M. Night Shameonyou
Responsible, home-owning adults that we are, Brad & I spent the bulk of the weekend indulging in the pleasures of spreading filthy, stinking mulch around the yard and pulling the weeds – OH HOLY SHIT, THE WEEDS – that grow and multiply so quickly, I can’t help but think that the cure for infertility must lie somewhere in their leafy little hearts.
STOP HAVING SEX IN MY YARD.
As a reward for lining our lungs with a fine film of mulch dust, we decided to go to our local cinema and take in a picture show last night. “Say, Jive Turkey!” you shout, “In which motion picture did you decide to invest your hard-earned cash?”
Bad Idea Jeans
Oh, Internet. This movie WAS TERRIBLE. So terrible, in fact, that it was downright hilarious. I don’t want to go into too many details just in case any of you reading this want to waste your money on this Bus Station Toilet of a film, so I’ll just briefly say that it:
- contained line readings equivalent to those in sex education films from the 1970s;
- had the entire audience laughing over death scenes that were, one supposes, meant to be horrifying;
- was based on a premise so thin that it was most likely conceived during a long night of smoking joints and eating Fritos;
- clumsily and nonsensically contained moments that were nothing but heavy-handed attempts to be scary (even when it had nothing to do with the paper-thin plot) or touching (lots of talking about a MOOD RING [please see what Molly has to say about that]; an entire scene where a couple reminisces about their first date, which is not interesting to anyone but the couple involved in ANY circumstance EVER).
In sum, will someone please stop saying yes to M. Night Shyamalan? Please? If he makes any more of these stunningly bad movies, I can say with absolute certainty that I will drive all the way out to California just so I can put my foot up his ass.
Go gently into that M. Night.
And, to parrot every article/review/discussion about M. Night Shyamalan over the past 5 years, it’s such a disappointment. The Sixth Sense was so good – you can’t deny that – but he seems to be aggravatingly slow in realizing that he cannot – despite MULTIPLE attempts – re-create that kind of magic. DUDE: it’s over. Go write a Good Burger sequel and take a vacation.
Although I have to admit, I liked Signs. The ending was shlock, but the rest of it genuinely scary – for me, at least. Then again, when it comes to aliens, it doesn’t take much to scare me. As I was reminded by KDiddy’s post on Friday, I used to be terrified of the yip-yip aliens, and those sumbitches had Frank Oz’s hand up their asses. So when it comes to stuff like that Jeff Peckman video, I am the very picture of pee-pants-ery. I mean, c’mon – have you seen the still from that thing?
Can you see it? Can you make it out? Can you hand me that roll of paper towels?
Yikes. I can’t think of anything much scarier to me than that. Unless…
Brought to you by the letter “P.”
Entry filed under: Taste my Backhand.