“But, Ma, I don’t want to bang those dudes.”

Pretend you have a kid. (Sorry, that sucks that you popped one out, maybe you should have practiced safer sex and now you wouldn’t be stuck with a whiny-money sucker.)

We’ll name your kid… oh… I don’t know… Pixar. Anyway, Pixar is straight A all the way. The little nipper is valedictorian, prom royalty, and wins every major sport they practice. If Pixar was a car- shit I’m analogy crazy today- it would be a Porsche: sleek, smart, and easy to love.

It goes without saying, after years of excelling, you expect a lot from Pixar. I mean… Pixar never fails. It’s the perfect child. You love Pixar. Pixar can do no wrong.

Then Pixar, one day out of the blue, makes Cars 2, one of the shittiest movies of last year. Up is down, black is white, universes are collapsing into each other. Oh wait, none of that happened. The world kept spinning and Hollywood kept making sequels while Pixar licked its wounds and promised to do better with Brave.

And the did. No doubt about it, Brave is a million times better than Cars 2. But that’s an obvious, and easy goal to attain. There’s nowhere to go but up. But it’s hard to tell if the film would have been as enjoyable has Cars 2 never happened.

The film centers around Princess Merida who is forced into this game where dudes from other clans try and bang her. Merida wants none of it though. She’s got a mighty strong chastity belt that keeps all the fellas at bay, which annoys her mom. Princess and Queen fight. Magic things happen. And we all learn a lesson about how awesome mothers are.

Aw, I’m crying all over my keyboard here.

Truthfully, I love that moral. I started scanning films in my head and the list of films, good films, about mothers and daughters is short, scarily short. We all know Hollywood hates chicks but it’s still strange they don’t appease chicks who are moms or have moms which is, like, almost all of the chicks in the world.

And of course it should be noted that it’s visually flawless. Every hair, every freckle, every movement of Meria is fluid and immaculate. Not to mention the staggering beauty of the forests she runs through.

So the actual set up, moral, and visuals are pretty rock solid but something stale still permeates the film. It’s actually not something I could put my finger on. I’ll have to check it out a couple of more times before I figure it out but, at the end of the day, there was just something very, very un-Pixar about the entire film.

At least it wasn’t Cars 2. Boo-ya!!!!!

Grade: B+


Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

I promise you, he does nothing awesome with that ax.

You know what should be awesome? Watching Abraham Lincoln slice the face off of undead fuckers. You  know what isn’t awesome? Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter.

And, we can go around all night listing the various reasons why this gem of an idea fumbled but the fault ultimately lies with tone; because, obviously, people aren’t going to this movie to see a stone dour reinterpretation of one of our most beloved Presidents. FUCK NO!!!

People are going into this turd wanting to see a knowingly schlocky turd, a fun turd: an action packed, boobie fulled, fuck fest with plenty of disemboweled heads. It’s in the fucking name!!!! There should be nothing serious or legitimate about this. It’s already disrespectful with its name, fucking run with it!!!

Yet, somehow, someway, director Timur Bekmambetov manages to suck everything inherently awesome about this premise and turn it into a poor man’s Wanted, which he also directed, which wasn’t that awesome either.

I can’t even tell you want happened in this film. The action scenes where so sloppy it became a chore to follow them, what the stakes were, which is vital to a good action film. Instead it was just a bunch of slow motion shots that blurred any real sense of real violence and dread.

The only parts I remember clearly where scenes that decided, with the random accuracy of a five-year old playing darts, to take Lincoln’s history seriously. It was bizarre and unnecessary for, again, a film that should be a direct to video porno.

Remember when Snakes on a Plane came out? And everyone was SO pumped but nobody went out to support the final film? They were wrong. Snakes on a Plane ruled. Mother Fucking Samuel Fucking L. Goddamn Mother Fucking Jackson cussed and killed snakes. There was even a scene where a chick got her nipple bit off. It was sweet.

It’s a great case of a movie giving a very specific audience exactly what they wanted to see. It flabbergasts me that Abe Lincoln could swing so wide at the same group and miss by that much.

Final Grade: F+

Rock of Ages

Sorry, Mr. Ex Kidman, your new wife can’t join the film. How about a monkey instead?

I banged my 200th broad yesterday. I know, I know, I fucking rule. But, not to get all sissy on ya, after a while, after that many chicks, they just sort of bleed together. Then I run into them in Safeway and don’t really recall their name or what their vagina looked like.

I mention this as a point of reference for people who complain about movie critics. “Why do reviewers have to be so cynical? It’s just mindless entertainment! I didn’t go into that movie wanting to see Citizen Kane.”

Well, the typical review is cynical because, as you’ve guess, they’ve slept around with a lot of movies. They get all up in that cinematic snatch and try to purge all memories from the experience afterward. Honestly, it makes for a shitty reviewer. They get so wrapped up with a film’s problem that they often forget where the film’s actually aiming. There’s a huge difference between what a film wants to be and what a critic expects it to be.

It’s true, not all film’s want to be Citizen Kane. Some films, films like Age of Rock, just want to you sit back, enjoy, and forget your daily problems. Yet, unlike most of these “bad” films, Rock of Ages has a sincere vein running through it that makes it almost startling to watch; so innocent, so devoid of cynicism, it’s a blast of fresh air in these jaded times.

Now, make no mind, that doesn’t mean it’s a good film. It’s remarkably bad. But its intentions are so pure it almost becomes an endurance test on how long you can hold out singing along.

The film centers around that Mormon Chick from Dancing with the Stars. She moves to Los Angles to become a big diva star, on a bus, no cash to her name, meets an oddly feminine love interest almost immediately, you know the drill. You’ve seen every plot in this film a million times, done better, done correctly, but Rock of Ages manages to rise above just by being an un-ironic Little Engine that could.

Part of this is attributed to the supporting cast, the actual actors that haven’t been on Dancing with the Stars. Mrs. Michael Douglass is so emphatic and energetic I expected her to literally eat some of the scenery. Mr. Ex Katy Perry lightens every scene with a witty verbal jab or two. Mr. Ex Kim Basinger is a little rough belting it out but does his usual swinging dick impression. Really though, the whole belongs to the fifteen minutes Mr. Ex Nichole Kidman flies across the silver screen.

His role as a drugged out rocker, covered by hot naked chicks, and wearing a studded dragon cod piece is so specific I wonder if any acting was actually involved. I could actually see the casting director just calling him up and asking him to show up. The only real change to his life is replacing the Chick from Dawson’s Creek with a monkey.

So, will this movie change your life? Nope. Will you bop to the bop of the bibbity beat? Yes. In fact, I suspect time will be fairly kind to this one and it’ll gain a cult following. It’s absolutely one I will forget until ten years from now when it ends up on FX at midnight.

I will stay up to watch it.

Score: B-

I'm gonna looch my Subway sandwich all over your afro.

I’m a pretty gluttonous dude. If something is awesome, I want more of it. Like, when I go to Subway, I don’t fuck around with one topping, or even two toppings. I want all of the toppings. Meatballs? Sure. Jalapenos? You bet your asshole. Just pile everything behind the bar onto a footer and I’ll be happy.

At least for an hour or so.

Then the obvious problem with having it all rears it’s ugly head and I spend three hours squat on a toilet cursing the Subway Gods for having so many accessible toppings.

Madagascar 3 is a fully loaded Subway sandwich.

There’s just too much going on to focus on any one aspect. So instead you’re treaded to half assed barely-stories that get wrapped up in ten seconds. The Giraffe From Friends can’t dance? Let’s have him learn how five seconds later. The Zoolander Lion wants to date a Leopard? Ok, done!

Really, this problem has plagued every Madagascar movie. They think fast paced jokes and boring visual gags are enough to blind the audience into thinking there’s actually a plot.

There isn’t.

Or, well, there is. They join a circus and put on a show, a truly visually stunning show, actually. But it doesn’t feel earned. They haven’t had any kind of real struggle. So you just end up wanting to punch the person next to you in the face.

The only character who manages any amount of dignity and radicalness is the Walter White Tiger. He has a clear, emotionally effective backstory. He’s never used for pointless jokes. And he actually has a character arc that impacts the film’s finale.

Stay away unless you have kids.

Snow White and the Hunstman

                Die Jesus Bella! Die!

               A movie often lives or dies by the chemistry of the actors, especially in a romance. It’s why most people watch films instead of pornos. Cause, honestly, it’d be a lot easier to watch a couple of strangers bang without any back story.

                Instead we choose to focus on the backstory: why do these people want to fuck? Is it believable that the want to fuck? Should I even give a fuck that they want to fuck?

                You’d be surprised how often Hollywood just doesn’t care about these questions. They think, just because they have a male lead and a female lead, the audience should want them to fuck. Again, that’s what pornos are for. It’s also the reason Snow White and the Huntsman fails.

                So Drunken Thor is hired by Evil Queen Aeon Flux to kill Jesus Bella. Those two aren’t the problem though. Thor and Aeon Flux practically ooze likability, even when one is the bad guy. You just want to watch them. They’re my favorite type of actors: one I would want to chug a beer with.

                It’s Jesus Bella. She’s supposed to save everyone, destined to in fact. It’s never clear why or how she’s so special. She just walks on water and comes back to life. She’s also boring as shit to watch.

                Jesus Bella thinks acting involves biting her lower lip. That misguided style also mucks up every scene she shares with Drunken Thor, who we’re supposed to root for as a romantic lead. Instead you watch two hours of Drunk Thor talking to a wood plank, working overtime to steal any sort of emotion from it. But you can’t force a plank to have emotions any more than you can force chemistry, which makes the emotional center of the film hollow and boring.

                Then we have a whole other set of problems whenever Jesus Bella has to work against Evil Queen Aeon Flux. She’s outclassed in every way imaginable. Their fight at the end, in which Jesus Bella swings her sword wildly to a bored and unimpressed Aeon Flux is more than telling, it’s depressing. Aeon Flux deserved a better enemy. And Drunken Thor needs to fuck the chick from Black Swan instead. 

Moonrise Kingdom

Little Baller likes his women in pink           

So this Little Baller is all like, “Hey, baby, let’s run away.” And the Little Girl is all, “Hells yeah, I’ll follow you anywhere because you’re a real man and can take care of me.” So off they go into a pastel colored wonderland known as Moonrise Kingdom.

I’ve never been to Moonrise Kingdom, I think it’s off the coast of Maine, maybe Portugal, but it seems like a pretty bitchin place to live. There are giant storms; Blond John McClane is hanging out with Ex-Hulk and Elderly Venkman. And they all seem to know what’s required of them, that Quirky Director Dude only wants his actors to act, you know, fucking quirky.

But really the film belongs to Little Baller and Little Girl. Quirky Director gets a lot of mileage despite their age. They stab people, dance in their underwear, make out, and out badass Blond John McClane. It’s pretty tough to out badass John McClane but they do it. Maybe the peroxide fried his brain.

Little Baller also brings all the typical Quirky Director quirks down to realty, despite the set that looks like my Great Aunt’s house. Because, let’s face it, sometimes these stylized bastards fall a little too in love with their own style. You need dude’s like Little Baller to let the audience know it is ok to feel things, like emotions and stuff.

The dude next to me cried. Pfft… fucking pussy.



              Remember that hot chick in college, the slutty one you always wanted to bang? Then there was the fateful evening you ran into her at a kegger. “This is it,” You think to yourself. “I’m finally gonna bang the slutty hot chick.”

And then, in the moment of truth, instead of banging her you end up spending four hours on a couch in her best friend’s basement listening to her bitch and moan about her professor/boyfriend/fuck-buddy dude who’s, “like, totally being mean right now.”

Prometheus is an equitable boner killer.

Cause, let’s face it, that movie looks fucking gorgeous. Dreary landscapes, stark colors, Charlize Theron’s breasts, it has everything  your eyes would want in a movie, aesthetically speaking. It’s the hot chick.

It has aliens too. Aliens, at least according to that crippled dude with the voice box and Hollywood, pretty much just want to kill humans. (If you’re keeping score: killer aliens, hot chick’s boobs. This should rule.)

So, yeah, I went into this movie wanting to fuck it. I bought it a bottle of wine. I took it to a nice dinner. And, right as I was about to bend it over and ram it in, it’s gotta get all “deep” on me.

I mean, why would I want to watch a movie about questions when I could watch a movie about aliens exploding out of chests? And, more to the point, just like the chick you want to bang, it never actually says anything. If you’re gonna kill my giant raging four hour boner, at least make some amount of sense. Don’t just babble on and on but never actually say anything.

Seriously, at the end of the day, this film won’t fuck you.


Seriously, what do their genital hairs look like?

Michael Bay is too subtle. Thankfully Peter Burg came along to show him how to make films. I mean, why have ten explosions when you can have 50 million explosions?!? And why have Foxy Megan chicks when you can look at Decker Brooklyn chicks??!?! And why have single solar flares on screen when you can have an ENITRE screen of solar flares?!?!?!

So the Navy is playing Battleship, in Battleship, when these alien dudes come down and decide to be like, “Fuck you guys!!! We’re killing you with our giant alien dicks!!!”

Then boats blow up.

No people blew up. Well. That’s a lie. People did blow up but not on screen. It was a wasted opportunity.

The alien dudes sucked though. I didn’t get them. They were reptiles that looked like monkeys that had porcupine hair that wore robot suits. Believe me, that sounds awesome, I know. It wasn’t because, first, they looked like lame reptile porcupine robot monkeys and, second, they didn’t blow anyone up. So you get bored looking at them and start to wonder if they have porcupine hair on their cocks and how much that must hurt the women they fuck. But then you realize the chicks probably have porcupine hair on their snatches so it probably evens out.

Honestly, you won’t remember much of this film, it’s big, loud, stupid, and no tits. But it had enough sheer testosterone and explosions to entertain me while I sat there chugging a Big Gulp and eating Red Vines.

Men In Black 3

I’m a fan of any film with a great bad dude.  You know the kind: fuck any chick, shoot any nerd, and slam a 5 pound porter house steak without blinking.

The bad dude in MIB3 really wants to be cool. And, for, like, five seconds, he’s convincing enough to fool you into thinking he’s hella cool. He shoots these spiky thinks into people’s heads, he rides a sweet ass Harley that probably gets him lots of pussy, and he roars. More bad guys should roar. But, for as much spiky-head-shooting, for all the chicks he should be banging, he just falls a little flat.

This pretty much sums up MIB3.

This film should be awesome, I repeat: people take spikes to the head, but it’s just not. Hell, there are scenes where aliens are literally exploding in front of you. Explosions tickle my ten inch dick like a French Waitress with a feather duster. And, to be honest, my dick was erect for every alien explosion but then Fresh Prince showed up, made a few boring jokes, and generally just acted bored to be there.

Two things make my dick go limp: watching people be bored and restaurants that don’t serve Blooming Onions.

So, as you can imagine, I spent the entire movie vacillating between six and midnight. My cock didn’t know what to make of so many exploding aliens and Fresh Prince boredom.

I’m not gonna say, “Don’t see this.” Explosions happened and Alice Eve looked fuckable. Just be prepared to go home without an urge to masturbate.

Boobs: 0

Heads Blown Off: 14

Explosions: 6

Meaningful conversations: 2

Total: 42 Percent

He’ll shoot you in the forehead. But you’ll still be bored.

What To Expect When You’re Expecting

The babies throw up as much as I wanted to during this film.

So, in the opening scene, Camron Diaz and that Curly-Haired-Fuck from Glee bang, off screen, and dance erotically in skintight clothes, on screen. Then Diaz blows chunks all over national tv. And you’re sitting there thinking, “Slutty Diaz, a unitard, and spew, alright, I’m in. This movie is gonna be filled with boobs, fart jokes, and, hopefully, a vag or two.”

It’s all downhill from there.

There are other people. I don’t even remember them. Mostly they talk about “feelings” and how much their “boobs” hurt. And, all the while, you’re sitting there like, “Alright broad, you’re tits hurt, pull them out and let’s get going.” But that never happens. It’s two hours of complete booblessness and boring conversations.

Chris Rock is there. I remember him. He also wasn’t awesome. That’s how badly this film fucking sucks nards: it made Chris Rock lame.

So all these chicks just sit around pregnant and then, all of a sudden, as preggo chicks are want to do, they go into labor. I think it was supposed to be hilarious labor, because they were yelling and screaming and talking about taking drugs. But nothing is funny about it. It’s just boring. And you’ll keep hoping for a vag shot, a quick sneak peek like in Knocked Up, but, nope. No vag. No boobs.

This film can suck my giant donkey dick.

Boobs: 0

Heads Blow Off: 0

Explosions: 0

Meaningful Conversations: 30 Million

Total: -30 Million