Fast and Furious

I’ll openly admit to breaking the seal about 8 minutes into the original THE Fast and THE Furious and spending most of the time in my friend’s bathroom pissing my brains out and my life away. Combine this with the banana schnapps and past expiration date rum my friend’s uncle would push on us and I couldn’t tell you what that goddamn movie was about. Car thieves and an undercover cop out to bust them maybe? I don’t know, at that point all I had on my mind was taking a nap underneath my car.

So the two following Fast and the Furious movies, I’m told, were dogshit rehashes that maybe one of the original actors who wasn’t Vin Diesel came back for. So now the gang’s all back for Fast and Furious. At the opening of the trailer and with a touch of irony, Diesel and crew set up an elaborate gas heist from a moving fuel tanker in South America. And Jesus, I’m bored talking about this already.

I don’t know if you listened to any new albums last year, but the running theme throughout the year seemed to be that of the too little too late variety. Metallica, REM, The Cure and Counting Crows all put out albums which seemed to gravitate back to their respective so-called signature sounds. After years of experimental droning and generally disinteresting offerings, these bands got back to the supposed basics and put out albums that would’ve quickly been categorized as more of the same crap had they put them out 10 or 15 years prior. But because of the nonsense they let drip out of their distinctive musical cornholes after the fact, last year’s releases were regarded as (and I truly hate this phrase) returns to form. And I think that’s what we’re looking at here with Fast and Furious--a crappy movie that would’ve been crappy and disappointing if it was a direct sequel, but because it came out after what I’m sure were even worse sequels it will somehow be considered good. It’s the Death Magnetic of movies, except that Metallica actually did legitimately kick ass at one point.

Aside from fuel theft and an uneasy alliance between the antelope-eyed Diesel and some pretty boy, I couldn’t tell you what this movie’s about. More cars, I’m guessing? I always avoid this kind of flick because you get the jagweeds with the tricked out Ford Focuses revving their engines in the parking lot after the movie. Then you always see them at Denny’s like 15 minutes later, proving that your night was destined for the shitter from the get go.

Dragonball: Evolution

Without doing even the slightest amount of research to find out where the hell the idea for this turd came from I would ask only one question: video game or anime series? And after a small scrap of what just might pass for investigative journalism it turns out anime series is the answer. And said series on which this live-action tax write-off is based isn’t even a cool one like Cowboy Bebop or... uh, Cowboy Bebop.

Honestly, I’ve only got a vague idea as to what Dragonball: Evolution is about. Some bad guy named Piccolo needs some balls to take over the world. And there’s a character named Bulimia in this movie. Watch the trailer. I’m not even making this shit up. And if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, I thought I saw Chow Yun-Fat in the trailer. I know they can’t all be Hard Boiled, but that doesn’t mean they have to be Bulletproof Monk either.

Then I want to say one of the other characters was named Darth Rubbentug. Or Darth Dryrub. Really, what is this? How the hell is a loud and obnoxious anime cartoon series going to translate to a live-action movie? Aside from loudly and obnoxiously? Is somehow sticking the word evolution in the title somehow supposed to make it all better. That’s like serving dogshit at a restaurant, but because you threw the word premium in front of the dogshit on the menu that somehow justifies it or somehow makes it enticing.

Hannah Montana: The Movie  

After that big gums and tiny teeth disease rotting Hannah Montana’s brain causes her to get into a shoe fight with Tyra Banks, start up a gluttonous meth habit and allow herself to get fingerbanged by a Hispanic busboy, Billy Ray Cyrus makes her check into rehab at the local slaughterhouse in her hometown of Gonad Lick, Kentucky. And that’s a real place too. Google it.

And what’s even more entertaining is the fact that the big gums and tiny teeth disease has made Hannah Montana think she’s Gladiola Mason, and with that overinflated sense of entitlement the persona brings, she expects the world to kiss her puckered little ass. So instead of trading blowies for drugs, she rides horses and wears cowboy hats and if she can get that monkey off her back and recover from the horrific big gums and tiny teeth disease that threatens to ruin Montana’s career forever, Billy Ray will give her the blonde wig and matching bedazzled buttplug back.

Actually if Hannah Montana: The Movie was about her descent into Lohanland, I would gladly see it in a heartbeat, even if only to keep chasing that schadenfreude dragon that seems to dominate my life. But since it seems more like a fable, cautionary tale or some other shit about living double lives, split personalities or poor fashion choices compounded with some touchy-feely what matters most squeaky-clean morality play, I’ll probably just walk into the theater, soil myself heavily, and leave my pants behind as I slink out an an emergency exit. And if I think of it, I’ll scream something about my gums growing and my teeth shrinking.

Obsessed

Picture perfect married couple. Freakshow temp at his job who cranked up the crazy and ripped off the knob. Sending sexy photos via office e-mail freakshow. Trying to grab dude’s wiener when he’s taking a leak freakshow. Lingerie under a trenchcoat at work freakshow. Breaking into his hotel room, getting nekkid and trying to off herself freakshow. Get my drift? No? Christ, you’re sheltered. Breaking into Beyonce’s house and starting some shit freakshow. Steal a cop’s gun freakshow. Go to Civil War recreations freakshow. Have a St. Patrick’s Day party where you serve Mexican food two weeks after the fact freakshow. Making regular purchases out of Fingerhut catalogs freakshow. Polish yardsale freakshow. JESUS CAMP FREAKSHOW FOR CRISSAKES!!!

Every movie has its selling point. That one thing that’s supposed to get your fat ass off your couch and into a theater seat. But with Obsessed I’m having a little trouble figuring out what the hell that ass factor is. Beyonce as the wife? The chick from Heroes as the stalker? It sure as shit isn’t that trailblazing plotline. While I was trying to figure this out I remembered that I might as well try and figure out which tampon to run with. Because I’m not going to waste so much as a shiny ducket on tampons or Obsessed.  Although I heard if you dip a tampon in formaldehyde then stick it up your butt you’re in for a memorable night. But who am I to trust a suburban high school student?

Observe and Report

I think it’s safe to say we’re all Seth Rogened out. And if you’re not Seth Rogened out, you either don’t know who the hell he is or you’re smoking more dope than he does. Over the past few years we’ve seen Rogen play some variation of the same stoner slacker character who gradually morphed from that guy who had you laughing your ass off until you passed out that one time into your asshole roommate who can’t keep his greasy digits out of your pickle-flavored Pringles.

But now we’ve got Observe and Report, in which Rogen plays a dopey, inept but surly mall security guard (picture a bipolar Paul Blart off his meds) whose personal mission is to stop a flasher at his mall that terrorized some chick Rogen wants to bang. Said chick is played by the actually funny Anna Faris. Ray Liotta plays a police detective that Rogen clashes with and yeah, the whole thing sounds boring as shit. But in the family-unfriendly red-band trailer for Observe and Report Rogen is talking to himself in pretty much the same way that Robert DeNiro was talking to himself in Taxi Driver. Faris is a trainwreck sauce fiend and at the end of that trailer Rogen is humping away on a passed out Faris. When he realizes she’s out cold and stops, she slurs “whyyoustoppingmotherfucker?”

Observe and Report looks like its got the potential to be a work of pure comedic genius on the same level as His Girl Friday, The Lady Eve or Gus Van Sant’s version of Psycho. Rogen’s character seems demented enough, in his early ‘90s Cosby sweater Merry Go Round wardrobe, to emanate the random fucked up humor little seen in this day and age. At the same time, I get a vibe off Faris that tells me I could get sick of her character in under 10 minutes. Then the whole thing could be as painful, traumatizing and mortifying as watching two fatties share a pair of fundies and actually attempt coitus. And even worse, refer to it as coitus.

Crank: High Voltage

I know the idea of a sequel to a movie where the main character died, starring the same character who died, is pretty stupid. Especially when the trailer to the sequel shows him falling out of a helicopter or some other kind of aircraft and landing on a car. Now I never saw the original Crank. Seeing a movie named after something I call my dick isn’t a priority to me. Would you expect a girl to go see a movie called Cooter? Granted, it would be awesome if she did, but there’s no way in hell you can expect it.

The only incentive I had to see Crank was that Jason Statham, that grumbling McActor who somehow pulls off being bald and white simultaneously, dies. Now he doesn’t? Now he gets his heard removed and replaced with a battery-powered one. Seriously. I know he was poisoned in the first one and had to keep his adrenaline level up to keep from dying. Now he’s got to keep electrocuting himself in this one to keep the ticker going? I’m all up for the occasional serving of insane ramblings of a syphilitic brain but aside from a completely implausible resurrection followed up by a total repeat of the first movie? The only thing this movie seems to have going for it is that it doesn’t seem to be taking itself too seriously, but if that downy-eyed Amy Smart was in the trailer and she’s being passed off as an attractive woman I’m going to have an easier time believing a guy can survive landing on his back after falling out of a helicopter. In which case the whole thing’s blown for me already. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

17 Again

The system is eggs. If you’re not a teenaged girl and you see the trailer for 17 Again you will mutter the system is eggs to yourself. Here’s the plot in exactly eleven words: an asshole somehow goes back to do it all over again. Matthew Perry as a failed father and human being is magically made 17 again and is played by (and here’s where the teenage girl thing applies) the candy-assed pretty boy from those High School Musical movies who wears more makeup than your aunt Martha. Oh, and I’m sure he spends more time on his hair than your aunt Martha too.

And I’m sure he’ll have to convince his loser best friend that the guy who pukes in his pickup truck every Friday night is now really a 17 year-old kid so he’ll help with… whatever. And of course the guy in question won’t go back to his real age until he learns some invaluable lesson or does some incredibly good deed like getting his nerdy son’s dick wet or taking his gargantuan daughter to the prom—do you even care about this? I’m not trying to get confrontational or anything, I’m just asking an honest question—do you really care about the plot of this movie? I’ll admit I couldn’t give a shit. I’m just wondering if I can stop now. Because what’s the point if neither of us care about the movie 17 Again. Yeah, Dangle from Reno 911 is in it but beyond that neither of us cares, so what’s the point of going on with this review. Okay? Okay. Bye.

State of Play

Ben Affleck plays a senator—no shit—whose assistant (with whom he happened to be riding the proverbial hobby horse) is murdered, and Russell Crowe plays a reporter with little regard for his own personal hygiene. Or maybe this is a period piece from the early ‘90s and Crowe’s character is still in his grunge phase. I’m going to stop talking about State of Play right there. In the not too distant future, I expect there will be a Russell Crowe DVD box set called either The Neglible Years or The Boring Years. This set will be chock full of the nutless milquetoast post-Gladiator era movies that can only be considered exciting by someone who just retired or thinks Kathie Lee Gifford is doable. This DVD set will come with a cyanide capsule, just in case you make it through the whole thing, come to the realization that your life is a joke and this is the sick, sick punchline. And yes, State of Play will undoubtedly be included in that set.