naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I thought I should warn you about Night Watch.

Just in case Netflix decides not to publish my review, here is an enhanced version complete with the profanity I was forced to cut.

If you liked this movie, I suggest you skip this. Reading it might lead you to argue with me, which would forever tarnish my assessment of your sentience and call into question your qualifications to breathe oxygen.

I do not understand the people falling all over themselves to worship this movie. It's like watching a pack of otherwise intelligent people fall down to worship the face of Christ on a burned cheese sandwich. They are seeing something that plainly isn't there, and how they have deluded themselves into believing otherwise is a mystery both utterly foreign and completely terrifying to me. It makes me question my faith in humankind.

This movie is bad. In fact, this incomprehensible pile of cinematic sewage is not even redeemed by its badness, like Blade Trinity. Its incoherence is rivaled only by the worst anime I have ever seen, and its visual appeal is about on a par with Jean Reno's nutsack. Its awfulness could not be rendered watchable even by a full MST3K makeover and intercut scenes featuring Tom Welling furiously jerking off onto Jessica Biel's shoulder muscles. By the end I was literally swearing and moaning aloud in pain, and afterwards both Sargon and I were forced to make horrible use of the bathroom in some sort of displaced self defense reflex.

A complete lack of anything resembling a coherent plot is the primary crime here, followed by an utter dearth of interesting or sympathetic characters, compounded by a cinematic style that renders what was already a disjointed, weak storyline into an attention-deficit fueled exercise in pure viewer willpower. In service to a good story with likeable characters, the cinematography would have been interesting, but story and character failed completely leaving nothing at all for the viewer to hold on to.

It is the gom jabbar of vampire movies. It exists only to cause pain. The only reason to watch it is to see if you are brave enough to make it all the way through.

The main character was not quite as appealing as a lump of rancid cheese tied into a filthy gym sock and soaked in pig's bile. Even if he had been attractive, which he so was not, he still would have had all the charisma of a cold rectal thermometer. At every turn, I wished fervently for his gruesome death. Specifically, I wished for the werewolves from Underworld -- itself a textbook lesson in how to make a good bad movie -- to come onscreen and bite his face off, beginning with his horrid lips, before urinating into his empty eyesockets.

I would say the movie took itself too seriously, but it was not even coherent enough to deliver the ponderous, ham-handed sort of over-preaching that one usually sees in movies convinced of their own superiority. No, that would require some level of plot-related activity and not a random diarrhea of vaguely-related ideas and images. Taking yourself seriously requires that you make a point and then illustrate it. This movie could not have illustrated suppository instructions. It did actually aim for humor and a sort of over-the-top action appeal, but failed utterly. Not funny, not entertaining, and we're not caring.

The underlying "good vs. evil" theme is fundamentally hackneyed, especially when combined with the tropes of "prophecy" and "magical kid," but in the hands of a competent writer it can still be handled in an entertaining way. It is, however, an uphill battle on the best of days. This movie staggered about like a drunk, and like that same drunk falling down and passing out in a puddle of his own sick, this movie never wandered far from its starting point. Bad from start to finish.

I cannot in good conscience recommend that anyone watch it for any reason. If you want a good horror movie, I advise you to watch anything else (except The Host, which also fucking sucked). If you want an entertainingly bad horror movie, you would be better off with any Hammer movie ever made.

Watching roadkill decompose provides more riveting fare.

For those of you inclined to defend it, well, sorry. You can say you liked it and I won't gainsay you, I like a lot of things that frankly suck, but a good movie it was not. I would prefer to watch the remake of The Fog a dozen times rather than revisit this tripe even once, and I am not exaggerating in the slightest.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
I thought I should warn you about Night Watch.

Just in case Netflix decides not to publish my review, here is an enhanced version complete with the profanity I was forced to cut.

If you liked this movie, I suggest you skip this. Reading it might lead you to argue with me, which would forever tarnish my assessment of your sentience and call into question your qualifications to breathe oxygen.

I do not understand the people falling all over themselves to worship this movie. It's like watching a pack of otherwise intelligent people fall down to worship the face of Christ on a burned cheese sandwich. They are seeing something that plainly isn't there, and how they have deluded themselves into believing otherwise is a mystery both utterly foreign and completely terrifying to me. It makes me question my faith in humankind.

This movie is bad. In fact, this incomprehensible pile of cinematic sewage is not even redeemed by its badness, like Blade Trinity. Its incoherence is rivaled only by the worst anime I have ever seen, and its visual appeal is about on a par with Jean Reno's nutsack. Its awfulness could not be rendered watchable even by a full MST3K makeover and intercut scenes featuring Tom Welling furiously jerking off onto Jessica Biel's shoulder muscles. By the end I was literally swearing and moaning aloud in pain, and afterwards both Sargon and I were forced to make horrible use of the bathroom in some sort of displaced self defense reflex.

A complete lack of anything resembling a coherent plot is the primary crime here, followed by an utter dearth of interesting or sympathetic characters, compounded by a cinematic style that renders what was already a disjointed, weak storyline into an attention-deficit fueled exercise in pure viewer willpower. In service to a good story with likeable characters, the cinematography would have been interesting, but story and character failed completely leaving nothing at all for the viewer to hold on to.

It is the gom jabbar of vampire movies. It exists only to cause pain. The only reason to watch it is to see if you are brave enough to make it all the way through.

The main character was not quite as appealing as a lump of rancid cheese tied into a filthy gym sock and soaked in pig's bile. Even if he had been attractive, which he so was not, he still would have had all the charisma of a cold rectal thermometer. At every turn, I wished fervently for his gruesome death. Specifically, I wished for the werewolves from Underworld -- itself a textbook lesson in how to make a good bad movie -- to come onscreen and bite his face off, beginning with his horrid lips, before urinating into his empty eyesockets.

I would say the movie took itself too seriously, but it was not even coherent enough to deliver the ponderous, ham-handed sort of over-preaching that one usually sees in movies convinced of their own superiority. No, that would require some level of plot-related activity and not a random diarrhea of vaguely-related ideas and images. Taking yourself seriously requires that you make a point and then illustrate it. This movie could not have illustrated suppository instructions. It did actually aim for humor and a sort of over-the-top action appeal, but failed utterly. Not funny, not entertaining, and we're not caring.

The underlying "good vs. evil" theme is fundamentally hackneyed, especially when combined with the tropes of "prophecy" and "magical kid," but in the hands of a competent writer it can still be handled in an entertaining way. It is, however, an uphill battle on the best of days. This movie staggered about like a drunk, and like that same drunk falling down and passing out in a puddle of his own sick, this movie never wandered far from its starting point. Bad from start to finish.

I cannot in good conscience recommend that anyone watch it for any reason. If you want a good horror movie, I advise you to watch anything else (except The Host, which also fucking sucked). If you want an entertainingly bad horror movie, you would be better off with any Hammer movie ever made.

Watching roadkill decompose provides more riveting fare.

For those of you inclined to defend it, well, sorry. You can say you liked it and I won't gainsay you, I like a lot of things that frankly suck, but a good movie it was not. I would prefer to watch the remake of The Fog a dozen times rather than revisit this tripe even once, and I am not exaggerating in the slightest.
naamah_darling: The Punisher skull with a red ribbon barrette. (Punisher Ribbon)
You all know that I'm not a movie snob, right? So when I say that 10,000 BC really, really sucked, I mean it really, really sucked.

On a scale of one to ten, where ten is terrible but hilarious like, say, Flash Gordon or Krull, and a one is something nauseatingly unwatchable like Blood Waters of Dr. Z, this movie was about a three and a half. One point for Steven Strait, one for scenery, one for prehistoric mammals, and a half-point for the MST3k-style wisecracking it provokes.

Folks, this puts it behind Undiscovered for bad Steven Strait movies. He is shirtless in both, but he spends an awful lot of time in 10,000 BC looking like he rolled in mud the day before, so it fails (comparatively) at showcasing his prettiness.

I'm not sorry I watched it, it was enjoyable enough to hold my attention, but it was really bad. The dialogue was horrible, the fake accents were horrible, the plot was horrible, the characterization was horrible, and it was completely predictable. At one point, Sargon said "Hey! This is right about when guys on horses should come riding in to kill everyone. With torches and a battle standard!" Which is what happened.

"Oh, look!" I said. "It's the annoying comic relief sidekick! You can tell by the hair!"

And, later: "So, he's going to rescue this saber-toothed cat, and later it's going to save his life. Right?"

"Yeah! Then they'll call him 'the Boy Who Speaks To Pixels!'"

It was the kind of movie where you go: "That guy has a big ol' cloud of doom, that guy's going to sacrifice himself nobly, that guy's going to die by impalement. . . ."

It's quite beautiful to look at, so it's not an hour and a half of my life I want back, but I recommend watching it with both the sound and your brain turned off.
naamah_darling: The Punisher skull with a red ribbon barrette. (Punisher Ribbon)
You all know that I'm not a movie snob, right? So when I say that 10,000 BC really, really sucked, I mean it really, really sucked.

On a scale of one to ten, where ten is terrible but hilarious like, say, Flash Gordon or Krull, and a one is something nauseatingly unwatchable like Blood Waters of Dr. Z, this movie was about a three and a half. One point for Steven Strait, one for scenery, one for prehistoric mammals, and a half-point for the MST3k-style wisecracking it provokes.

Folks, this puts it behind Undiscovered for bad Steven Strait movies. He is shirtless in both, but he spends an awful lot of time in 10,000 BC looking like he rolled in mud the day before, so it fails (comparatively) at showcasing his prettiness.

I'm not sorry I watched it, it was enjoyable enough to hold my attention, but it was really bad. The dialogue was horrible, the fake accents were horrible, the plot was horrible, the characterization was horrible, and it was completely predictable. At one point, Sargon said "Hey! This is right about when guys on horses should come riding in to kill everyone. With torches and a battle standard!" Which is what happened.

"Oh, look!" I said. "It's the annoying comic relief sidekick! You can tell by the hair!"

And, later: "So, he's going to rescue this saber-toothed cat, and later it's going to save his life. Right?"

"Yeah! Then they'll call him 'the Boy Who Speaks To Pixels!'"

It was the kind of movie where you go: "That guy has a big ol' cloud of doom, that guy's going to sacrifice himself nobly, that guy's going to die by impalement. . . ."

It's quite beautiful to look at, so it's not an hour and a half of my life I want back, but I recommend watching it with both the sound and your brain turned off.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Heath Book)
I know you like it best when I hate a book. So I give you:

22) Blood Storm, by Heather Gladney, 276 pages

You all read what I thought of the first book. Well, this one doesn't redeem my negative opinion. Heather visibly improves, but that does not make the flaws of this book less glaring, or more forgivable.

Once more, our supposedly-cool hero blunders from incomprehensible situation to incomprehensible situation, frequently vomiting, soiling himself, and getting smeared with animal excrement along the way. And let's not forget his fits. And keep in mind the burly-thewed man-love he feels for his liege, who has been thoroughly cleansed of his charisma by some truly mishandled characterization.

Gladney still doesn't explain enough about the world. Again, I am not one to want things spoon-fed to me, but she does not give enough bones for me to even form the skeleton of an idea of what the fuck is going on.

People, I hate doing this. I hate it, hate it, hate it. I hate panning books. I like books. Lots. I like words. I read the backs of cereal boxes. It's hard to lose me with words. Unless what you write is dense and incomprehensible. Like Alpha-Bits glued onto a brick.

There's stuff here worth saving. Parts of this book are genuinely good, the language is often pretty, and I even cared about two (2) of the characters by the end. But there's so much better stuff to read out there that I cannot possibly justify picking this book up just to see what the fuss is about.

The plot is haphazard and can't make up its mind where it is going, or what it's going to do when it gets there. Making things worse is this: Blood Storm is the second book of a trilogy the third book of which was never released, and it ends on a tremendously angsty cliffhanger.

Judging from the fact that book three was never released, and that Gladney's web presence is tenuous and seldom-updated at best, I am betting we will not see book three anytime soon. I wish I could say that's a shame, but the best I can manage is that I just don't much care. I'd be interested to see something new from her, since she has real talent, but a third book featuring these characters just isn't going to blip on my radar. 4/10
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Heath Book)
I know you like it best when I hate a book. So I give you:

22) Blood Storm, by Heather Gladney, 276 pages

You all read what I thought of the first book. Well, this one doesn't redeem my negative opinion. Heather visibly improves, but that does not make the flaws of this book less glaring, or more forgivable.

Once more, our supposedly-cool hero blunders from incomprehensible situation to incomprehensible situation, frequently vomiting, soiling himself, and getting smeared with animal excrement along the way. And let's not forget his fits. And keep in mind the burly-thewed man-love he feels for his liege, who has been thoroughly cleansed of his charisma by some truly mishandled characterization.

Gladney still doesn't explain enough about the world. Again, I am not one to want things spoon-fed to me, but she does not give enough bones for me to even form the skeleton of an idea of what the fuck is going on.

People, I hate doing this. I hate it, hate it, hate it. I hate panning books. I like books. Lots. I like words. I read the backs of cereal boxes. It's hard to lose me with words. Unless what you write is dense and incomprehensible. Like Alpha-Bits glued onto a brick.

There's stuff here worth saving. Parts of this book are genuinely good, the language is often pretty, and I even cared about two (2) of the characters by the end. But there's so much better stuff to read out there that I cannot possibly justify picking this book up just to see what the fuss is about.

The plot is haphazard and can't make up its mind where it is going, or what it's going to do when it gets there. Making things worse is this: Blood Storm is the second book of a trilogy the third book of which was never released, and it ends on a tremendously angsty cliffhanger.

Judging from the fact that book three was never released, and that Gladney's web presence is tenuous and seldom-updated at best, I am betting we will not see book three anytime soon. I wish I could say that's a shame, but the best I can manage is that I just don't much care. I'd be interested to see something new from her, since she has real talent, but a third book featuring these characters just isn't going to blip on my radar. 4/10
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (wolfie)
20) Teot's War, by Heather Gladney, 277 pages

Look, people. I am a writer. And sometimes, it scares the fuck out of me to have to write a review like this one, because I'm someday going to piss off the wrong person, and get my name on some list of People Never To Publish.

I will take that risk, and throw myself on the hand grenade.

This book, no matter what you have heard (it is apparently popular in some circles), stinks.

If you've read it, don't bother flaming me. If you liked it, fine. Write your own damn review and stick it up for people to sniff. This is my review, and you aren't going to change how much I opposite-of-liked this book.

The writing is at once gifted and so mannered it's distracting, riddled with dropped articles, passive-voice, and meandering sentence structure. In an attempt to write lyrical, musical prose, Gladney has only created a churning bog from which the occasional bubble of burning swamp gas rises to illuminate the path. This is the longest 277 pages I have ever read. This book took me two weeks to finish, because reading it was like trying to eat fruitcake. I couldn't handle more than a couple of pages at a time. It was so dense and impenetrable I was scared I'd break a tooth.

The story is about a desert warrior who enters the service of a great king or warlord, to whom he swears his loyalty, and how the two of them must begin a war and rally a rather uncooperative public to drive back the invading bad guys, who have giant flamethrowers.

The way I put it, it sounds pretty clear. But the author stops for nothing. I am not one of those readers who wants everything explained for me, but a bone or two near the beginning would have been nice. She talks about different races and cultures, and the differences between them are apparently important, but she never tells us where they are from or what their culture is like, so we're left juggling Osa and Nando, Tannese, Cragmen, and the Sek, all without any inkling of where these people live in relation to one another, or what their political goals are. It was incredibly confusing. Gladney is so enchanted with the sound of her voice that she couldn't just come out and say anything. She had to noodle off and talk about something else.

Another strike is that the hero, Naga, is supposed to be very cool and bad ass. Groovy. Now, while I'm all in favor of letting a character have moments of vulnerability, I know as a writer that you have to be careful. If your character spends most of a book helpless, embarrassed, injured, or unconscious, the reader is not going to believe your character is bad-ass no matter how many times you say "Ooo! Looky! Special ninja training and biiig scary weapons!"

In short, if your main character spends the whole book with indigestion, either throwing up or hunkering over the chamberpot, or picking his riding sores, or having repeated painful siezures that lay him on his ass for a whole chapter every single time, or having flashbacks to his Formative Traumatic Event ™, then you have a problem.

This could all be overcome with an engaging narrative voice, brisk pacing, clean structure, and other interesting characters. Yet these features are not offered with this model.

The plot is one of those where, just when something is about to happen, it doesn't. And when something does happen, it is confusing and hard to understand, and you have to read it twice before you can figure out what the heck is going on, so you're actually glad things don't happen more often because that makes it easier to care.

The other characters might be interesting. The writing is too self-aware and cleverly convoluted to really allow us to take time off from trying to figure out what in Hell is going on to actually care.

Add to this the poorly-realized demi-romance between the main character and his liege. Now, I don't have a problem with romance when it's done well. I'm so much a sucker for it, actually, that you could hang me off a picture window if you put a romantic fantasy novel in my hands. This was just . . . what the hell do these characters see in each other? One is incomprehensible and vague, which is always sexy, the other one is the poster boy for Wise Young Ruler Guy, yet the author fails to make these traits intriguing, and instead just lets them be tiresome.

They spend a lot of time having really intense feelings of friendship for each other, which I think is really, really cool, because there's not enough written about guys being friends. But it's clear that there is an undercurrent of something more . . . like they're both just waiting around for the other to put on the Barry White and make the first move.

Jesus, Lady. If you're going to imply something that heavily, you might as well come out and say it. The characters wrestle naked and wash each other's butts, and the main character sleeps in his liege's bed. It's okay to say they're totally queer for each other. We get it. Maybe back in 1987, before homosexuality in books had been invented by Harry Potter, it was a shock for people to think about two men having sex. Those were the dark ages. The author or her editor might have been afraid of traumatizing someone who didn't know that gay sex even existed. But thanks to a tireless P.R. campaign by the Republican party, now everyone knows about gay sex and its thrill-a-minute racecar appeal, and so this book's undercurrent of poop-smeared desert midget/hairy blonde guy lust fails to shock. Except by being poorly rendered. That's always kind of shocking.

I'm sorry. I got kind of carried away there. I'm not saying the author doesn't have talent. She does. Quite a bit, actually, if she could just let her prose breathe instead of trying desperately to make it be all meaningful and pretty. But her talent is not enough. If she'd been more interested in serving the demands of plot and character, and less interested in the sound of her own voice, it might have succeeded. As it is . . . nope. Sorry.

She hasn't published anything under this name beyond this book and its sequel, and both are out of print, so . . . self-correcting problem, I suppose.

I'm going to read its sequel, but only because I have it and I paid money for it, so I can't "waste" it.

I'm going to read something else first, though.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (wolfie)
20) Teot's War, by Heather Gladney, 277 pages

Look, people. I am a writer. And sometimes, it scares the fuck out of me to have to write a review like this one, because I'm someday going to piss off the wrong person, and get my name on some list of People Never To Publish.

I will take that risk, and throw myself on the hand grenade.

This book, no matter what you have heard (it is apparently popular in some circles), stinks.

If you've read it, don't bother flaming me. If you liked it, fine. Write your own damn review and stick it up for people to sniff. This is my review, and you aren't going to change how much I opposite-of-liked this book.

The writing is at once gifted and so mannered it's distracting, riddled with dropped articles, passive-voice, and meandering sentence structure. In an attempt to write lyrical, musical prose, Gladney has only created a churning bog from which the occasional bubble of burning swamp gas rises to illuminate the path. This is the longest 277 pages I have ever read. This book took me two weeks to finish, because reading it was like trying to eat fruitcake. I couldn't handle more than a couple of pages at a time. It was so dense and impenetrable I was scared I'd break a tooth.

The story is about a desert warrior who enters the service of a great king or warlord, to whom he swears his loyalty, and how the two of them must begin a war and rally a rather uncooperative public to drive back the invading bad guys, who have giant flamethrowers.

The way I put it, it sounds pretty clear. But the author stops for nothing. I am not one of those readers who wants everything explained for me, but a bone or two near the beginning would have been nice. She talks about different races and cultures, and the differences between them are apparently important, but she never tells us where they are from or what their culture is like, so we're left juggling Osa and Nando, Tannese, Cragmen, and the Sek, all without any inkling of where these people live in relation to one another, or what their political goals are. It was incredibly confusing. Gladney is so enchanted with the sound of her voice that she couldn't just come out and say anything. She had to noodle off and talk about something else.

Another strike is that the hero, Naga, is supposed to be very cool and bad ass. Groovy. Now, while I'm all in favor of letting a character have moments of vulnerability, I know as a writer that you have to be careful. If your character spends most of a book helpless, embarrassed, injured, or unconscious, the reader is not going to believe your character is bad-ass no matter how many times you say "Ooo! Looky! Special ninja training and biiig scary weapons!"

In short, if your main character spends the whole book with indigestion, either throwing up or hunkering over the chamberpot, or picking his riding sores, or having repeated painful siezures that lay him on his ass for a whole chapter every single time, or having flashbacks to his Formative Traumatic Event ™, then you have a problem.

This could all be overcome with an engaging narrative voice, brisk pacing, clean structure, and other interesting characters. Yet these features are not offered with this model.

The plot is one of those where, just when something is about to happen, it doesn't. And when something does happen, it is confusing and hard to understand, and you have to read it twice before you can figure out what the heck is going on, so you're actually glad things don't happen more often because that makes it easier to care.

The other characters might be interesting. The writing is too self-aware and cleverly convoluted to really allow us to take time off from trying to figure out what in Hell is going on to actually care.

Add to this the poorly-realized demi-romance between the main character and his liege. Now, I don't have a problem with romance when it's done well. I'm so much a sucker for it, actually, that you could hang me off a picture window if you put a romantic fantasy novel in my hands. This was just . . . what the hell do these characters see in each other? One is incomprehensible and vague, which is always sexy, the other one is the poster boy for Wise Young Ruler Guy, yet the author fails to make these traits intriguing, and instead just lets them be tiresome.

They spend a lot of time having really intense feelings of friendship for each other, which I think is really, really cool, because there's not enough written about guys being friends. But it's clear that there is an undercurrent of something more . . . like they're both just waiting around for the other to put on the Barry White and make the first move.

Jesus, Lady. If you're going to imply something that heavily, you might as well come out and say it. The characters wrestle naked and wash each other's butts, and the main character sleeps in his liege's bed. It's okay to say they're totally queer for each other. We get it. Maybe back in 1987, before homosexuality in books had been invented by Harry Potter, it was a shock for people to think about two men having sex. Those were the dark ages. The author or her editor might have been afraid of traumatizing someone who didn't know that gay sex even existed. But thanks to a tireless P.R. campaign by the Republican party, now everyone knows about gay sex and its thrill-a-minute racecar appeal, and so this book's undercurrent of poop-smeared desert midget/hairy blonde guy lust fails to shock. Except by being poorly rendered. That's always kind of shocking.

I'm sorry. I got kind of carried away there. I'm not saying the author doesn't have talent. She does. Quite a bit, actually, if she could just let her prose breathe instead of trying desperately to make it be all meaningful and pretty. But her talent is not enough. If she'd been more interested in serving the demands of plot and character, and less interested in the sound of her own voice, it might have succeeded. As it is . . . nope. Sorry.

She hasn't published anything under this name beyond this book and its sequel, and both are out of print, so . . . self-correcting problem, I suppose.

I'm going to read its sequel, but only because I have it and I paid money for it, so I can't "waste" it.

I'm going to read something else first, though.

Catwoman!

Feb. 23rd, 2005 02:33 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Bitch!)
I have a special surprise for you.

A review of Catwoman!

Friends, I have not seen such great quantities of high-velocity shit since observing a cottonmouth stricken with sudden attack of diarrhea.

Okay. That's not true. I have not seen such high-velocity shit since I watched Timeline. But pain, mercifully, dulls memories.

I suffer so you don't have to. )

link

Catwoman!

Feb. 23rd, 2005 02:33 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Bitch!)
I have a special surprise for you.

A review of Catwoman!

Friends, I have not seen such great quantities of high-velocity shit since observing a cottonmouth stricken with sudden attack of diarrhea.

Okay. That's not true. I have not seen such high-velocity shit since I watched Timeline. But pain, mercifully, dulls memories.

I suffer so you don't have to. )

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Bitch!)
It is always a terrible thing when a bad actor happens to a good movie. Worse still is when a bad movie happens to a good book.

How, then, to describe the incestuous, spine-popping clusterfuck that ensues when three good books are torn to pieces and their parts are fused together into one shambling Frankenstein's monster of a movie that is then reamed by an actor who not only chews scenery, but actually vaccums it up and then blows it out his ass?

Well, I suppose I did just describe it.

Let me start with one statement upon which your interpretation of my review must rest.

I do not find Jim Carrey funny anymore.

Cut for ranting about Jim Carrey and Japanese toilets. )

The other actors. )

The good and the bad of the rest of the movie. )

All the clever subtitles, nifty animation, and British accents in the world, though, couldn't quite manage to bridge the page/screen gap. The books are all about language and tone, two things it is almost impossible to work with in a visual medium like movies. Too much irony will also kill a movie quicker than it will kill a book, so the writer or director erred on the side of caution and we were left without most of Lemony Snicket's dry wit. Unfortunately, all that remained of the books' tone was the maudlin fatalism, leavened by a dash of syrupy sweetness right at the end.

This movie was uneven at best, and while it did capture something of the books' charm – or anti-charm – it didn't quite succeed as a movie on its own. I would not recommend it to anyone who has not read or did not like the books. Also, if you don't like Jim Carrey, take that into account before paying full price. He hogs the stage so much I am tempted to make a Charlotte's Web or a Babe joke.

In short, only people who loved the books and like Jim Carrey will enjoy this movie as much as the franchise would like you to. Worth second-run or rental, certainly, if you're into Jim Carrey, serious jailbait, or kids' movies in general.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Bitch!)
It is always a terrible thing when a bad actor happens to a good movie. Worse still is when a bad movie happens to a good book.

How, then, to describe the incestuous, spine-popping clusterfuck that ensues when three good books are torn to pieces and their parts are fused together into one shambling Frankenstein's monster of a movie that is then reamed by an actor who not only chews scenery, but actually vaccums it up and then blows it out his ass?

Well, I suppose I did just describe it.

Let me start with one statement upon which your interpretation of my review must rest.

I do not find Jim Carrey funny anymore.

Cut for ranting about Jim Carrey and Japanese toilets. )

The other actors. )

The good and the bad of the rest of the movie. )

All the clever subtitles, nifty animation, and British accents in the world, though, couldn't quite manage to bridge the page/screen gap. The books are all about language and tone, two things it is almost impossible to work with in a visual medium like movies. Too much irony will also kill a movie quicker than it will kill a book, so the writer or director erred on the side of caution and we were left without most of Lemony Snicket's dry wit. Unfortunately, all that remained of the books' tone was the maudlin fatalism, leavened by a dash of syrupy sweetness right at the end.

This movie was uneven at best, and while it did capture something of the books' charm – or anti-charm – it didn't quite succeed as a movie on its own. I would not recommend it to anyone who has not read or did not like the books. Also, if you don't like Jim Carrey, take that into account before paying full price. He hogs the stage so much I am tempted to make a Charlotte's Web or a Babe joke.

In short, only people who loved the books and like Jim Carrey will enjoy this movie as much as the franchise would like you to. Worth second-run or rental, certainly, if you're into Jim Carrey, serious jailbait, or kids' movies in general.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Fuck No!)
Wow. Two movie reviews in one week.

What's wrong with me, you ask.

Answer: I like pain.

Normally I don't review movies unless I see them in the first-run theater, since I figure that's the whole point: if it's good, you'll know to see it on the big screen, and if it sucks, you'll know to stay far, far away, or at least wait for second run or video. So, despite the fact that I watch a lot of movies on DVD, I don't generally talk about them.

I am making an exception today. This warning may come too late, but if it saves even one of you poor souls from making a bad choice then it is worth my pain.

Last night [livejournal.com profile] spacezombie came over and we watched Timeline, which was a mistake.

You love bad reviews, right? )

The whole movie was an hour and a half long cinematic poke in the eye. Its constant, grating ineptitude made Blade: Trinity feel like a well-lubricated handjob delivered by a thousand-dollar callgirl. I have sincerely seen made-for-TV movies that outshone it (even Dinotopia was better, and that was not a good movie).

If I could go back in time and warn myself away from it, I would, but I cannot, so I am now warning you:

Avoid Timeline at all costs.

I'm also sending it back to the store with a note in the box warning the next renter to download random video clips from the internet. Japanese tentacle rape and gangbang ass porn is a much better way to spend an evening.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Fuck No!)
Wow. Two movie reviews in one week.

What's wrong with me, you ask.

Answer: I like pain.

Normally I don't review movies unless I see them in the first-run theater, since I figure that's the whole point: if it's good, you'll know to see it on the big screen, and if it sucks, you'll know to stay far, far away, or at least wait for second run or video. So, despite the fact that I watch a lot of movies on DVD, I don't generally talk about them.

I am making an exception today. This warning may come too late, but if it saves even one of you poor souls from making a bad choice then it is worth my pain.

Last night [livejournal.com profile] spacezombie came over and we watched Timeline, which was a mistake.

You love bad reviews, right? )

The whole movie was an hour and a half long cinematic poke in the eye. Its constant, grating ineptitude made Blade: Trinity feel like a well-lubricated handjob delivered by a thousand-dollar callgirl. I have sincerely seen made-for-TV movies that outshone it (even Dinotopia was better, and that was not a good movie).

If I could go back in time and warn myself away from it, I would, but I cannot, so I am now warning you:

Avoid Timeline at all costs.

I'm also sending it back to the store with a note in the box warning the next renter to download random video clips from the internet. Japanese tentacle rape and gangbang ass porn is a much better way to spend an evening.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Humbug!)
I have been gone for too long, my friends. But I return bearing gifts!

I have a crappy new icon, a bit belated, and not so full of Christmas cheer, which adequately expresses my opinion of the crunching holiday season. It also serves to remind me how much better Underworld was than Blade: Trinity. Which is saying something.

Yes, O my Legion of Doom, I did get to the movies on Friday, and Sargon even felt up to coming, so all was well in the realm of marital bliss.

Be warned: this review is far, far longer than the movie deserves, but here it is nevertheless. And there are spoilers, for those of you who honestly think that you can spoil such a movie.

My Pain Is Your Pain! )

I'm a big fan of the first two Blade movies, and I'm not upset that I saw this one in the theater. I liked it, actually, but it doesn't hold up to close scrutiny. Or even distant scrutiny through the wrong end of some foggy opera glasses.

Overall, the plot was as riddled with holes as Sonny Corleone's corpse, which is a comparison by far too good for this movie. The good points can be summed up on two fingers: Jessica Biel, who should be cast as Abbey Chase of the Danger Girl comics right now, and Ryan Reynolds, who was funny, even if he was in the wrong movie. Get thee to a Joss Whedon script!

It's your guess, by the way, which two fingers I am holding up.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Humbug!)
I have been gone for too long, my friends. But I return bearing gifts!

I have a crappy new icon, a bit belated, and not so full of Christmas cheer, which adequately expresses my opinion of the crunching holiday season. It also serves to remind me how much better Underworld was than Blade: Trinity. Which is saying something.

Yes, O my Legion of Doom, I did get to the movies on Friday, and Sargon even felt up to coming, so all was well in the realm of marital bliss.

Be warned: this review is far, far longer than the movie deserves, but here it is nevertheless. And there are spoilers, for those of you who honestly think that you can spoil such a movie.

My Pain Is Your Pain! )

I'm a big fan of the first two Blade movies, and I'm not upset that I saw this one in the theater. I liked it, actually, but it doesn't hold up to close scrutiny. Or even distant scrutiny through the wrong end of some foggy opera glasses.

Overall, the plot was as riddled with holes as Sonny Corleone's corpse, which is a comparison by far too good for this movie. The good points can be summed up on two fingers: Jessica Biel, who should be cast as Abbey Chase of the Danger Girl comics right now, and Ryan Reynolds, who was funny, even if he was in the wrong movie. Get thee to a Joss Whedon script!

It's your guess, by the way, which two fingers I am holding up.

link

Troy.

Jun. 5th, 2004 12:14 am
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Oh, boy.

I was supposed to go see Troy tonight with my husband and [livejournal.com profile] spacezombie, but my living dead friend was more dead than living, and so couldn't make it. And let me tell you, he missed out on SOO much.

Let me tell you all about it. )

Rant on the SHAMBLING THINGS IN THE THEATER WITH ME will follow tomorrow. Right now, I'm exhausted.

link

Troy.

Jun. 5th, 2004 12:14 am
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Oh, boy.

I was supposed to go see Troy tonight with my husband and [livejournal.com profile] spacezombie, but my living dead friend was more dead than living, and so couldn't make it. And let me tell you, he missed out on SOO much.

Let me tell you all about it. )

Rant on the SHAMBLING THINGS IN THE THEATER WITH ME will follow tomorrow. Right now, I'm exhausted.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
13) The Gods Awaken, by Allan Cole, 404 pages

There are not words enough to express my loathing. Out of sheer spite, I as of this moment declare that the first two books, no matter what I said previously, are utter shite. Big, fat zeros. And this one . . . oh, this is the stuff that sticks to the side of a ferret’s litter pan and requires industrial grade floor cleaner to remove it. This is a terrible book.

It is as though Mr. Cole consciously set a goal for himself wherein he would try to make each chapter stupider than the one that came before. A goal at which he succeeded most prodigiously.

Read on if you dare. I will warn you that I am still feeling very hurt right now, and am a little incoherent. This is also by far the cruelest I have ever, ever been to a book.

Read more. Warning. Contains very graphic language. )

I am not amused. This book: 0/10. This series: 0/10.

It does, however, bring me up to 13 out of 50 books, which is 26% complete. Yup. I’m really hunting for that silver lining. I know it's in here somewhere.

link
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
13) The Gods Awaken, by Allan Cole, 404 pages

There are not words enough to express my loathing. Out of sheer spite, I as of this moment declare that the first two books, no matter what I said previously, are utter shite. Big, fat zeros. And this one . . . oh, this is the stuff that sticks to the side of a ferret’s litter pan and requires industrial grade floor cleaner to remove it. This is a terrible book.

It is as though Mr. Cole consciously set a goal for himself wherein he would try to make each chapter stupider than the one that came before. A goal at which he succeeded most prodigiously.

Read on if you dare. I will warn you that I am still feeling very hurt right now, and am a little incoherent. This is also by far the cruelest I have ever, ever been to a book.

Read more. Warning. Contains very graphic language. )

I am not amused. This book: 0/10. This series: 0/10.

It does, however, bring me up to 13 out of 50 books, which is 26% complete. Yup. I’m really hunting for that silver lining. I know it's in here somewhere.

link

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