once upon a time, our culture was one that reveled in our own achievements, turned model citizens into role models, and celebrated the worthwhile contributions that made us better. Not to say that those days are long gone, but all too often it feels like we’ve stepped into Bizarro World, like we’re on one big episode of The Gong Show and everyone’s lining up to be next.
Now, before you go throwing that stone, let me be clear Goldthwait’s solution is not for us to cash in on that Second Amendment and get a firing squad ready for The Bad Girls Club. If it’s a call to arms, it’s an innocent one, about as innocent as Jonathan Swift’s push to get Brits to eat their babies. It’d be a much finer line to walk if it wasn’t clearly a dark comedy, but if American Psycho taught us anything, it’s that killing people wholesale can be pretty hilarious. On the other hand, it can be a tough movie to take lightly thanks to certifiable quacks like James Holmes and Anders Behring Brevik who could watch this and use it as a manifesto of sorts. But potential sociopathic/homicidal dangers aside, it’s the intent that matters most here, and the intent proves effective.
Believe you me, America’s Got Talent will look like the antichrist after this is over…which is incidentally close to what it looked like beforehand.
Unfortunately, intent and execution are two different things, as it does go from preaching-to-the-choir to crazy-guy-with-a-megaphone-on-the-street-corner in terms of who ends up in the dead pool. For all of Goldthwait’s royally astute observations and criticisms of the people, shows, and mentalities that keep bringing us down and yet we keep buying into, he eventually turns his focus to people who give high-fives, people who liked Juno, and people who drink Red Bull. Unless everyone hates me and I don’t even know it, there are times when it sounds like Goldthwait has it out for the lot of us and it’s time to start running down the Naughty List…except for Alice Cooper, who is nothing short of a living god to Bobcat Goldthwait. Maybe that’s the point, that we could all afford to be better, but as someone who loves a good high-five, high-ten, or the rarely-realized high-thirty, it does seem more like undeserved hate.
But that’s not most of the time. Most of the time those who get it have it coming. It’s kind of strange to be smiling along and nodding in approval whenever someone gets whacked, but by the same token, that is totally the risk you run when you park across two spaces. Seriously, who does that?
So it meanders quite a bit, it’s terribly long-winded to boot, and as far as dark comedies go, it pales in comparison to Goldthwait’s last effort – the highly under-appreciated and keeps-getting-better-every-time-I-see-it stroke of morbid genius – World’s Greatest Dad. But even if it is a low 8, even if the ending could have stepped down off its soapbox, and even if its storyline doesn’t quite maximize on its potential, that’s okay, because at the end of the day, God Bless America is fighting the good fight. It taps into something that’s both pretty effed up and wildly relatable, and then pours out a brew that’s just ripe for the chugging. Doesn’t hurt that Joel Murray (brother to Bill) is solid as Frank, nor does it hurt that Bobcat Goldthwait might be one of the funniest guys on the planet these days.
Anyway, the lesson of the day here is a lesson worth repeating: it’s so easy to turn the channel, it’s so easy to be civilized, and it’s so easy to just be nice. It’s far later than I would have liked, but it really is high time that America had this kind of common sense slapped/shot into it. For the record, I don’t agree with Frank and Roxy on everything, and I’ve never been a fan of the “so-and-so deserves to die” frame of mind. But, if we ever needed a mirror to look into, now sure is the time. Something has gone terribly wrong when the assholes keep finishing first.
So for anyone who’s ever watched TMZ and felt embarrassed for the human race, this one’s for you.
Great soundtrack, too.
And the best Beatles album is…
ABBEY ROAD!
“You Never Give Me Your Money,” “Come Together,” She Came in Through the Bathroom Window,” “Golden Slumbers,” “Carry That Weight,” “The End.” – what a great album. Good voting, folks.
And apologies for dragging this thing out for a month and change. Just moved from The Big Apple to Vermont, and as much as I’m digging the The Green Mountain State, moving is no picnic. But now that I’m settled, the reviews shall return.
That’s my story, thanks for bearing with me.
RESULTS:
– Abbey Road: 9 votes
– Sgt. Pepper’s: 7 votes
– Rubber Soul: 6 votes
– Revolver: 6 votes
– Let it Be: 6 votes (personal favorite)
– The White Album: 4 votes
– Please Please Me: 3 votes
– Help!: 2 votes
– With the Beatles: 1 vote
– Magical Mystery Tour: 1 vote
– Beatles for Sale: 1 vote
– The Beatles’ Second Album: 0 votes
– A Hard Day’s Night: 0 votes
– Yellow Submarine: 0 votes
– Other: 1 vote for “Ahh, the great unanswerable question.” (I hear ya’)
Cut The Crap Movie Reviews 