Reviews

Let me preface this by saying that Octavia is a goddess. As such, she deserves better writing, more inspired settings, far more intricate, thickly woven plots. A performing land unexplored, yet even in a slender platitude of a production such as this, she leads with gusto and emotion -- so far be it from me to criticize.

Nah, not really. Middle tier on a sunny day. Nevertheless, Octavia is delightful, so worth the time and then some.

In the house of snores, I am the only living creature awake at the wee hours -- and I'm lacking the motivation to even exist. It's only natural I turn to Netflix for something Halloween-y, short, and nonsensical enough to not require 100% of my attention (or any critical thinking). Plus, I enjoyed watching Harper's Island, I rather like Katie Cassidy and it's a well-known fact I have a soft spot for Adam Campbell. So, score...You'd think.

Even with each and every one of my criteria met... oh, dear, oh, dear.

Kitsch, drollish buffoonery -- and the real-life footage in the end? Just plain vulgar.

Oh, this is just terrible. Even for an Eric Roberts movie this is just... offensive. I do hope René Mena is loaded in real life and isn't actually trying to make a living through acting because... oh, boy.

Richard Kind can do drama. Matt Kane cannot direct. Christen Harper should not act. Watch Ex-Machina, Her, S1mone; hell, watch Bicentennial Man for Robin Williams or even Cherry 2000, Westworld, and D.A.R.Y.L. to satisfy that vintage hunger pang -- go re-watch Black Mirror if you must but Auggie? It will unapologetically bore you out of 1h20m of your life and if that doesn't sound so bad, consider this. Hitchcock's Rope, Before Sunset, Run Lola Run, they all clock in at 80 minutes running time, too.

What are you still doing here?

*Son...*

Channeling Lanthimos, Dogtooth on a cat's jaw -- and panegyric applause to the cinematographer for a job flawlessly done.

And, suddenly, a wild Gadreel appears, wingless and seemingly really having fallen out of grace if this is as divine as it gets for him now. Or maybe this is his penance?

Chuck works in mysterious, albeit drunken ways.

Don't do it as a favour to me, you don't know me, you don't owe me. Do it as a favour to yourself and avoid like the plague.

To the crew/cast and their shill families: Learn to rate and review your own favourably but modestly. That way maybe you won't be the object of any further ridicule past your involvement in this laughable awfulness.

Did I mention avoid? Because, avoid.

No, not *just* by taking part in this nonsense but by shamelessly (not to mention eponymously) reviewing this nonsense as the Citizen Kane of comedy horror -- or, in this case, more like horrific comedy.

"Hilarious!!!! Sexy!!!! Fun!!!! Quirky!!!! Fast paced!!!! A Must See!!!!", reviewed the director himself; if you must see for yourself, please, do scroll down and enjoy the second-hand embarrassment.

Needless to say, this is not only steaming garbage, but a boring heap at that.

Gary Oldman looks well, healthy, and has finally grown into his features (not to mention his last name), evolving into a very handsome old-boy-toy. Acting-wise, as predicted, he is good here, too; a pleasure to watch annihilating everyone with his mere presence.

And yes, I realise this is supposed to be a movie review and not a Gary Oldman review but trust me when I say... this is for the best.

I cry real, big, fat tears of sympathy as I write this. Firstly, Grieco is as adept (not to mention vain) behind the camera as he is in front of it. Let us not.

Then we have the 60-year-old never-has-been Ice-T with whom we're so used to not bothering... Sadly, he is still trying to make it happen somehow and I know it's not going to stop so all I can address in hopes of a change is... well...

~~TOUGH LOVE INTERVENTION TIME

Stop talking ghetto Tracy Lauren, you're no more gangsta than Grieco is talented in any way shape, or form, and these waves of second-hand embarrassment every time you open your mouth are drowning me in stress.

It's time, old dear. Apologise and let it go, now. Let it go.~~

Last but never least, my lighthouse, my salvation raft, ah... my one and only Lord and Saviour, Eric Roberts... He's the only reason I'm here, to be perfectly frank and for him, I'd do it all again. Although he's in it for nothing longer than the predictable 30" stretch (or just long enough for his name to be justified in the titles as a worm on the hook), the man is still beautiful and his skills can only be matched with those of Nicolas Cage -- on acid.

Don't even try to fight me on this.

If you want to know what "intense" truly means, then, by all means, do subject yourself to this painful ordeal and when the runtime clock hits the 1h08m mark, keep. Your Eyes. On Jason. London because there is some edge-of-your-seat quality, method-nodding acting happening right there and your mind will be blown and, I mean... you're welcome?

To save you the trouble: Yes, there is no need to judge me for wasting my life reviewing this crap on top of watching it, to begin with. I judge myself aplenty.

Forgive me, Godard, for I have sinned.

Opening Scene We've had a handful of highs (apologies) in the past but, my Zeus, I *so* dislike Matthew McConaughey.

Gratuitous nudity and predictably irrelevant close-ups of Matthew McConaughey's abs I *really* dislike Matthew McConaughey.

Snoop Dog's character "Lingerie" is introduced fondling Isla Fisher Yup, *still* Matthew McConaughey's fault.

Matthew McConaughey in a pink, frilly nightgown, trying to appear edgy, both metaphorically and literally I effing *hate* Matthew McConaughey.

An hour and a half of allegoric, nihilistic proverbiality later and I guess this is my life now.

There is nothing wrong with being average. In fact, the lesson we can learn from The Hummingbird Project is that when the world is too busy scrutinizing the great or pitying the weak, the average can get away with anything.

Misfires: 1. It's a good thing Jesse Eisenberg is a likable guy because he's basically built his whole career around playing himself.

2. I truly like the guy, honest to Zeus, but put Mark Margolis in anything and I become too busy listening out for Hector's bell, making the whole thing too hard for me to focus. Please.

3. Unless they specifically wanted to go down the young Robert Duvall/Tom Hagen route, there is a certain Gustaf out there who should be very cross he wasn't the Skarsgard bo(a)ld choice. Now, if, for whatever reason, he was unavailable at the time, I take that back, Alexander was sublime in this and made for a great substitute. This third point then becomes...

3. Alexander Skarsgard's lack of hair.

Which brings us to...

4. Salma Hayek's inexcusable hair.

Which then in turn lands us on...

5. Salma Hayek.

...and not in the good way.

The hell?

Interesting camera work? Efficient pacing? Competent acting? Unintrusive, complementary music, realistic dialogue and, to top it all of, dexterous direction leading to a solid structure and consistency in quality?

IN MY LIFETIME MOVIE?!

...Have I landed in the wrong universe again?

Anger issues, emotional instability, unnatural, antisocial, unruly behaviour and poor coping mechanisms land a man years in prison, years in isolation. That man's only link to (his) humanity becomes an untamed, antisocial horse in emotional turmoil with anger issues. A wild horse that has been plucked from its natural habitat and carried unwillingly behind bars to be broken into submission and conformity into a new kind of reality because mirroring symbolism y'all.

The whole prison watches as horse submits to human -- and vice versa. Man and beast, both saddled by nature with a stubborn predisposition start fraying the fabric of societal expectations and bond in helping each other affectionately through hardship and pain. They find friendship, understanding freedom, love and, ultimately, hope in a hopeless place (sorrynotsorry), all not with a bang but with a whinny.

Jesus weeps.

The hero is in a new facility, where street cred matters more than carrying a knife. More so, still in isolation between early horse-training sessions, having mounted himself with the belief he is too far gone, that he will never be able to successfully reintegrate himself into society. Surely, he has a reputation to live up to if he's going to hope for any kind of smooth(er) ride. Now, here is where I want you to take a moment to think, just one second to really ponder.

How mahoosive are this man's balls when presented by this story's Morgan Freeman with the chance to get his hands on a porn magazine, he rejects it in favour of The Equestrian?

And if that one wasn't enough to give you a hint, well, try this one on for size (yes, I know, I'm delightfully punny today). That very same two-legged stallion embarks on this adventurous interspecies emotional affair by getting into a fist fight with the horse.

He gets into a fist fight. With a horse. And now I ask you.

What badass thing have *you* done today?

Anger issues, emotional instability, unnatural, antisocial, unruly behaviour and poor coping mechanisms land a man years in prison, years in isolation. That man's only link to (his) humanity becomes an untamed, antisocial horse in emotional turmoil with anger issues. A wild horse that has been plucked from its natural habitat and carried unwillingly behind bars to be broken into submission and conformity into a new kind of reality because mirroring symbolism y'all.

The whole prison watches as horse submits to human -- and vice versa. Man and beast, both saddled by nature with a stubborn predisposition start fraying the fabric of societal expectations and bond in helping each other affectionately through hardship and pain. They find friendship, understanding freedom, love and, ultimately, hope in a hopeless place (sorrynotsorry), all not with a bang but with a whinny.

Jesus weeps.

The hero is in a new facility, where street cred matters more than carrying a knife. More so, still in isolation between early horse-training sessions, having mounted himself with the belief he is too far gone, that he will never be able to successfully reintegrate himself into society. Surely, he has a reputation to live up to if he's going to hope for any kind of smooth(er) ride. Now, here is where I want you to take a moment to think, just one second to really ponder.

How mahoosive are this man's balls when presented by this story's Morgan Freeman with the chance to get his hands on a porn magazine, he rejects it in favour of The Equestrian?

And if that one wasn't enough to give you a hint, well, try this one on for size (yes, I know, I'm delightfully punny today). That very same two-legged stallion embarks on this adventurous interspecies emotional affair by getting into a fist fight with the horse.

He gets into a fist fight. With a horse. And now I ask you.

What badass thing have you done today?

In which Edward is actually interesting, charming, imposingly threatening and, above all, refreshingly age-appropriate. And Bella? Well-defined, capable, able of critical thinking and a backbone growing brain-down, entirely independent from her feeeeeeelings, Bella's a Mary-Jane no-mo.

Also, book porn.

Alright, yeah, this is your standard super-softcore Lifetime Harlequin crap, it's bad, it's really, truly bad but... that's to be expected, right?

How about, for a change, we try to focus on and appreciate the positives? Like how the protagonists int... uhhh... ...or how the narrative flows eas... um... ...or, OR! The impeccable edit... aaaaah, shucks.

Nope. Got nothing.

...definitely NOT fake. DEFINITELY, ya hear? I mean... Hereditary whatnow? First Reformed? Pah, nonsense! Demons is where it's at, fam. /sarcasm

What minimal merit this holds isn't worth the calories you'll burn hitting "play". And just like in the case of a train wreck... Move along, now, nothing to see here.

Please, be aware that this is nothing but nonsense overhyped by either employed shills or the people involved in the production themselves. Don't bother.

Like a young Odysseus, little Khorshid travels life's journey in search for his musical Ithaca, wandering into adventures involving modern-age Sirens lurking in every corner, a 'faithful Penelope's' principle in the heart of his despondent mother, a coming of age Calypso falling in love with his unique outlook - and even a Cyclops figure, a grieving ogre to be defeated out of his strictly one-dimensional view.

For the film's short running time, our sprite of a protagonist follows lyrical beauty amidst the darkness -- and has me doing exactly the same by following him, completely and utterly charmed by his antithetically stunning in colour, deeply multilayered, poetic innocence.

I could go on a rant, a truly horrible rant, but I'll spare you the inevitable caps lock of bile because I like you. Instead, let me just state one fact alone.

Now, I can officially and without shame, declare publicly that next to Sofia Coppola's putrid infestation of The Godfather III, Malick is the only other cinematic existence I've come to loathe with the blinding force of a thousand suns.

And given my often-stated aversion to wasting my time on garbage, I will now have to conclude that Malick's distorted vision only comes to filmic life as a personal attack against me.

Just for that, every copy of every movie he's ever destroyed with his overwhelming vapidness can burn in a glorious fire, down to the cindering bareness he so obviously worships.

Papadimitropoulos is an okay director, nothing spectacular, we knew that already. Papadimitriou already proved himself in the recent Chevalier so I wasn't too worried about him. Triggou, a newcomer, an a priori 50-50 of potential. The subject matter well-overused; a man confronted by his own fleeting youth and crushing loneliness falls ridiculously for the young, fresh-faced siren willing to enchant him with her blooming vibrancy and rampant uninhibition. So far, so average.

And then I watched it.

Well.

Eff me sideways.

I shall repeat that for added effect.

Eff me sideways.

Because what this actually is is a gloriously shot, tightly paced, hedonistic take on a climactic midlife realization that caught me off guard on every possible level of expectation I prematurely held before experiencing it.

Against the contrasting backdrop of dawn's naked flesh quivering with the brazen need to explore, coming in like a tide to swallow whole the bashful self-consciousness of the late afternoon, we journey through the sad and ordinary, over to the passionate and never freer, only to eventually enter the dark tunnel of unhingedness...

...as we progressively come to the understanding that we're doing so while riding on a train purposefully manufactured brakeless.

Since I fear this is one of those movies about which I could go on for an eternity and a day, a quick summary and I'm out.

Suppressed, depressed, obsessed and, finally, possessed by his own demons, Kostis evokes our sympathy and demands our loathing while having us squirming with second-hand embarrassment on the edge of our seats.

Anna's care-free nuisance quickly abides as she progressively morphs into a mirror of perilous exposure held against the viewers ourselves, now, then, definitely in dormant theory, for some in operating practice.

Two worlds collide, two bodies connect, two psyches shatter into razor-sharp shards of discordant bareness.

Do it. Experience it. You are both Him and Her, past or present, it doesn't matter; somewhere between the misconception and the dread, you will find yourself but, perhaps most importantly, you will be offered a chance to find out about yourself.

From me, a gleeful nod of approval to anyone still reading, and yet another, emphatic,

Eff. Me. Sideways.

I could nitpick and find a trillion faults with this movie. The direction lacks any sort of inspiration, letting the viewer actually "feel" the passive way Krasinski chooses to go about treating the all-star cast. Thankfully, most of the actors seem to know what they're doing so, albeit lukewarm directorially, the performances somewhat save the day.

My opinion, unless he seriously ups his game, JC really needs to keep his front-of-camera day job and leave the technicalities to those with a more creative eye. Onwards.

The writing is inconsistent, varying from incoherent to brilliant which, let's just say is not good for those with short attention spans. Like a screenwriter's hoarding wasteland, the plot is crammed with all sorts of random subplots that add nothing to the story, ultimately resulting in frustrating loose ends - so be prepared to invest and be disappointed.

Now, for the surprise. I actually enjoyed this movie. Emotional manipulation, forced drama and all, on the back of the magnificent chemistry between Martindale and Jenkings, Krasinski's dead-pan despondence, Day's irrational wit, and Kendrick's refreshingly grounded performance, I was thoroughly entertained. The movie offers quite a few pieces of quotable dialogue and peppered with humorous lacings, certain melodramatic sequences that border on the twee never quite tip over to the cringe-inducing side, keeping the drama basic but real.

All said and done, this would have been a two-star, forgettable annoyance, yet it somehow succeeded in gripping my attention enough for me to enjoy the otherwise menial material.

From me, three stars and never forget that Margo Martindale is one of the great ones.

Started off kinda meekly, I was quickly losing interest when I thought I was about to waste my time on yet another childish portrayal of a delayed adulthood, shoulders stubbornly stuck in the vaginal walls of a happier past, a past that made sense -- whereas renting an apartment, paying bills etc, obviously doesn't.

Well. I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong. Wruh-uh-ong. This is a great little movie -- funny, lighthearted, and still, the dramatic elements are so strong and wonderfully structured, proving entirely capable of planting a lump in your throat the size of a goddamned walnut.

Nothing more to say. Watch this. It's good.