It’s time once again for Moog’s Movie Reviews!!
Sit down, please…
...you’re embarrassing yourselves.
Now…let’s get started.
This past weekend, my family and I went to see “Nim’s Island.”
For those of you without kids, this movie may not ring a bell with you.
Let’s take a look at why:
(Nim’s Island commercial comes on):
People with kids:
“That looks cute. Hey kids, want to see that this weekend? There’s a silly seal in it!”
People without kids:
People without kids say nothing because they’re having sex and doing all kinds of other fun sh*t besides talking about movies with f*cking silly seals in it.
At an hour-and-a-half long, my son – who is four – found the movie a little long.
Four year olds tend to feel this way about movies when there’s:
1) nothing exploding
2) nothing animated
3) some type of plot that doesn't involve a talking sponge
Actually...this also describes my criteria for a movie as well.
My son also has the memory of a snail and, as such, has to ask me about every person or thing in every scene for the duration of the entire movie.
Son: “Who’s that daddy?”
Me: “Well...that’s Nim.”
(Nim, while dancing turns to face away from the camera…then spins back around)
Son: “Who’s that girl?”
Me: “I just told you. That’s Nim.”
Son: “Who’s Nim?”
Me: “I’m not your real father.”
Anyway…about the movie...
The movie stars:
- Abigail Breslin (the little girl from “Little Miss Sunshine” (I LOVE this movie, and probably would have liked “Nim” even more if Steve Carell reprised his role as the mental uncle here)
- Jodie Foster (as far as Lesbos go, she’s a pretty hot one)
- Gerard Butler (the lead guy from the movie “300” - another kick-ass testosterone-fueled blood-n-guts movie that I LOVE)
- A sea lion that plays soccer
- A lizard that makes noise (seriously…do lizards actually make noise? I have no idea)
- A pelican that’s apparently smarter than the three human actors combined.
The movie is entirely aimed at kids…
…so most of what happens here is not the least bit believable.
If you understand this going in, you’ll be fine and can tolerate the “plot.”
Otherwise, you’ll be sitting through the whole movie looking like the people left in the theater at the end of "Cloverfield"…
…or how I looked at the end of “No Country for Old Men.”
People at the end of “Cloverfield”: “..what the…?”
Me at the end of “No Country”: “..what the…?”
Got it? Expect nothing, mom and dad.
It’s aimed at kids.
I was surprised, though, at one scene in the movie.
Gerard Butler and Jodi Foster were standing at the edge of the volcano crater.
Suddenly, he shouts:
“THIS. IS. SPARTA!!”…
…then kicked the bitch in.
F*cking Aay! Awesome!
Sorry..sorry…that’s what I was HOPING would happen.
But how f*cking COOL would THAT have been?!
There’s a dead mom (making this an instant children’s classic), a basic plot, and – again - that awesome dude from “300.”
As such, my daughter (who is 7, and can remember things for longer than 2 minutes at a time) enjoyed the movie…
My wife and I thought it was bearable.
By "bearable," I mean that I hadn't carved my eyes out with a spork by the end of it.
I’d ask my son’s opinion, but I don’t think he remembers actually watching it.
Me: “Cam, did you enjoy Nim’s Island?”
Son: “Nim who?”
You can find my son in the parking lot of the movie theater.
I left him there.
Don’t worry, he’s wearing a dog tag with our address on it.
Anyway...we have two scores:
People with Kids:
2-1/2 Mooge Splats
People without kids:
1 Moog Splat (or 2 Moog Splats if you’re making out in the theater and can pull off the “hole in the popcorn bucket” trick)
To see my other movie reviews, you can click here.
Enjoy your weekend.
If it's about a movie...or going to a movie...or, Christ, even watching TV...you'll find it here in "Moog's Movie Reviews!"
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
It’s time once again for Moog’s Movie Reviews!!
Where I go see a movie...
...then wait three f*cking weeks to tell you what I thought of it.
Just in time for the DVD Release.
...if you're looking for Ebert & Roper...you're in the wrong place.
The gay bar is down the street on the right.
Let's get started.
Hold on...just got a boner.
(...3 seconds later...)
I took my four year old son to see Iron Man.
I hadn't been this excited to see a movie since "Where the Boys Aren't, Part 2" came out.
Ironically...that movie ALSO had a lot of mechanical parts in it.
I actually liked Iron Man so much that I went to see it TWICE.
The last time I went to see a movie twice at the theater was "Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back."
It was 1980.
I was 11.
My friend and I left the theater, then turned around...
...and WENT RIGHT BACK IN to see it again.
Did I say I was 11?
Couple the fact that my mother had no idea where I was for two hours when I was supposed to be home...
...along with the oh-so-safe city I lived in (Lawrence, Massachusetts)...
...and you end up with a boy who was subjected to a fairly severe beating when he got home.
As such - you can see my trepidation in seeing a movie at the theater TWICE.
Regardless...comfortable in the feeling that neither my son (viewing #1) nor my brother-in-law (viewing #2) would kick my ass...I went.
I would have to say that the second viewing was even better than the first.
Robert Downey Jr.:
The only problem I had were the scenes where he was either beat up or near dying...
...and all I could think of was that this was how he looks when he's squatting in crack houses shooting up with transvestites.
(a quick "shout out" here to my mom)
For the first time EVER I thought: "Man...I'd hit that."
Although not has hot as the chicks in "Where the Boys Aren't, Part 2," she still looked totally do-able.
Did I already say that I had a boner?
(by the way...awkward walking out of the theater with wood when accompanied by either your son or brother-in-law...just sayin')
If you haven't seen it, go see it.
Ladies, if you have no desire to see it, let your husband/boyfriend/butch-dyke lover use your admission money and go TWICE.
Just don't kick their ass when they get home.
Moog's Movie Score:
Four Mooge Splats
(out of a possible four splats)
Next up: Indiana Jo..Jo.oh...Joohh..oohhh...
There I go with the boner again.
Be right back.
To see my other movie reviews, you can click here.
When did endings in movies become optional?
Today, in "Moog's Movie Reviews," I'll be reviewing the movie "No Country for Old Men."
I wrongly assumed that this was a secondary title for the movie, "Cocoon, Part 3."
"Cocoon 3 - No Country for Old Men"
Not a single f*cking UFO, magic swimming pool, OR Wilford Brimley.
What a f*cking rip-off.
This was the FIRST movie that I've ever seen alone.
My wife gave me permission on Sunday before the f*ckshow Superbowl (FOR ALL THAT IS HOLY, HOW COULD WE LOSE TO ELI F*CKING MANNING?!?!?!) to go see a movie that she had no interest in seeing.
I had no idea what to expect from the experience of going to a theater alone.
However, I WILL offer this:
Going to the movies alone is like living with someone for the first time:
EVERYTHING AROUND YOU BOTHERS YOU.
The people next to me are whispering during the movie.
The guy in front of me WON'T STOP CRINKLING HIS BAG OF POPCORN.
The person behind me is chewing with his mouth open.
Mother. Of. God.
I should have waited for the video.
When I was telling this story during the Superbowl, my father-in-law simply said:
"You know, Pee-Wee Herman used to go the movies by himself, too."
I went to a porno and whacked off this afternoon.
More chicken wings?
...about the movie:
I'd heard awesome things about this movie, and was pretty excited to go.
I'll sum up the movie here:
1) Best villain/bad guy of any movie I've ever seen, EVER.
This includes, but is not limited to, the bad guys in "Saw," "Terminator," "Terms of Endearment," and "Jaws."
Yeah..this guy was more bad-ass than a shark!
If this movie is worth going to see for any reason, it's the bad guy.
2) There's a lot of talking.
Although the story is really good, there's a lot of talking.
Most of this talking comes from Tommy Lee Jones.
Tommy Lee Jones puts me to sleep when he talks...
...unless he's talking to Harrison Ford in "The Fugitive."
Unfortunately, because he talks so goddamn much, I completely phased him out at about the two-hour mark...
...which led to...
3) Where's the ending of this movie?!
This is the second movie I've seen in a row where there's NO ENDING.
No f*cking ending.
..but there was a monster.
No Country for Old Men?
Also no f*cking ending.
No goddamn monster, either.
I take that back, there MIGHT be an ending.
...but I have no idea...
Here's how it went:
Tommy Lee Jones: "blah..blah..southern drawl..blah blah..dreams..blah blah..dad..blah.."
So, I'm sitting there kind of listening to him half-heartedly...
...because I'm trying to figure out at this point how this thing is going to end.
It went like this:
Me: "How the Hell is this movie going to end? Christ...he just keeps talking....Let's see...he's talking about dreams...The guy in front of me is still crinkling his goddamn bag of popcorn...Okay, the movie...let's see....he's still talking....and they pretty much wrapped up all of the...what? WHAT?!? CREDITS?!?!?"
He's sitting there rattling away about God knows what...
...I go off into a trance thinking about what's coming next...
..and "what comes next" turns out to be THE F*CKING CREDITS.
Lights come on.
I was immediately disappointed and thought, "I should have seen Rambo."
I called my brother-in-law after the movie (we have similar tastes and senses of humor) to see what he thought.
He liked it A LOT.
His argument: What defines a good ending? Sometimes, things just have to be left open.
Fine. Maybe I agree with you.
I'll take back my "Rambo" thought.
But when "Veggie Tales" can wrap up their sh*t, why can't the Coen brothers?!?
From now on, I'm sticking to movies that have a cast comprised of supermarket items.
My score: 3 out of 5 Mooge splats.
There was no vegetable penetration.
I was slightly disappointed.
But I digress….
Today, we get another Moog Movie Review. Actually, two (count ‘em, TWO) movie reviews in ONE post!
(I’m sure you wet yourself from the sheer excitement….I’ll go get you a tissue)
Today, I’ll be reviewing “The Veggie Tales Movie” and “Cloverfield”.
If you’re looking for Roger Ebert, you’ve come to the wrong place.
I’m guessing he’s at a buffet somewhere.
Title: The Veggie Tales Movie
No idea on the rating.
I was paying more attention to the fact that it cost me $32 DOLLARS to see a f*cking movie with my two kids.
Who should go:
People with kids, or sick people who have cucumber fetishes.
Also, people who have a sh*tload of money and can afford to go to the f*cking theater, apparently.
The plot involves something about pirates and time travel.
This was news to me...
...as the last movie I saw that had a zucchini in it was NOT a kid’s movie. Also, there was a banana in that movie, too...but I don't think that qualifies as a vegetable.
I was wondering why my wife wanted them to see this…
...I thought she was just really twisted.
Anyway…about the plot (since this was not a porn flick involving food as I had originally assumed):
I’m not really all that clear on the plot, as I’d never seen a Veggie Tales thing before.
I was concentrating more on the fact that the little round character-thing who talked in a Spanish accent was simply f*cking hilarious.
(I still don't know what that little round thing was. Was it a gourd? A squash? A testicle? Seriously - What the f*ck IS THAT THING?!)
Usually, I can’t understand accents AT ALL.
However, I zoned in using my “illegal immigrant protest” mode, and was able to eventually decipher what the talking scrotum was saying.
My kids enjoyed it…which, I suppose, is the main point.
They are NOT happy with the fact, though, that I raided their allowances so I could have beer money this week...
...after spending all my cash on a film that had a piece of talking asparagus in it.
Score: 3 out of 5 Mooge splats
Again, I have no idea on the rating.
I’m damn near 40 and don’t have to pay attention to this sh*t.
Look in the f*cking paper for the rating you lazy prick – they put that sh*t in there.
Who Should Go:
Any man who wants their wife to be pissed at them for taking them to a movie that they’ll consider a waste of two hours of their life.
My wife still hasn't forgiven me.
Buddy, if you’re into “angry sex” and can get your wife to somehow forgive you for dragging her to this thing just long enough to get some, then this one’s for you.
Also, this movie is perfect for deaf, blind mutes.
Yeah...good luck on the f*cking plot thing.
Actually, there is a small plot.
Here it is:
Indestructible camera with an infinite-charge battery survives a harrowing tale of a group of stupid f*cksh*ts running away from something while other stuff happens around them as the CAMERA KEEPS F*CKING JIGGLING OH MY GOD I’M GETTING A F*CKING HEADACHE…PUT THE CAMERA DOWN!!!
The best part of this movie is the end….
…when the lights come on and you get to hear your wife yell at you for convincing her to go see this drivel…
…meanwhile the rest of the theater YELLS out stuff like:
“WHAT THE F*CK WAS THAT?!?”
“OH…MY…GOD….That was f*cking stupid.”
My second best part was leaving the theater where the guy who was sitting next to me in the movie (see “WTF” comment above) was passing the line of people waiting to get into the next showing.
As he passed by them, he took the time to say:
“Don’t waste your time! Everybody dies!”
You could see the horror on everyone’s face in line.
Score (two separate scores):
Angry Sex-guy score: 4 out of 5 Mooge splats
Someone going to see a movie that had good ratings from other places for some strange f*cking reason: 1 out of 5 Mooge splats.
If you're keeping score at home:
Give that Monster a Spanish accent, and these scores may well have been reversed.
Continuing yesterday's trend, I'm providing you with yet another story prior to my Christmas Break.
Yesterday, it was rodent scat.
Today, we'll be discussing face paint and toilet paper.
Toilet Paper and Chipmunk poo in TWO (count 'em...TWO) unrelated stories.
How cool is that?
Blue Man Group
This weekend, we’ll be taking the family to see “The Blue Man Group.”
If you’ve never seen Blue Man Group, or have any idea what I’m talking about…go to YouTube:
..or their site HERE. It’s really an experience.
...I'm not getting paid to do their Goddamn commercials...so let's get back to the story:
My problem, though, is that my daughter (who is 7) is scared to death of “the toilet paper incident”…and doesn’t want to go.
The toilet paper incident.
You see…my wife and I went to see Blue Man Group in Boston many years ago.
Me, being of limited stature and hating to pay good money for sh*tty seats, decided to get FRONT ROW tickets.
There was music. AWESOME music.
There were antics.
Some were crazy.
All were entertaining.
...there was the toilet paper.
(queue ominous music here)
For some reason, the finale of the show consists primarily of the use of toilet paper and audience participation.
The contents of rolls and rolls of toilet paper – strung at the back of the theater – begin to empty...
...toilet paper rolls, strung from the ceiling, begin to purge thier contents...
You may ask, at this point, two questions:
Question #1: Um...Why?
Answer: Good f*cking question. No idea.
Really...I'm not sure of the need for a toilet-paper finale.
Question #2: Where does all of this toilet paper go?
Answer: (here it comes)...
Well...the paper makes it's way forward...
...above and through the crowd...
...towards the stage...
...where I'm blissfully sitting in the front row...
...completely and utterly oblivious to the TP Hell I'm about to endure.
Behind me, the audience is pulling ALL OF THIS PAPER and heaving it forward to it's final destination of the stage...
Did I mention there's a lot of this paper?
LOTS of it.
LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS OF IT.
I was not expecting to be on janitorial duty that day…but – lo and behold – I turn to look behind me and here comes a Tsunami of toilet paper….heading straight for us…seated in the front row.
…there was no warning…
…it just struck…
Then it hits us…
...a four foot high pile of paper…
..I’m grabbing it…holding it up…trying to hurl it onto the stage…
…my little arms struggling under the weight of it all…
And all I can see is white.
Like I’d been buried in an avalanche of Charmin.
It’s at this point that I realize that I can no longer see my wife…who was seated next to me…
I try to look to the heavens to scream, "WHY GOD?!? WHYYYYY?!?!?"...
But I can't lift my head...this f*cking paper is too heavy.
Seriously...did they NEED to use 2-ply for this?!
...I ponder a moment, and think:
"I hope my wife is happy...wherever she was carried to by the TP flood...and has a good life..."
…amidst the music, and crowd noise…
I hear her…
...a tiny, far-off faint cry for help…
...emanating from somewhere under this massive pile of TP:
Me: “I’m coming for you, honey! Hang in there!”
…but I couldn’t…
I couldn’t see her.
I couldn’t reach her.
Hindsight being 20/20, it would have been nice to have a GPS tracking bracelet on her.
…like the one I have to wear because of a Federal mandate (other story…mistaken identity…DAMN you CHRIS HANSEN).
Ten minutes later…the mountain of paper was up on stage.
I was tired.
My arms were sore.
My wife was nauseous.
The hour she spent getting her hair "just right" turned out to be a COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME...
No more front row for us for Blue Man…
…but we made the mistake of telling this story to my kids before we got the tickets…
…so now my daughter is petrified of being buried alive in toilet paper.
We’ll see what happens on Sunday.
Maybe I’ll let my daughter wear the bracelet.
The toilet paper finale wasn’t bad at all.
I'm not talking about my MASSIVE Bowel Movement after eating all of that Christmas food.
..which really was quite spectacular.
I should have taken pictures.
But I digress...
I'm talking a Blue Man Group post-mortem.
Here we go...
So…we went to see Blue Man Group on Sunday.
It was – as usual – AWESOME.
But, the day before we went – Saturday – I decided to go to the website and get some updated directions to the theater.
"Oops...that's video porn...how did I pop on there?"
(ten minutes and two tissues later, I actually GO to the "Blue Man" site)
On the "About the Show" page, I see it:
“Persons under the age of 5 are not permitted in the theater.”
My son is four.
I’ve spent $280 bucks on these tickets.
What will they do?
Check his ID? Ask for a birth certificate?
All he’s got is his fake ID that he uses to buy me medicinal marijuana…and it says his name is “McLovin.”
I’m not sure it will fly.
We’ll have to fake it.
We’ll make him five.
For the next 8 hours into the following day, we drill him as follows:
Us: “Cam…if someone asks you how old you are…you tell them ‘Five.’ Got it?”
Cam: “Got it.”
We drill him on this for several hours.
Finally, we think he's on board with being five for a day.
Then...we then go through stress tests.
Like, in the middle of playing with his robots I jump into the family room:
Me: “How old are you, little boy?!”
Cam: “I’m five!”
I try using guerilla tactics to throw him off...
...sneaking up when he’s in the bathroom...
Me (breaking door down): “How old are you?!?”
Cam: (SCREAMS HYSTERICALLY)
Me: “Sorry. Sorry. Finish going poo. And...um...don't worry about all that. My fault. I'll clean that mess up later.”
Anyway, we got him to answer “Five” every time.
Now, we stress to him that he’s to NOT tell someone his age unless he’s asked.
He gets it.
We go to Boston.
The first order of business is lunch.
We stop at a Bennigan’s in the Theater District, as my children will eat only the following things:
Daughter: Grilled Cheese or Hot Dog
Son: Chicken Nuggest or ‘Mac and Cheese’
Connoisseurs of Cuisine, my children.
But, because my kids are so picky, the taste of Bennigan’s chicken nuggets sends my son into a fit of dry-heaves…as the chicken actually has some type of breading on it that doesn’t resemble Purdue’s dinosaur bits.
This happens every so often, where I’m forced to yell at my son as he’s making the “I’m going to throw up face”:
“DON’T SPIT IT OUT…SWALLOW IT…SWALLOW IT…”
(which, come to think of it, reminds me that I have only 6 hours left on my Spice Channel On-Demand rental)
Mac and Cheese it is.
4 people, 1 dry-heaving session, and 5 meals later…
...we head to the show.
…whereas upon handing the ticket to the guy at the door, my son deftly announces to everyone:
“I’m five! My sister is seven!”
Smooth, son. Very smooth.
But we got in.
As usual, the show was awesome.
And the toilet paper finale that my daughter was so worried about?
Well, it’s different when you’re in the balcony and get to throw it down on top of the people below you.
They had a BLAST.
…because we then got to LISTEN to the shuffling sound of the toilet paper avalanche (instead of being in it’s deadly, rampaging path) as it slowly crept towards the stage…
…where, unfortunately…two old women were sitting in the front row…
…helpless…little old ladies…
I can only assume that the massive amount of TP simply snapped their osteoporosis-plagued bones, folding them like origami, where they then disappeared beneath the seats.
…as I don’t remember seeing them after the show.
You live and learn with Blue Man.
If you read my blog, Agnes, you stupid old bitch...then you would have been prepared for the TP.
I warned everyone ahead of time.
Just ask my five year old son.