For some psychotic reason my parents showed me '2001: A Space Odyssey' when I was around ten. Ever since, I've been chasing that dragon. I've been looking for someone to use the powerful tools of cinema to show me - not tell me - something important about the Universe and have me work to (almost) understand it.
There have been times that have come close - Godfrey Reggio's 'Koyaanisqatsi' probably closest, with 'Eraserhead' and 'Enter the Void' in there, too. I'll need to see Shane Carruth's 'Upstream Color' again, but it may belong on this short list. Almost everyone who watches 'Upstream Color' will come out of it saying "I need to see that again."
It is every 16 year-old's rite of passage to sneak into an R-rated slasher, get grossed out by blood, turned on by boobs and shout back at the screen. To that end, 'Texas Chainsaw 3D' is a worthy claimant to the franchise.
I was worried 2012 would end and there wouldn't be a clear winner for the prize of Worst of the Year. 'Parental Guidance' was worth waiting for. It isn't just the worst film of 2012, it's the worst film of 2011 and probably 2013, too. 'Parental Guidance' is a cinematic hemorrhoid throbbing on the screen, its only purpose in life to cause pain and discomfort.
I imagine the pitch meeting went like this: "Producer: We got Barbra Streisand, we got Seth Rogen, we get 'em in a car. Release it around Christmas. I mean, you gotta take grandma somewhere during the Holidays. Executive: Are there life-lessons involved? Producer: Does the Pope crap in the woods? Of course there are."
Lo and behold, a year later, these two guys found themselves at the premiere for 'The Guilt Trip,' a movie that didn't cost too much to make and won't make that much of an impact but will empower everyone involved to one day strike again.
I can only take so much. I approach a family-friendly film with as open of a heart as possible, but when hit in the face with the shovel of whimsy and wonderment and wide-eyed optimism over and over and over again, eventually, I have to strike back. Sorry, 'Rise of the Guardians' - there's a lot that is admirable in you, particularly some of your design work, but you brought this on yourself.
With an asinine plot, risible dialogue and atrocious acting, this sequel to a half-remembered video game adaptation still manages to provide a great number of base thrills with its nightmarish imagery. As such it is a quagmire of dread both within and without, disturbing to watch and to think about. This makes for a strange alchemy: in time you identify with the lead character (a young woman in peril) not because you are engaged with the film, but because enduring such an atrocity becomes its own act of survival. How 'bout that for a neat trick, eh?
Surely you've heard the soundbyte from 'Frankenweenie.' A hunched-over, snaggle-toothed, black and white Edgar "E" Gore, mischief in his eyes and a half-assed Peter Lorre in his voice. It's spooky and it's ooky and it's either the type of thing that you find really played-out or brings a tickle to your heart.
My wife doesn't follow movie news and is impervious to advertising. "What is this, a baseball movie?" she asked as we settled in for 'Trouble with the Curve.' "Kinda," I said. "Clint's a gruff baseball scout, out on the road with his estranged daughter." "Uh-oh," she chimed as the lights dimmed. "Life lessons!"
Life lessons indeed, and they come at you with the subtlety of an aluminum bat cranking a deep line drive. Clint, craggier than ever, begins each day arguing with his prostate, eating junk food and rooting through a stack of papers reporting high school and college score results. "He's the last scout in the majors who doesn't use a computer!" they muse at the Braves' home office. Nasty, conniving Matthew Lillard means it in a bad way, while John Goodman looks fondly upon Clint's old fashioned ways.
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