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Jonathan-42
Reviews
Wu du (1978)
This is not a movie.
Apparently, the people that wrote the back of the box did not bother to watch this so-called "movie." They described "blindingly choreographed intrigue and violence." I saw no "intrigue." I instead saw a miserable attempt at dialogue in a supposed kung fu movie. I saw no "violence." At least, I saw nothing which could cause me to suspend my disbelief as to what could possibly hurt a man with "impervious" skin--but here I am perhaps revealing too much of the "plot." Furthermore, as a viewer of many and sundry films (some of which include the occasional kung fu movie), I can authoritatively say that this piece of celluloid is unwatchable. Whatever you may choose to do, I will always remain
Correct,
Jonathan Tanner
P.S. I was not blinded by the choreography.
A Merry Mirthworm Christmas (1984)
Well, it needed to be done.
Seems like a dream really. I still feel sick when I think of the almost five bits of shiny, flat America that I spent on this thing. That is all. Oh. It turns out that I need to have four lines of commentary. There. This should cover it very easily.
Life (1999)
The Shawshank Redemption, only less funny...
Something about racist, southern cops beating human beings to death just gets me rolling in the aisles, holding my sides, face wet with violent tears of pure, unadulterated, unmixed, pristine, virgin, virginal, clear, translucent, pellucid glee, every stinkin' time. Hoo, boy! Probably the single, most entertaining movie that I have seen, which dealt with the concepts of racism, wrongful prosecution, cruel and unusual punishment, prison homosexuality (a la Shawshank Redemption), murder, suicide, the valuelessness of living in a post-Lenin world, age and infirmity, buck teeth, cornbread and consumption, flatulence, fantasy, bastard children, retardation, minor- and major- league baseball, drug smuggling, bootlegging, prostitution, card hustling, pickpocketing, organized crime, xeno-/homo-/thana-/gerio-/algo- (and mayhaps triskaideka-)phobia, and
pseudo-quasi-semi-demi-demo-proto-uni-bi-ab-circum-dendro-chrono-socio-myo-n ympho-micro-mini-necro-humor. In other words, it is not so much...funny, as it is...not funny. The rare moments of laughter in my theater came from the seat next to me, where my friend was desperately seeking a real reason for having paid to see this "movie." I give this "film" one post-super nova singularity, because I cannot give it a star. The quasi-star that I was going to give it exploded outward before collapsing onto itself beneath the weight of it's own chromosphere, thus creating an infinitely deep well of gravity from which not even blessed light or laughter may possibly escape.
Crystal Force (1992)
lacking everything becoming what normal people would typically refer to as a "film"
The rampant sexuality and covert Greco-Freudian undertones to this manically underacted, post-graphic horror schlock are the only elements discernible in the anti-riveting, effects-driven ab-climax, which comes at the end of a rather long (approximately seventy-seven minutes longer than my average, American, male attention-span for complete drivel: I think I could more easily watch thirty or forty minutes of C-SPAN bloopers than this film again)and, one wants to say, pointless "film". Until those last six or seven minutes--really an almost revolutionary or, at the very least, anti-conventionalist stretching of the dogmatic ideal of climax/resolution or, heck, even plot--I found it hard to actually look at the "movie": my eyes would slide off of the screen to examine the oaken flooring of my home, and, then, I was more interested in the amount of time remaining, counting down on my VCRs little blinking readout than in the MacGuyveresque solution to the monster problem. Notwithstanding the already-mentioned lack of everything becoming what normal people would typically refer to as a "film" except for credits (both beginning and end), I could almost admire the ability of G.L.Reed to play both a seemingly hypertrophied, pseudo-Satanic Duck/Reptile from some other dimension and manage both the art department and properties on this shamefully modern "movie."
The Gardener (1974)
I went looking for a movie too bad to be believed, and I found it. It broke my heart...
So you are in this movie-rental place with a horror section that is just miles wide and furlongs in length, and you are, just imagine, scanning the rows for anything that catches your rather jaded (maybe from too many low-budget or low-brow horror flicks, too much mockery, or stilted dialogue, too many effects or musical stings) eye in that special way that only a truly mongoloid flick can do--and what do you see? of course, a really chintzy colored pencil and pastel picture of this tree/man graft that has women trapped (mayhaps metaphorically) in his "roots," but the really bad part is the complete physiological inaccuracy of the picture (witness, in your mind's eye, the nipples of this bare-chested "evil" tree/man placed in the exact (okay, semi-exact) orthocenter of his pectoral muscles--just plain zaniness from look one!), and it has this tag on it that reads, "He does bad things to them...in the Garden!!" and what can you do or say (except fall in love with it on the spot and say "I love you," respectively associated, right there in the orchard of neon horror that is the movie rental place)--and then so imagine your heartbreak when you get home, undress it from its plastic case and discover to yourself the fact that it is completely: affectless, toneless, actionless, heartless, penniless, paceless, plotless, heartless, and, perhaps most horribly, humorless--you and your best bud cannot, for the glory that the world holds, come up with a single joke to combat the ceaseless waves of offense to your senses and sensibilities that this offers--not to mention devoid of a) evil and b)seeds of said evil...there are no effects: it features untold minutes of floral footage, which cause the actors to expire at completely surreal and random moments--with which occasional happening you can utterly sympathize...I went looking for a movie too bad to be believed, and I found it. It broke my heart. It has the power to tear yours out and lay it bleeding on the table before you, and it won't even give you a maniacal chuckle to which to expire. This is the worst movie I have ever seen with maybe the sole exception of "'Manos':The Hands of Fate." But, hey, you're the one in the horror section--you roll the dice.