Be Kind Rewind

Jack Black? More like Jack Blackface.

Be Kind Rewind is, at its core, a movie about a video rental store. So, you know, a really relevant topic for 2008. Already winning points with the zoomers on relatability. Can the sequel be about a public phone booth? Maybe some Tazos? Remember Tazos? What kind of bullshit word is Tazo? And what the fuck was a Tazo? Was it some kind of off-brand POG, or maybe a trading card, or some sick combination of the two? Perhaps we will never know the truth, because the powerful Tazo lobbyists at Smith's Chips keep suppressing my research. The Chippy Monster is real! Crisps did 9/11!

We're through the looking glass here, people...

So, the story. As I said, this is a movie about a video rental store. This store, however, specializes in VHS tapes because you really need to see a movie in analogue format to, like, truly appreciate its essence, man. (Because yes, nothing says high fidelity like magnetic tape). It is also a movie about movies, the passion people have for them, and the passion studios have for abusing copyright laws. It stars Danny Glover, apparent rapper Mos Def and his idiotic, but unlovable, sidekick Jack Black. Oh yes, it's one of those movies.

Danny Glover owns the video store, but it's not making any money and a development firm wants to buy out his lease. Unless he can find the money to renovate the dilapidated building the whole block will be demolished to make way for high end apartments. So, Danny Glover fucks off somewhere to learn about DVDs and how to rent them, because they've only been the industry standard for twenty three years at this point, and obviously renting them is an entirely different process to renting tapes. This leaves Mos Def in charge of the store for a week. It is at this point that a clearly psychotic Jack Black suggests they sabotage a nearby power plant because its microwaves are stealing his songs or giving him soft boners or something, and Mos Def wisely chooses to ignore him. Jack Black tries to sabotage the power plant alone and is electrocuted. Unfortunately he doesn't die and we have to proceed with this farce for another hour and forty two minutes. Well, shit.

It is at this point any sane person would press stop, uninstall Prime Video and enjoy a refreshing bleach enema. But I am a masochist, and hate myself far more than mere words can allude to, so I strapped in with eyes wide and removed the batteries from the remote incase my resolve weakened further down the line.

Due to the accident Jack Black becomes magnetic, because apparently that's how electricity works, and he wipes all the VHS tapes in the store. Mos Def is upset - I think. It's very difficult to understand him. He has a habit of mumbling through his lines with the sort of speech impediment that eliminates the first and last letter of every word. So now they must team up to remake every movie in the store before Danny Glover gets home and finds out.

To start with they remake such classics as Ghostbusters, Robocop and Men In Black with some tin foil, a stack hat and some old shit they found in a nearby landfill. Then, because people like them somehow, they make some more. Then they get the whole town to help make a documentary about a fake jazz musician named Fats Waller, who's only noteworthy act was to die on a train.

Then Sigourney Weaver turns up, threatens them with copyright violation and runs over all their tapes with a steam roller for a laugh.

The movie has some enjoyable moments; most Notably when they are 'swede-ing' other, better movies. Watching their mediocre attempts at matching high budget special effects is almost endearing - in the same way that a man turning up to a cosplay convention in a cardboard box that says 'Gundam' on it is endearing. And gundam is spelled wrong. And his penis is hanging out of the bottom. And it's your uncle who isn't meant to be in 50 feet of a child.

Other than that it's a classic underdog tale that somehow manages to skip the vital scene where everything gets resolved and they stick it to the man. It just ends. No conclusion, nothing.

Danny Glover seriously needs to retire. He looks as if the only thing keeping him upright is off label ED medication, while he tries to hold on to the type of crazy that involves owning a lot of plastic bags full of old litter. He looks like Bill Cosby standing trial. And speaking of black people I have difficulty understanding; Mos Def should learn sign language. And lastly we get to Jack Black. Jack Black always seems to play the kind of person we would now classify as 'on the spectrum' who's mother would ignore the Ritalin prescriptions and just feed him chewable vitamins. His best role ever was in the Jackal when Bruce Willis shot him to death. He's like a fat, just as mediocrely talented Jim Carrey. And if you think Jim Carrey is funny, what the fuck are you doing here and not protesting on some university campus somewhere?

After watching this movie I dreamt I was a black man named Thaddeus Goodidea, and that electric Jesus came to take away the sinners. Full disclosure, I did drink a lot of cough syrup beforehand, though that's probably not related.

All in all definitely one to not watch on a plane.

At the end of the day, if you've learnt one thing from reading this, I hope it's the truth of what a TAZO really is. And if it is, please email me with your findings. They can't silence us all.

PS. Jack Black, if you are reading this (and I know you are), please stick to music. Watching you act is like watching someone feed faeces to an invalid; difficult to do while maintaining a full erection.

BITSO - Die Hard

"Nils is dead. I repeat, Nils is dead, fuck-head."

Fucking Die Hard, am I right? Strong contender for the greatest movie of all time. Oscar nominated for 'best original Christmas film', Grammy nominated for 'best sass talk' and Tony winner for both the coveted 'best original dirty singlet' and 'best Bruce Willis in an action movie' categories. Who doesn't love Die Hard? Right?

This is Live Free or Die Hard.

Even the title makes me cringe, like it had to suck the patriot dick of America to sell any tickets.

First of all, to understand the travesty that is, in Australia at least, Die Hard 4.0 (like it's a fucking Apple IOS) we need to establish some criteria of what makes a good Die Hard? As someone who has extensively studied the genre, I have compiled an easy to understand list of attributes that are needed for peak Die Hardness. They are as follows:
- Protagonist is down on his luck, and out of his element.
- Protagonist is in the wrong place at the wrong time.
- Bi-racial partnership.
- Vaguely European robbers posing as terrorists (led by a classically trained English actor).

Now, those are maybe a little vague, but I defy anyone to argue them. Let's put them to the test now, shall we?

Die Hard: A down on his luck protagonist, out of his element (jet lagged) and, more importantly, his jurisdiction; happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and, with the help of a black policeman, must outwit and outplay a band of vaguely European thieves posing as terrorists.

Die Hard with a Vengeance: A down on his luck protagonist, out of his element (hung over) and, more importantly, on suspension; happens to have been previously in the wrong place at the wrong time and, with the help of a black locksmith and store owner, must outwit and outplay a band of vaguely European thieves posing as terrorists.

So far we're batting 4 for 4 - which is excellent form. And let's face it, those are the only two Die Hards that matter. Like, at all.

So, what lessons did Hollywood learn from the two best movies in the franchise? Well, apparently fuck all. Let's run through a quick comparison:
Our protagonist? - Yes, he's down on his luck, but only in the way all middle aged people who suck at life are. Family problems? Boring. No one gave a fuck about John McClane's kids before. We Barely gave a fuck about Holly.
Wrong place, wrong time? - Well, yes. But I feel this has more to do with the screenwriter being unable to come up with a valid and believable reason for tough-as-nails McClane to otherwise partner up with MacBook owning, soy drinking piss-ant Justin Long.
Bi-racial shenanigans? - Unless you count Justin Long as anything other than the whitest of whites, then no.
Euro bad guys? - Timothy Olyphant is, while a fantastic actor and by all accounts a fair and just sheriff, not in fact European. He does have a few Hispanics working for him, but then what American criminal doesn't?

So that's a two out of four, which is by all accounts a fail, and that's being generous. It's really more like two separate halves out of four.

The plot is dull as to be almost lifeless. It was based on a previously unrelated script called WW3.com, which should tell you everything you need to know about it. The original script was shelved after 9/11, and was later resurrected like a semi-decomposed husk to be puppeteered for our apparent amusement. I'm not even going to type up a synopsis. That's how little I care about it.

The best Die Hards were a little farcical, a little sarcastic, and - much like a macroglossia baby - a little tongue-in-cheek. But they were fairly well grounded in reality. Our hero gets hurt, beaten up, shot and metaphorically shit on before managing to turn the tables by wits or trickery. This one has McClane blow up a helicopter by jumping a car into it. Then he manages to not die after an F-35B Lightning shreds the cabin of his stolen truck in half with a 25mm Gatling cannon. Fuck right off with that shit, movie. This isn't Unbreakable.

Overall, this movie, and it's protagonist, take themselves way too seriously for what was - in its best renditions - a fun, action heavy buddy cop movie. It lacks all the things that make a Die Hard a Die Hard. Honestly, you could have replaced Bruce Willis with Mark Wahlberg and called in something ridiculous like, oh I don't know, WW3.com, and it would have been just as good. Or shitty, in this instance. Nothing about it made me feel as if this was the same character from the previous 3 films except for the badly horseshoed in name. If you want a better Die Hard movie watch White House Down, it covers all the bases for a good Die Hard, except for the terrorists nationality. They even have the hilariously out of touch hacking scene from the first one.

Live Free or Die Hard missed the mark so completely that is also missed Matthew, Luke and John.

Mindhunters

I feel this image speaks for itself.

Imagine for a moment that you're the head of a production company, and in this hypothetical let's just say that this company is Dimension Films. Purely just hypothetical though. Let's also say that you green-light a crime thriller about young FBI students undergoing training as criminal profilers called Unsub (bureau shorthand for Unknown Subject). Nothing out of the ordinary so far, right? Now you turn to casting.

When Ryan Phillippe, Christopher Walken and Gary Busey all turn down offers to star in your film, that should be a red flag. But hey, you persevere - because you're a hot shot producer and you know better than some has beens. So, who can replace that sort of talent? Why Christian Slater and Val Kilmer of course. But that's not enough, so you get that guy who played the retard in The Last Castle. Now you're getting somewhere. But there is still something missing... Aha! It definitely needs a little bit of that guy from Hackers! Remember that movie? Wasn't it fucking awesome? Throw him in for good measure.

Now you need a director. But who could bring this script and ensemble to life with the poetry and emotion it truly deserves? How about that guy that fucked up Die Hard 2? Yeah. Good. Great. I'm liking where this is going. What else did he do? Well he's in the Guinness book of world records for directing the "biggest box-office flop of all time". Done. He's hired. Give him whatever he wants. We simply must have that raw talent.

But it doesn't feel quite ready yet.

Eureka! Throw a little LL Cool J into the mix and voila! A masterpiece is born. This scenario could venture nothing but success, right?

Right?

The plot revolves rather poorly around these 7 students, their instructor and LL Cool J on a final exercise taking place on a small island off the coast of North Carolina. This turns out to be the creepiest fucking island ever, complete with fake a town full of burn out vehicles and mannequins.

Man, I fucking distrust mannequins so much, with their perfect hair and their lifeless eyes. It's like trying to talk to an Italian person.

Anyway, it's here in this terrifying ghost town (that looks eerily like Fallout 4's Boston) that they must track down a make believe serial killer calling himself "the Puppeteer". But things go terribly wrong when people start dying for realsies. Now it's down to the team to discover the identity of the killer by using their training and skills, but there's a catch - the killer is one of them.

There's a plot that sounds like it's never been done before.

The first crime scene they find involves what is clearly a silicone fuck doll hanging from the ceiling of a toy store. Sounds like they just showed up to my last birthday party. Then a radio goes off, and Christian Slater turns it off - setting in motion a Rube Goldberg machine that lasts for 40 seconds; during which time he does absolutely nothing but watch it. Maybe move two feet to your left or right, bro, because you're about to get fucked up by a giant tank of naval grade liquid nitrogen. Then Christian Slater eats shit hard with a spoon as his legs freeze and splinter under his own weight, causing his torso to hit the ground and shatter. This whole process takes another 20 seconds, during which no one tries to help him. THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR 'ALONE IN THE DARK' SLATER! THAT'S WHAT YOU GET!

I should also point out here that whoever wrote the screenplay was probably wearing sunglasses the whole time they were writing it because it's full of brilliant one liners like LL Cool J shouting "Lights out!" as he flips a circuit breaker, quite literally turning the lights out. But wait, it gets better. He also throws a watch at someone and says "time's up, asshole". Then, just to prove a point he finishes off with "I guess we found his weakness... Bullets". Seriously LL Cool J? Bullets? Man's only natural predator. And then because he hasn't been enough of an absolute bastard throughout the film he kicks a cripple out of their wheelchair.

Then the wheelchair guy kills himself with a backfire from his weapon, but whoever was running the continuity department had clearly left early that day because his weapon switches between a Beretta and a Glock (read: two very distinct pistols) about 12 times in the 5 seconds of film before he paints the inside of an elevator with his scalp. Did no one check this, or did no one care? I'm opting for the latter.

At one point they find Val Kilmer's body strung up like a marionette that is then forced - thanks to an elaborate system of ropes, pulleys and fish hooks - to dance to a nursery rhyme while 3 people look on in wonder at how, for the first time ever, his acting was natural and human. The make up team was inspired by Robert Redford's face for this particular death scene.

This movie sucked pretty badly, but I won't lie and say I wasn't entertained by it. It was like watching someone give a speech to the class while they sweat and talk fast and lose their place. It's tragically amusing in its awfulness. That said I don't recommend it.

It would be a fun movie to play a drinking game to where you take a drink every time it's stupid, or LL Cool J says something obnoxious, and you have a drinking problem.

I give it 4 and a half obnoxious Cool Js out of 10.

Hard Target

This film is proudly bought to you by Garnier Frustis.

Much like a couple who are having trouble conceiving, this baby’s been 4 years in the making. I'm talking about the review here. It's taken me that long to build up the will power to sit down and watch this fucking thing.

Jesus Christ, what am I doing with my life?

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to John Woo's Hard Target; a story of mullets, kicks and epic splits.

I’ve found that most action of this time period didn’t really need a lot of story, or character development, or point. Just as long as you had a big name, some muscles and an explosion or two, that shit was guaranteed to sell tickets. And with the exception of maybe Chad Lowe there weren’t many names bigger, or worth more points in scrabble, than Jean-Claude Van Damme.

When I was a kid only 3 things mattered; school holidays, that weird feeling I sometimes got in my pants when watching late night TV, and Jean-Claude Van Damme - and not always in that order.

Like most people who lived through the 90’s; he was a very prominent figure in my childhood. He was Guile in that shit-awful Street Fighter movie. He was Guile in that shit-awful Street Fighter: The Movie - The Game game. He was Time Cop in that movie about time cops.... what was it? Oh, yeah. TimeCop. Hell, he was in like 18 movies over the course of the 90's, and that's a fairly conservative estimate. Some alarmists would put that figure as high as 19. That's no joke. Google that shit.

The important thing to take away was that he was a big deal. Like, Steven Seagal big. Ask a kid these days who Jean-Claude Van Damme is and they'd probably say "that guy from the Volvo commercials, right?" or less accurately "Isn't he the captain on The Next Generation?". And that's not necessarily a bad thing, because the world has moved on since then, and left poor old JCVD behind, doing splits in the dirt like a surprisingly flexible hobo.

Hard target is probably the seventh best JCVD movie, behind Street Fighter, Bloodsport, that one with two Van Dammes, Universal Soldier, TimeCop and that one with Dennis Rodman. I mean, come on, it's called Hard Target. How much better could it get? The answer is 'considerably'.

First off - the plot. Jean-Claude plays Chance Boudreaux, an out-of-work Cajun merchant seaman and drifter who comes across a woman being attacked by a group of New Orlean thugs. After kicking all their arses, he learns that the woman is looking for her homeless father and agrees to help her find him. He soon learns, however, that her father is dead; hunted for sport in a deadly game created by a wealthy lunatic named Emil Fouchon (Lance Henriksen) who coerces bums and other degenerates into his trap with the promise of $10,000.

"Hold on, back it up. Did I just read that right?" you might be asking. And yes, you did. Unless you're dyslexic, in which case Fkuc Uyo. But seriously, he's meant to be Cajun? Is he also deaf? Because that accent is anything but Cajun. It sounds sort of Belgian to me.

And I know that Van Damme is supposed to be a drifter, but why does he have to have a mullet? Is that just a thing we now associate with those from a lower socio-economic bracket - bad haircuts? Seriously, it's so distracting. Like, am I watching an action movie or an REO Speedwagon concert? Why does he look like a buff 1980's John Farnham pretending to be a homeless Vietnam veteran? Why is Lance Henriksen given real money to act?

Anyway, Van Damme snap-kicks his way through the grizzly underworld of New Orleans - with enough slow-mo punches and unconvincing stunts to sate any appetite - until he can get to Fouchon and his Lieutenant Pik Van Cleef (Arnold Vosloo - who you might know from The Mummy, and who looks like a fat Billy Zane). This comes to a climax with a shoot-out in a warehouse filled with Mardi Gras floats where Van Damme descends from the roof on a giant pelican while firing a shotgun.  I'm not too sure of the symbolism here, but I cried uncontrollably. It is at this point that he chokes a bad guy with his shotgun, but another bad guy comes upon him, so instead of using the shotgun he's clearly carrying, he somehow makes the shotgun disappear from the next shot, pulls out a pistol from the pants of the guy he was choking and uses it upside down to shoot this new guy twenty nine fucking times (yes - I counted, and yes - I realise that highlights my autism), despite the pistol only having a 12 round magazine the next two times he uses it. Then he roundhouse kicks him, just for good measure and then apologises to him for ruining his shirt. What a dick.

So all the goons die in a hail of bullets and shitty one-liners and he finally gets to killing the main villains by shooting one and then blowing the other up by putting a grenade down his pants.

That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and I once sat in on a Women's Studies lecture.

The only thing hard about this movie was my penis while watching it. The whole film was simply an elaborate ruse to perform gymnastics routines in tight jeans. Some highlights include the trademark John Woo slow motion doves in flight, Lance Henriksen playing a piano that looks like it's made from H.R. Giger's fleshlights and Van Damme punching a rattle snake in the face. That's not a typo.

I never thought I'd have to commit this to writing, but the last thing I ever want to hear again is Van Damme whispering "I was helping her find her daddy" with a look on his face that suggested he was looking to be her daddy. The movie was shit. Just so, so shit. I'd rather jam a packet of X-Acto knife blades down my piss-hole than watch it again. It was garbage, and I hate you for having suggested it, you utter bastard.

11/10 - Movie of the Year - all years.

Someone please kill me.

The Big Lebowski

R.I.P the Rug 1991 - 1998

People often take me for the kind of person who doesn't care what anyone thinks about them, but that just isn't the case. I care a great deal about what a specific set of people think about me, namely my ISP, the Australian Federal Police and that guy from Dateline's To Catch A Predator.

I can see how others would assume that though; I do give off that kind of 'no fucks given' type of vibe. Hell, I once jerked off in a friend's room while he slept not ten feet away. Does that make me a bad person? Probably. Would I do it again? Invite me over for the night and we can find out together. Though, to be fair, he probably shouldn't have hidden his porn stash in a folder called NROP like it's some kind of fucking uncrackable code. Oh yeah, I'd better call Bletchley Park for help deciphering that one, idiot.

All of that, however, pales in comparison to the guru of not giving a fuck. The man who cares so little about what anyone else thinks he parties hard in a bathrobe and plastic sandals. A man so unconcerned with anything at all going on in the world he drinks White Russians before 5pm, blazes joints like Willy Nelson and goes bowling 4 times a week. A man simply known as The Dude.

Our tale begins, as so many tales do, with a misunderstanding.

At it's very core this is essentially a movie about a rug. Mind you, it's quite a nice rug, and it really tied the room together - but it's still just a rug.

For a movie that was by definition a box office flop it is both widely known and quite fondly remembered. Other great movies that came out that year include Armageddon, Shakespeare in Love and Lethal Weapon 4. Movies that saw way more popularity and are among the top 10 highest grossing films of that year. Movies who's income dwarfed that of The Big Lebowski's. But can you quote a line from any of these movies? Any jokes or references that have made the transition into pop culture? Probably not, even though statistically you saw these movies a lot more than you saw this humble cult classic (and no, Aerosmith's song isn't a quote, even if it is some mad-hot shit).

But beside these giants of cinema stands a movie so festooned with quotable quotes that I bet you can probably think of several to do with a rug or a ball-licking sex offender named Jesus. It is well - if a tad simply - written, and I think that makes it accessible to a much wider audience. It has some deeper undertones, but doesn't come off as a preachy. Has surrealist and artistic influences, but doesn't come off as pretentious. It's funny and interesting and broken up by these quieter moments of exposition in a bowling alley that don't seem out of place for this character. It is borderline brilliant.

The Dude is some kind of hippy Jesus analogue, with his long hair, thrift store attire and blasé faire attitude. I've even heard rumours that Jeff Bridges apparently set his clock to 4:20 and 'blazed it' in preparation for this role. Though what exactly 'it' was is a topic of much debate.

John Goodman stars in one of his most recognisable roles as the Vietnam veteran and friend of the Dude; Walter Sobchak - the craziest motherfucker you will ever meet in a bowling alley. His approach to life as an angry, wound up man just two steps away from a mass shooting is a stark contrast to the happy-go-lucky nature of the Dude, but the relationship works so well in spite of - or perhaps because of - this difference. Either way, this cunt should have won an Oscar for this shit.

Oh yeah, Steve Buscemi's also here. You know, ol' bug eyes? Yeah, him. Neat.

There are a lot of familiar faces, some incredibly memorable scenes, and enough quotable material to poke a stick at. What more could you want? It's possibly the best movie ever made about a rug - and if that doesn't sell you on it, I don't think anything will.

Here are some things I couldn't work into the review, but probably still bear mentioning:

• The film is probably narrated by Sam Elliot's moustache.
• Tara Reid. That's it. That's the whole point. Sort of speaks for itself, really.
• Phillip Seymour Hoffman was alive. That's kind of a downer. But hey, on the bright side he's dead now.
• Hey, is that... is that Flea? Yes. Yes it is. Fuck off back to Hill Valley, Needles.

If you see just one Cohen Bothers movie this year, then you're probably not a very good film snob. But you should still probably make it this one.

Abide.

Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion

Alan Cummings adjusting his wiener is a highlight.

Remember when Lisa Kudrow was funny? Neither do I. Lisa Kudrow, however, seems to think that Lisa Kudrow is some kind of comedic genius. I envy her that ignorance.

Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion is an absolute wank-hole of a movie. It came from that special time in the late 90’s when Hollywood thought everyone was either a 14 year old girl, or a 40 year old gay man, and proceeded to shit sparkles everywhere.

At its core it's a movie about two high school dropout friends who's pissed their life away for the last 10 years and now want to go to their high school  reunion and flat out lie to everyone to pretend they're successful. Like that hasn't been done before. I lied to everyone at my high school reunion - or at least I would have had I actually gone. But then I hated those cunts 10 years ago, and I doubt anything significant has changed. Incidentally, if you went to high school with me, give us a shout out in the comments. And then neck yourself, you cunt.

My life sucks and I drink to forget.

Carrying on, it's a movie about becoming an adult, about finding your way and place in the world and then being embarrassed about your shit job because every other bastard seems to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or gives really good hand-jobs in the disabled toilets at the KFC at Kings Langley, you know the one off Sunnyholt Road? It's also, to a lesser but no less poignant degree, a movie about making fun of the disabled and committing misdemeanours. What this is not a movie about, however, is high school. Which is great, because those movies only make the urge to drink bleach that much stronger. Oh, yeah, and there's the odd flashback of Alan Cummings trying awkwardly to hide his obvious boner under a pair of beige corduroys.

So they end up going to their reunion and pretend to be the people who created post-it notes, but that goes badly. Then Alan Cummings arrives in a fucking helicopter and still gets friend-zoned by these slappers.

For some reason Mira Sorvino still gives me awkward boners, despite me being a 30 year old man and her sounding like a feminine Ron Perlman. I mean, really, what the fuck is with this girls accent? It's like a retarded Jim Carrey crossed with the kind of Valley Girl who's using the rear view mirror of her convertible mini to try to pick the rapidly drying cum off her teeth from lunch. And that laugh, it's not unlike a donkey. It's almost enough to make me not want to paint her body with just my tongue. Almost.

And what's with Lisa Kurdow's head? Bitch looks like somebody fucked with the sliders on Skyrim's character creation screen and just figured 'fuck it, I'll role play as this hideous fucking shut-in'.

Janeane Garofalo is, despite having a name I need to continuously spell-check, very much a poster child for tumblr, aided by her almost constant pigeon-holing as a lesbian in movies, and probably real life. She looks like she smells like Portland, which is a heady mix of patchouli and plaid. I'd still throw her one, though, if I'm being honest. Hey, Janeane, call me.

You know what's funnier than this fucking movie? Off the top of my head, registering your best friend as a sex offender and then not telling them, removing the batteries from the smoke detectors in a nursing home, pooping in a cardboard box on your front lawn for no other reason that for the thrill of it.

As an added bonus here's something you may not have known about Romy and Michele's High School Reunion - if you watch the background around LA you'll see advertisements for both Red Apple cigarettes and Big Kahuna Burger, both fake brands used in Tarantino films.

The best part of this movie was it reminded me how good No Doubt used to be. Remember Tragic Kingdom? That album was awesome. Also, Gwen Stefani is looking killer for being 46. I'd still pay her take a shit on me.

Gun to my head, it's not actually that bad a movie. There are some good songs, funny lines and plenty of Mira Sorvino at which to ogle like a priest in a playground. Though watch out, because word is that both of them want to get together and make a sequel. May God have mercy on us all.

I give it 4 and a half Kudrows out of 10.

Jingle All the Way

Chris Parnell trying out for The Wiggles.

You know those shits you sometimes take for which wiping just isn't a viable option? The kind where conducting a thorough clean up would require a feat of engineering beyond our not insignificant understanding of the physics of fluid dynamics? You might labour at it for a few minutes until the discomfort and blood puts you off and you realise that the effort is akin to attempting to mop up the last of the meat juice from your dinner plate with half a brick, and you realise that at some point you're just pushing food around your plate, metaphorically speaking.

This movie is like of those poops; It's messy, it doesn't really go anywhere and in the end you're kind of sore, but more than anything just glad that it's over.

The story is one we've heard before, and while there is some truth to it, it still irks me to have to type it - mostly because that's work, and I hate work. OK, so Howard Langston (Arnold Schwarzenegger) is a hard working father busting his arse in the holidays so his cuntish wife can stay at home and drink wine all day and neglect their shit of a kid who does nothing but watch shit TV and complain. The similarities this movie has to my life is amazing. I just hope I don't grow up to shit all over a beloved, multi-billion dollar franchise too.

So Howard is working and misses his kid's (Jake Lloyd - a whole 3 years before he would piss into our eyes as a young Anakin Skywalker) karate graduation or whatever it is they have when they get a new colour belt and have to accessorise and coordinate while fighting 5 other kids. His neighbour (Phil Hartman - who you may remember from such staples of comedy as The Simpsons and News Radio) tapes it, because his neighbour is a single dad and trying to plough more than the odd sidewalk, if you know what I mean. Howard's wife gets cranky and his kid goes on about Turboman for a bit, and then Howard realises he didn't buy the kids Christmas present - a Turboman doll.

Hold up just a second here.... Howard - the hard working, late night at the office father - forgot to buy the present. I have some questions.

1: Why did you ask a man to do something and then a) trust he'd remember to do it and b) only remind him of the task after the deadline has passed. And...

2: What, where you too fucking busy, drinking wine and baking seasonal cookies? Huh? Got too much on your plate, do you? With all that nothing you fucking do all day, you slag. "Oh Howard, how could you forget to do a simple task I could have easily done, when you only work late everyday to provide for your family that hates you as you take step after grinding step towards your inevitable grave."

I admit I may have got a little carried away there. My therapist says I'm making good progress.

So, now Howard must procure a Turboman doll on Christmas eve when they are entirely out of stock. Let the hijinx begin!
From here on out it's just utter shit. I mean, the first part was shit too, but now it's shit AND it's got Sinbad in it. So, you know, doubly shit.

There are a lot of points I want to cover, and I refuse to dedicate an entire paragraph to each, so here are some loosely thrown about in bullet point.

• Why is the wolfman sidekick hot pink? Who thought that was a good idea? This is more embarrassing for the lycanthropic community than Twilight, or that one with Kate Beckinsale in all the sexy leather.
• Why is Jake Lloyd's head so fucking big? He looks like a giant chuppa-chup, but with considerably less emotional range.
• At some point Arnold Schwarzenegger fights Jim Belushi dressed as Santa, and a midget in an elf costume. He then proceeds to fight a whole range of Santas of differing heights, ages and ethnicities. Just let that sink in for a minute. Arnold Schwarzenegger - the Terminator - beats up a has-been actor in a Santa suit, then also beats up at least one midget (there may be others). Then, because that wasn't enough, he fights a veritable plethora of Santases. Santas? I don't know what the plural of Santa is.
• Who would believe for a minute that this guy's name is Howard Langston. He's a massive, muscled dude with a thick Austrian accent and an inability to say the word 'turbo', so you give him a name so white it's difficult to look at without squinting.
•  Why is this apparent father so awkward with his own kid? Hell, even Rolph Harris is more comfortable around children. And why are you wearing a purple belt on your head and making questionably racist karate chop noises and doing air kicks? You were Conan the Barbarian for Christ's sake man, have some self respect.
•  I'm pretty sure at some point he calls his kid va-jamie, which is understandable because his kid is just an incredible cunt.
• Unexplainable Chris Parnell cameo
• The bad guy in the Turboman show touches his dick every time he wants to disappear.
• At one point, and I shit you not, Sinbad says -and I quote - "I got sickle cell. Don't hit me." He then threatens a dozen police officers with a package, claiming it's a bomb. It then, to his surprise, explodes. This isn't funny. There should be no laughs had here. Not that the deaths of law enforcement officers isn't sometimes funny - just not in a Christmas movie for children

I'm pretty sure this movie is the reason Phil Hartman's wife shot him. She saw this and was just all, "There is no way we can live with the embarrassment of being the support cast for Sinbad and that Lloyd kid." 

Here's to a film so bad, so incredibly mundane that they got Larry the Cable Guy for the sequel.

5 Stars.