Alright, so since it's freaking Christmas and I'm busy as hell, I bring you the four unfinished reviews that I've done since I began the blog. They didn't get finished for a variety of reasons; from lack of material to passing out face-first into my keyboard and waking up watching an infomercial with "ASDFG" on my face. So here they are in all their imperfect glory. We'll be back to real entries soon enough. Italics represent Sober Morgon.
Tremors
Kevin Bacon and some dude who totally look like Edward James Olmos are... I don't even fucking know what... like handymen or some shit. It seems to me they're payed to argue and drive around the American desert and generally be country hicks. You can tell because they're wearing denim shirts with the sleeves ripped off and dirty cowboy hats. Some poor props person probably had to rip sleeves off like 30 jean shirts just for Kevin Bacon. I hope film school was worth it.
Some woman from "the university" comes to the tiny hick town to take seismic readings. "The seismic readings are off the charts!" says this broad. Off screen, Kevin Bacon and the other hicks are looking at each other and going "What the fuck does 'seismic' mean?"
How Kevin Bacon got famous with a mug like that, I'll never understand. I guess he was a good dancer or whatever, but he just... is unappealing. Please, feel free to disagree, 45-year-old women, but I find him particularly grotesque when he's got long hair (IE. Often). Look! It's pre-pubescent Skeletor!
I think I would've actually enjoyed this film if I'd actually finished it. It seemed to be a sort of "so bad it's funny" sort of things, but one of the ones that knows it's bad, if that makes sense.
Cars
At the moment, I am unable to get into how many things are logistically impossible in a world where everyone is a car. This first scene, alone, brings up a mess of questions. How did all these cars get into their "seats" to watch this race? ... for example.
In this world, they have restaurants. What do they serve in these restaurants? Oil? Gasoline? Uhh... oil? What the fuck is the point?
Even in a world made of cars, fat chicks are hated on. Got to love it.
This concept of one car being sexually attracted to another car confuses me. In this world, sex does not exist. How do they do anything that is remotely equivalent to sex? My guess is that they don't. I'm sure they're trying to give us some bullshit like that it's love, not sex, but he's like "Hey, you're sooo hot. You have a tramp stamp. Whaaaat?!" They are assembled in factories. Factories that are somehow owned and operated by cars? That's creepy as shit!
I am genuinely interested to know how a car becomes an attourney. Seriously. What do car law schools look like? For that matter, what do car SCHOOLS look like? Are all jobs covered like in humanity? I guess mechanic and doctor are the same thing, although that makes me uncomfortable. Are you assembled as a racing star? I find all of this deeply confusing.
WHY do these cars have teeth and tongues?!
Where does he keep his car wallet so that he can aid the economy of this ghost town?
Why are there seats in cars that drive themselves? Also, these cars drive themselves?
Why is it that tractors and threshers are cows, but forklifts and helicopters are people (cars)?
While we're on the subject of helicopters, I think the concept of one person climbing inside another and going for a ride is beyond weird. (I think here I was trying to talk about the truck that the main character rides around in, though... lord knows.)
I ended this review because, as you can see, it became entirely about the logistics of a car society. I really could've gone on about this for hours. The whole thing blows my mind hole.
Panic Room
Saw this motherfucker was on and deemed it the perfect target. Jared Leto with cornrows? I can't go wrong!
Forest Whittaker, you are far too good an actor to be in this monstrosity... even if you do look kinda like Admiral Akbar. (I'm sorry, I do actually respect your acting skill, not that you're reading this.)
Obviously, it is an older, English fellow who tells us all about the panic room. "This is a panic room. It stops burglars from stabbing you in the jugular" Typical Horror/Thriller BS. You've always got to have the middle aged English dude telling you the 'lore of story. Thanks for setting up that Jodi Foster is claustrophobic, though. I'm sure that won't come back later in the story.
If you've actually seen this madness, you will note the ludicrous number of CGI zoom-ins they do. It's like "Burglars are in the house, zoom through the kitchen" "There's a thick concrete wall, zoom through the wall." Ever seen CSI? You've seen this movie. Clearly they were excited about the new and exciting world of computer animation. You know, because nobody had done computer animation before 2002.
There is soooo much of Jodi Foster's cleavage in this movie. Admittedly, she's supposed to have just gotten out of bed, but I venture to guess a woman of her age would've worn slightly more clothing to bed. Is Jodi Foster a sex symbol? Am I missing something? She reminds me of a 16-year-old boy.
Also, the bitch from Twilight is in this. She is the fucking daughter. Who knew? In this film, instead of playing a girl with serious emotional problems due to being in love with the undead, she's just a lesbian.
I admit this film might actually be a bit nerve wracking if it weren't for the fact that they keep shoving Jodi Foster's tits in my face all the time and doing these weird, slo-mo CGI montages.
I'm really supposed to believe that some woman who grew up in Greenwich Village knows how to rewire a phone? Yes, apparently I am. Okay, this bitch grabs the phone cord out of the wall, strips some wires and just jams them into the phone and it's able to make calls. I can't even get into how little sense that makes.
Alright cool, so the kid is diabetic or some shit and also afraid of the dark. I might be tricked into thinking this didn't bode well for them, but the sympathy vote is always a lifesaver in shit movies. If it were the real world, things would certainly be different.
Then I fell asleep. That's what happens when you try to do a review of a movie after you get home from a party and are full of liquor.
Blade Runner
Unlike most of my reviews, I am going in this completely fresh-faced. I haven't seen more than 30 seconds of this film before, but have heard much about it. I've actually wanted to see it for quite some time, but instead I've opted for the route of making wise cracks at the film's production in lieu of just enjoying it for all its legitimate merits.
The people in this world seem to use umbrellas that are the sad off-casts of the light saber factory. Good thing Han solo is there to keep an eye on everyone.
Interesting note (at least, it's interesting if you're a major dweeb): in this film derogatorily refer to human-looking robots as "skin jobs" which is the same terminology they use in the re-make of Battlestar Galactica. Allegedly, this is an homage to the original film since Edward James Olmos is in there somewhere. Just so you know, if you found that interesting, you're a dork.
I really was under the impression that Harrison Ford was a acceptably good actor (You know, after being Han Solo and all) but this movie has proved me horribly wrong. The man narrates quite a bit of the film in a sort of deadpan that would lead you to believe he was more likely to be a robot than a robot killer. Oh no, perhaps that will be the final, shocking piece of information. "Harrison Ford is a robot." Han Solo is C3PO, everyone. Kindly adjust your strange fantasies accordingly.
Hey, robot dudes! It is really not very polite to force-ably strip Mr.Miyagi! The poor man is just trying to look at eyeballs with a microscope using chopsticks! (This is a real scene that happens) I have no idea what I'm talking about here, but it seems entertaining so I'll leave it in.
I'm guessing this is supposed to be one of those existential films since there's a robot girl who doesn't know she's a robot. "but man, what if, like, we're ALL robots and we don't even know it?" "Whoooaaa that's so deep..." everything's deep when you're so high you're at risk of being struck by a 747.
and once again I fell asleep. I guess that means I'm not a robot.
______________________________
There we go. I hope you enjoyed (or at least didn't totally fucking despise) Our special "Morgon is too busy to write a real review" edition of Drunk Morgon's Film Blog. I hope you had a grand celebration of whichever winter holiday you choose or are forced to celebrate.
Film reviews with beer goggles.
Be advised that there will almost definitely be spoilers. Like, lots of them.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Miracle on 34th Street (1947)
In honour of the holidays, I believe it's time for me to poke fun at a film that has been delighting children for generations.
If anyone can desecrate a Christmas classic with booze and inappropriate jokes, it's me. Or, perhaps, your uncle after mainlining egg nog since 2 pm.
I threw the "1947" there in the title so you wouldn't think I was talking about the one starring Matilda.
Our feature begins with a fellow who clearly is under the impression that he is Santa Claus. He turns up at the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade and finds the fake, float Santa to be all liquored up. He finds this to be absolutely despicable. Sorry Santa. S'pose I'm not much better. Good thing I already don't believe in you and am therefore going to hell... er... not get fancy gifts.
It is unbelievably clear right from the get-go that this movie is 60+ years old and this is even if you disregard the ethnicity of the housekeeper. The first time you meet the little girl, she's over at a strange man's house who brought her over there because "he's very fond of her". Whooooaaaa, hold the phone, Mr.Gailey, and please stop touching that little girl's arm while she's alone in your apartment.
Also, this movie is all about the commercialization of Christmas and about how it's no longer about Santa and instead it's about money. Funny, I thought it was supposed to be about the birth of like... some guy or something. Good thing this guy hasn't seen 2010 and a generation of 10-year-olds throwing fits over getting 2GB iPods when they wanted 8GB.
As a child I always thought people in the times of black and white movies just generally sounded the same. I'm guessing it's some kind of thing to do with the recording technology at the time, but I find that there are 3 or 4 different voices for each sex and 4 for children, but after that it doesn't vary much. Every single female secondary character in this movie seems to be from Queens and also speaks directly through her nose at all times.
I understand that this woman wants her daughter to be smart and well-adjusted and doesn't want to lie to her or whatever, but telling your kid there's no Santa is just downright immoral, if you ask me. I am down for not lying to children, but when your 8-year-old goes to school and tells all her friends Santa Claus isn't real, she's going to be a pariah and you're going to be an asshole. "Mommyyyy! All the other kids threw stones at me!" "It's okay dear, they're all just misinformed." The good news is, this girl can grow up to be perfectly suited for sitting at a desk doing data entry or, if she's lucky, crushing the dreams of the innocent.
Once again, this woman is leaving her young daughter alone with a man she barely knows. Only this time, instead of being a handsome and wealthy young bachelor, it is a 70+ man with a beard who is still unmarried (which, in 1947, was kind of a big deal) and this time they're hanging out alone in her bedroom with the door shut. Admittedly, this is the same little girl who frequently chews gum in bed. Parenting 101: don't do anything that happens in the original Miracle on 34th Street.
I am fascinated by the concept that parents took their children to see this in 1947. I guarantee you could not get a kid of the 2000s to sit through this movie for all the Nintendo Wiis in the world. I'm not going to lie, I'm having a hard time paying attention and I'm not 6 (though I do have a similar attention span). Last time I tried to watch this movie I'm pretty sure I passed out as soon as the trial started. Seriously, a huge portion of this movie takes place in a courtroom. If you tried to pitch that for a kids' film now, you'd be laughed right out of the office. "But.. Children love drawn-out legal battles!" "SECURITY!!!"
Clearly whomever wrote this was from New York City. Not only is Santa Claus (like, the official, worldwide one) an American, he's a god damned New Yorker. A little self-centered, wouldn't you say? Isn't he supposed to live in the North Pole, not a retirement home in the outskirts of New York City? Although, if you follow that logic, the man is obviously Canadian. That could be me being equally nationalistic.
All in all, even if you're a major Christmas hater, this movie's pretty solid. This film does have some actual, genuine wit. I wouldn't attempt to watch this with kids unless you want them to start playing Hungry Hungry Hippos in the middle of it. From an adult perspective this is a definite recommend. Merry Christmas, motherfuckers, and sorry I left out anyone reading this who doesn't do the whole Christmas thing. Enjoy your latkes.
If anyone can desecrate a Christmas classic with booze and inappropriate jokes, it's me. Or, perhaps, your uncle after mainlining egg nog since 2 pm.
I threw the "1947" there in the title so you wouldn't think I was talking about the one starring Matilda.
Our feature begins with a fellow who clearly is under the impression that he is Santa Claus. He turns up at the Macy's Thanksgiving day parade and finds the fake, float Santa to be all liquored up. He finds this to be absolutely despicable. Sorry Santa. S'pose I'm not much better. Good thing I already don't believe in you and am therefore going to hell... er... not get fancy gifts.
It is unbelievably clear right from the get-go that this movie is 60+ years old and this is even if you disregard the ethnicity of the housekeeper. The first time you meet the little girl, she's over at a strange man's house who brought her over there because "he's very fond of her". Whooooaaaa, hold the phone, Mr.Gailey, and please stop touching that little girl's arm while she's alone in your apartment.
Also, this movie is all about the commercialization of Christmas and about how it's no longer about Santa and instead it's about money. Funny, I thought it was supposed to be about the birth of like... some guy or something. Good thing this guy hasn't seen 2010 and a generation of 10-year-olds throwing fits over getting 2GB iPods when they wanted 8GB.
As a child I always thought people in the times of black and white movies just generally sounded the same. I'm guessing it's some kind of thing to do with the recording technology at the time, but I find that there are 3 or 4 different voices for each sex and 4 for children, but after that it doesn't vary much. Every single female secondary character in this movie seems to be from Queens and also speaks directly through her nose at all times.
I understand that this woman wants her daughter to be smart and well-adjusted and doesn't want to lie to her or whatever, but telling your kid there's no Santa is just downright immoral, if you ask me. I am down for not lying to children, but when your 8-year-old goes to school and tells all her friends Santa Claus isn't real, she's going to be a pariah and you're going to be an asshole. "Mommyyyy! All the other kids threw stones at me!" "It's okay dear, they're all just misinformed." The good news is, this girl can grow up to be perfectly suited for sitting at a desk doing data entry or, if she's lucky, crushing the dreams of the innocent.
Once again, this woman is leaving her young daughter alone with a man she barely knows. Only this time, instead of being a handsome and wealthy young bachelor, it is a 70+ man with a beard who is still unmarried (which, in 1947, was kind of a big deal) and this time they're hanging out alone in her bedroom with the door shut. Admittedly, this is the same little girl who frequently chews gum in bed. Parenting 101: don't do anything that happens in the original Miracle on 34th Street.
I am fascinated by the concept that parents took their children to see this in 1947. I guarantee you could not get a kid of the 2000s to sit through this movie for all the Nintendo Wiis in the world. I'm not going to lie, I'm having a hard time paying attention and I'm not 6 (though I do have a similar attention span). Last time I tried to watch this movie I'm pretty sure I passed out as soon as the trial started. Seriously, a huge portion of this movie takes place in a courtroom. If you tried to pitch that for a kids' film now, you'd be laughed right out of the office. "But.. Children love drawn-out legal battles!" "SECURITY!!!"
Clearly whomever wrote this was from New York City. Not only is Santa Claus (like, the official, worldwide one) an American, he's a god damned New Yorker. A little self-centered, wouldn't you say? Isn't he supposed to live in the North Pole, not a retirement home in the outskirts of New York City? Although, if you follow that logic, the man is obviously Canadian. That could be me being equally nationalistic.
All in all, even if you're a major Christmas hater, this movie's pretty solid. This film does have some actual, genuine wit. I wouldn't attempt to watch this with kids unless you want them to start playing Hungry Hungry Hippos in the middle of it. From an adult perspective this is a definite recommend. Merry Christmas, motherfuckers, and sorry I left out anyone reading this who doesn't do the whole Christmas thing. Enjoy your latkes.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
What Happens in Vegas
If Cameron Diaz is playing a stock broker, it's pretty safe to assume you're not about to watch a masterpiece. However, outrageous character careers aside, I was not prepared for just how bad this was going to be.
I have to ask: was Cameron Diaz always this weird-looking? I thought she was good-looking, but in this movie she looks like she was crafted from cheap leather stretched over the skeleton of a bird of prey and covered with latex paint.
So anyway, Cameron Diaz is left by her boyfriend or fiance or what fucking ever, and Ashton Kutcher clearly has a gambling problem so they both go to Vegas to (presumably) meet each other in some extremely unlikely circumstance. Or "Blow off some steam" as the excuse may be.
Ashton Kutcher's gambling addiction is used as a comedic device because addictions are, generally speaking, the best way to open a comedy. Haha! This guy has a crippling addiction! It's ruining his life! HILARIOUS! I mean, if you weren't rolling on the floor laughing while watching Requiem for a Dream, you just have no sense of humour.
So this perfect and obviously meant-for-each-other couple meet as a result of the male one stumbling into the female one's hotel room unintentionally. You know, because that's possible. Hotel room doors close automatically and need to be opened by a card key. Unless it's 1973 - which the number of cellular telephones in this film seems to indicate is not the case - I don't think they can just saunter into a hotel room at random.
Once this happens, our lovely antagonists (I meant to write protagonists, but I feel this is a far more appropriate title) complain to hotel staff. For some mysterious, inexplicable and probably impossible reason, they give them an all-expenses-paid, crazy, VIP bender around Vegas.
This bender includes Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz finding a 'real' connection, and, in true romcom fashion, falling for each other (personified by them having sex, of course).
And then they get married.
And then he wins the jackpot from a slot machine and since they're married, she technically gets half.
They go to court to decide the official owner of the $3 million and the judge sentences them to 6 months of living together and being married before they're allowed to claim any of it. Yup. Actually. Who wrote this? What studio approved this idea? A court order demanding they be married? Are you fucking kidding me? I've heard better ideas for joke sitcoms on real sitcoms.
So despite hating each other and feuding over the rightful ownership of $3 million, they are forced to live together by court order. Naturally, this leads to a number of "hilarious" moments where they attempt to out-do one another. In one incident, the toilet seat and then the bathroom door are removed. In another, one drugs the other's smoothie. This is definitely the sort of innovative comedy writing that people will be talking about for generations. It's films like these that one day our children will show to their children and say "This, my beloved offspring, is comedy in its truest form."
Let's hope to God someone shits their pants.
Although I do not condone shitty writing, I do condone Ashton Kutcher playing Wii Tennis without a shirt on. I apologize for that, straight males and gay females. But it deserved being mentioned as it has definitely been the best part of this movie by a pretty substantial margin. Fortunately, this is eventually saved by some pretty choice lines by Zach Galifanakis.
The amount of alleged legal mumbo jumbo involved in this film makes me want to puke into my shoes and wear them for a couple days. "In the case of ___ vs. ___, it was stated that..." No. In no other case did a judge decree that a couple remain fake married because they were a shitty couple and it was desecrating the institution of marriage. And if there has, that judge should be fired on the spot and/or get hit by a bus.
I swear to God, if they end up together at the end of this crap factory, I am going to walk to Hollywood and burn the motherfucker down. And by that I mean obviously that is going to happen.
Hollywood has gotten to a point where they realize that if they put some famous people in a movie that don't like each other at the beginning but like each other at the end, people will pay $12.95 to see it every fucking time. Why? Because they will. And you know who's fault that is? Not theirs. If I could get paid a million dollars to write a shit movie, I'd fucking do it. But would I pay money to see this crap? Fuck. No.
Eventually, they're pulling everything possible to get out of this situation. They have an epic race to the marriage councilor's office (including, but not limited to: Cameron Diaz exposing her breasts to pay for a cab ride and a motherfucking baguette fight). They also make light of domestic abuse. I mean, if I'm paying top dollar to see a romantic comedy, I'm definitely going to need some jokes to be made at the expense of abuse victims.
Shock and dismay, she's seen his weakness. His father will never think he's good enough. That's why he's such a failure with a gambling problem. Oh fuck, he coaches little league and has other redeeming qualities including a shared interest in extremely popular movies. That's definitely something to base a marriage on. That and a court order.
Why must TV and movies repeatedly force the idea down our throats that if you rrreeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaally hate someone enough, one day you'll miraculously find out you both love Star Wars or some shit and suddenly be in love. No. If you really hate someone enough and you both like Star Wars you'll realize that Star Wars is one of the most popular film franchises of all time and that this person is still a fucking asshole.
Oh, she's come to the fancy ball all dolled up and now it's becoming very clear to him that he loves her. You know, because her regular clothes were not enough. Love is based entirely on the physical appearance of someone when they are wearing an expensive dress. "I didn't realize she was beautiful because she was only wearing her normal clothes." The major difference between the two: this dress is strapless and she's wearing a push-up bra. Thank you, What Happens in Vegas for showing me that love = boobies.
They do, inevitably, fall in love but only after they get a divorce and after a big, obnoxious courtroom scene with Queen Latifa. They end up back together and I end up losing faith in humanity and also spilling bourbon all over my bed in a fit of rage.
The most fucked up thing about this movie is the fact that I am sure there are women all over the world watching this and thinking "I wish I could be in a relationship where someone loves me like this." Women of the world: no you don't. This is the absolute definition of an unhealthy relationship. They treat each other like shit but according to film logic it's okay because they're in love? "Hey honey, I took a shit in your bed." "That's okay, sweetie. We love each other and that's all that matters."
Luckily, none of you have to watch this train wreck. Although, I technically didn't have to either. It is easily one of the worst written full-length features that I have ever seen. I'm telling you that this was physically painful to endure. Please do not watch it; not only for yourself, but for the sake of society as a whole. If I had a choice between having a wisdom tooth removed and re-watching this, I would choose the former since it is at least accompanied by prescription drugs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go sleep on a liquor-soaked mattress.
I have to ask: was Cameron Diaz always this weird-looking? I thought she was good-looking, but in this movie she looks like she was crafted from cheap leather stretched over the skeleton of a bird of prey and covered with latex paint.
So anyway, Cameron Diaz is left by her boyfriend or fiance or what fucking ever, and Ashton Kutcher clearly has a gambling problem so they both go to Vegas to (presumably) meet each other in some extremely unlikely circumstance. Or "Blow off some steam" as the excuse may be.
Ashton Kutcher's gambling addiction is used as a comedic device because addictions are, generally speaking, the best way to open a comedy. Haha! This guy has a crippling addiction! It's ruining his life! HILARIOUS! I mean, if you weren't rolling on the floor laughing while watching Requiem for a Dream, you just have no sense of humour.
So this perfect and obviously meant-for-each-other couple meet as a result of the male one stumbling into the female one's hotel room unintentionally. You know, because that's possible. Hotel room doors close automatically and need to be opened by a card key. Unless it's 1973 - which the number of cellular telephones in this film seems to indicate is not the case - I don't think they can just saunter into a hotel room at random.
Once this happens, our lovely antagonists (I meant to write protagonists, but I feel this is a far more appropriate title) complain to hotel staff. For some mysterious, inexplicable and probably impossible reason, they give them an all-expenses-paid, crazy, VIP bender around Vegas.
This bender includes Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz finding a 'real' connection, and, in true romcom fashion, falling for each other (personified by them having sex, of course).
And then they get married.
And then he wins the jackpot from a slot machine and since they're married, she technically gets half.
They go to court to decide the official owner of the $3 million and the judge sentences them to 6 months of living together and being married before they're allowed to claim any of it. Yup. Actually. Who wrote this? What studio approved this idea? A court order demanding they be married? Are you fucking kidding me? I've heard better ideas for joke sitcoms on real sitcoms.
So despite hating each other and feuding over the rightful ownership of $3 million, they are forced to live together by court order. Naturally, this leads to a number of "hilarious" moments where they attempt to out-do one another. In one incident, the toilet seat and then the bathroom door are removed. In another, one drugs the other's smoothie. This is definitely the sort of innovative comedy writing that people will be talking about for generations. It's films like these that one day our children will show to their children and say "This, my beloved offspring, is comedy in its truest form."
Let's hope to God someone shits their pants.
Although I do not condone shitty writing, I do condone Ashton Kutcher playing Wii Tennis without a shirt on. I apologize for that, straight males and gay females. But it deserved being mentioned as it has definitely been the best part of this movie by a pretty substantial margin. Fortunately, this is eventually saved by some pretty choice lines by Zach Galifanakis.
The amount of alleged legal mumbo jumbo involved in this film makes me want to puke into my shoes and wear them for a couple days. "In the case of ___ vs. ___, it was stated that..." No. In no other case did a judge decree that a couple remain fake married because they were a shitty couple and it was desecrating the institution of marriage. And if there has, that judge should be fired on the spot and/or get hit by a bus.
I swear to God, if they end up together at the end of this crap factory, I am going to walk to Hollywood and burn the motherfucker down. And by that I mean obviously that is going to happen.
Hollywood has gotten to a point where they realize that if they put some famous people in a movie that don't like each other at the beginning but like each other at the end, people will pay $12.95 to see it every fucking time. Why? Because they will. And you know who's fault that is? Not theirs. If I could get paid a million dollars to write a shit movie, I'd fucking do it. But would I pay money to see this crap? Fuck. No.
Eventually, they're pulling everything possible to get out of this situation. They have an epic race to the marriage councilor's office (including, but not limited to: Cameron Diaz exposing her breasts to pay for a cab ride and a motherfucking baguette fight). They also make light of domestic abuse. I mean, if I'm paying top dollar to see a romantic comedy, I'm definitely going to need some jokes to be made at the expense of abuse victims.
Shock and dismay, she's seen his weakness. His father will never think he's good enough. That's why he's such a failure with a gambling problem. Oh fuck, he coaches little league and has other redeeming qualities including a shared interest in extremely popular movies. That's definitely something to base a marriage on. That and a court order.
Why must TV and movies repeatedly force the idea down our throats that if you rrreeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaally hate someone enough, one day you'll miraculously find out you both love Star Wars or some shit and suddenly be in love. No. If you really hate someone enough and you both like Star Wars you'll realize that Star Wars is one of the most popular film franchises of all time and that this person is still a fucking asshole.
Oh, she's come to the fancy ball all dolled up and now it's becoming very clear to him that he loves her. You know, because her regular clothes were not enough. Love is based entirely on the physical appearance of someone when they are wearing an expensive dress. "I didn't realize she was beautiful because she was only wearing her normal clothes." The major difference between the two: this dress is strapless and she's wearing a push-up bra. Thank you, What Happens in Vegas for showing me that love = boobies.
They do, inevitably, fall in love but only after they get a divorce and after a big, obnoxious courtroom scene with Queen Latifa. They end up back together and I end up losing faith in humanity and also spilling bourbon all over my bed in a fit of rage.
The most fucked up thing about this movie is the fact that I am sure there are women all over the world watching this and thinking "I wish I could be in a relationship where someone loves me like this." Women of the world: no you don't. This is the absolute definition of an unhealthy relationship. They treat each other like shit but according to film logic it's okay because they're in love? "Hey honey, I took a shit in your bed." "That's okay, sweetie. We love each other and that's all that matters."
Luckily, none of you have to watch this train wreck. Although, I technically didn't have to either. It is easily one of the worst written full-length features that I have ever seen. I'm telling you that this was physically painful to endure. Please do not watch it; not only for yourself, but for the sake of society as a whole. If I had a choice between having a wisdom tooth removed and re-watching this, I would choose the former since it is at least accompanied by prescription drugs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go sleep on a liquor-soaked mattress.
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