Hollywood, CA-The 2010 comedy, Marmaduke, starring Owen Wilson and a CGI dog wearing comically large sunglasses was originally set to be directed by Francis Ford Coppola but after 20th Century Fox discovered a brutal execution scene planted immediately after a CGI doggy surf competition (complete with dogs barking the chorus of Surfing U.S.A.), the script was turned over to Tom Dey.
“The execution scene just wasn’t zany enough for us…we we’re thinking more along the lines of Owen Wilson farting and then Marmaduke tilting down his sunglasses as though pondering who the REAL dog in the room was…instead we got Owen Wilson beheading Marmaduke behind a shed after becoming suspicious that the dog was sabotaging his failing marriage,” said 20th Century Fox representative Bill Biscane.
The real problem with the plot twist was, that Marmaduke was effectively eliminated from the movie about a half hour in, which rendered all of the promotional materials completely useless as the final 3 hours of the movie contained virtually no CGI fueled hijinks.
Fortunately for us, Marmaduke was a visual masterpiece that warmed the heart of America.
Hollywood, California-The combination of creating a sequel with the same reheated plot, transplanting it into Europe and including that location in the title of the movie, has historically yielded some of the most evolved and beautiful films in history.
That’s why Rob Schneider has bought the rights Lady Bird and any Lady Bird likeness, in order to transform the stand alone movie into the multi-film franchise with accompanying merchandise and adaptation to USA original drama it deserves.
Lady Bird 2: European Lady Bird takes place in post-apocalyptic Paris, where Lady Bird, now played by Jennifer Anniston, runs a clone brothel of male gigolos. But everything changes when she falls in love with a mysterious half-animal clone named Alphonso, played by a CGI version of Jackie Chan.
Their loves grows in correspondence with the chaos that now shrouds war torn Paris, and Lady Bird is forced to sell the clone to a traveling petting zoo in an effort to buy a crack rock from a nomadic wizard. Will the two re-unite before the destruction of the planet? Can love endure a ruthless robot dictatorship and an addiction to futuristic crack cocaine? Are clones capable of love? Find out by seeing Lady Bird 2: European Lady Bird in theatres everywhere December 2029.
Rotten Tomatoes: 14%
I entered the theater expecting to leave ugly crying after the ritualistic slaughtering of one of my favorite films of all time. I was wholly anticipating the same pain Utah felt when he blew his knee to spaghetti noodles and negligently unloaded a goddamn full clip directly into the air. The pain never came. Instead I felt my face being bludgeoned by a butt ton of extreme shit. The reimagining of Point Break will concurrently rip your fucking head off and melt your ring piece and anyone who gives a damn about inexplicable plot anomalies, alien dialogue or even a sliver of character development can sit on it.
Rumor has it the actors were placed in hyperbolic chambers before the movie; only able to watch Dragon Ball Z and do lines of Doritos JACKED 3D off of hunting knifes. This movie went back in time and made that 90’s brand No Fear popular. It ghost wrote Nookie by Limp Bizkit and told Gary Busey to order not one but two meatball sandwiches. It was the inspiration behind Jean Claude van Damme’s first splits. Vin Diesel sips his morning extenZ Energy drink to this movie, not because he needs the girth but rather because he enjoys the flavor and the subsequent uncomfortable amount of energy.
Point Break will make man-gazing an official thing. I’m almost positive I’ve never looked into another dudes eyes for more than 5 seconds without at least some spoken word or noise. In this movie there was so much gazing and so much corresponding deafening silence; it was simultaneously exceptionally uncomfortable and beautiful. Plenty of other awkward and endearing bro moments were also present. Like cooking a rustic meal together and holding hands before eating, or placing your hand on the back of another bros neck to make locking foreheads feel more natural. This being in the somewhat rare circumstance you actually find the need to experience conjoining forehead flesh with another person.
The reimagining had a perfect balance of new and old absurdities. A combination of subtle and not so subtle nods to the original that pays homage without being dependent. Bodhi is transformed into a perfectly crafted quasi-hipster d-bag and Tyler is a manic pixie dream girl, but they somehow seem like a natural evolution of the characters. Both pleasantly outrageous and flawlessly acted. Utah has hung up his cleats in turn for a motocross helmet and a shit ton of really bad tattoos, but goddamn there are times when Luke Bracey seems like he could have slid right into the 1991 original.
Hearing those wailing guitar riffs and oddly timed line deliveries took me right back. Having a belly full of an inexplicable combination of Rasberry Shock Tops and Parrot Bay didn’t hurt either. I felt as though I was a rebel in Bodhi’s crew as I courageously battled the urge to vomit in my popcorn bag on several occasions. My own stand against society. My way of giving back. Nothing like stoking the fire of an impending blackout by being completely overwhelmed by endless action sequences. So get a neck tat, grab a bottle of artifically flavored silver rum, butt funnel some Monster and go relish in everything extreme you coward.
All Is Lost
Rotten Tomatoes: 93%
Watching All Is Lost is equivalent to listening to the painful laboring of an elderly patron debating whether to leave a 6.5% or 7% tip after promptly finishing “brunch” by 8:30 a.m. at a local pancake house. Decaf coffee, a bowl of bran flakes with skim milk, several crosswords and one and a half hour later they decide to leave 6% because the waiter seemed like he was madder than a wet hen around the 7th coffee refill. The tip is left in 2 dollar bills with a Werther’s on top.
All Is Lost embodies this prodigious boredom. Watching Robert Redford aimlessly linger around his ship that is lost at sea with absolutely no urgency or purpose is a chore in the truest sense of the word. He may as well have been wading in a lukewarm jacuzzi, enjoying a matinee magic show on a retiree-only cruise ship…touring different stamp collection museums around Florida. At one point a storm rolls in, the prospect of something exciting happening is paralyzing. It stirs you from your half asleep stupor. Then…as with the rest of the movie the momentum is quietly neutralized. Instead of hauling ass around the boat, batting down the hatches, Redford instead sips a glass of whiskey like his morning prune juice and delicately shaves what appear to be ultra soft and very well maintained grandpa whiskers. He moves with the urgency of a three toed sloth who just ate a handful of Xanaxes and has been given access to an overstuffed couch.
I bet the jeans he was wearing in the movie were cotton and not denim. Judging by the way he shuffled his feet across the carpeted vessel, he was clearly wearing orthopedic inserts. Maybe those had something to do with the pacing of it all. I struggled about halfway through the movie before succumbing to the crippling boredom. Wiping the cob webs that had somehow gathered on the remote and changing the channel to Frasier re-runs. The idea that this was somehow Oscar nominated is more mind-blowing than the existence of the Flatizza.
Rotten Tomatoes: 85%
Drinking Buddies makes a truly inspired attempt at dethroning Couples Retreat as the worst movie ever created in Chicago. There’s a gorgeous spread of insufferable moments, dialogue and characters that grate, plod and flounder through what seemed to be an eternity in a mundane existence in Chicago.
Several hipster alcoholics exchange what they believe to be quirky one liners and hopelessly flirt with one another. The movie had summer blockbuster written all over it, they should have hired Michael Bay to direct this thing. They really should have. Somehow billed as a comedy I laughed more times watching JAG reruns. Each character is more loathsome than the next, all vying for most annoying Chicago stereotype. The raspy voiced bro-ey party girl that’s just one of the guys. The moody, self gratifying bearded hipster with a Chicago flag tattoo and Old Style trucker hat. Their all there and all severely annoying. It’s a real treat to watch people I actively avoid. Give me a Jimmy Eat World cover band and a bucket of Reds Apple Ale at the lowly Cubby Bear over taking a Malort shot with these dicks. I hate watching actors act drunk it’s as though none of them have ever taken a bottle of Parrot Bay directly to the dome. Someone needs to master the thousand mile vacant stare STAT. I also don’t buy for a minute Olivia Wilde or the guy from office space were drinking Revolution beers, those were almost certainly Miller 64’s.
The portrayal of the hangover itself is vexing. It’s not a hard message to get across. It involves laying on a couch and pinching off eye stingers until you can muster up enough strength to get Chipotle, which generally compounds the war being waged in your stomach and skull. In Drinking Buddies the hangovers are at worst a chipper tickle fight, and they pass in an instant. Not the grueling war of attrition that happens in real life.
One salvageable moment was the accuracy of frustration experienced while moving to a new apartment in Chicago. It was captured perfectly and I found it agreeable watching a meandering doofus take a nail to the hand. I also enjoy drinking Revolution beer which happens to be in the movie. Other than that it’s an unsalvageable pile. Pauly Shore showed a greater character arch in Jury Duty than any of the ones found here. It could not be more uninteresting.