Sarcastic Movie Reviews

I was going to make some lame joke about Hermione starring in “The Gobbling of Harry’s …” but I couldn’t think of anything dirty that rhymes with “fire.”

Feel free to offer any suggestions.

Have you ever seen a Harry Potter movie? Here’s what to expect just in case you’re a Potter virgin.

• A new teacher arrives at school and he is very suspicious looking
• Harry learns some sort of spell that has absolutely nothing to do with the story, but it’s really cool to look at.
• The audience is forced to watch yet another freaking game of “Quidditch” (only magical golf could be more boring to watch).
• Annnnnnddd…. Someone is always trying to kill Harry.

For THIS, J.K. Rowling is a billionaire?

Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that someone is always trying to kill Harry. I’ve wanted the lisping little English faggot dead since the first film. How about someone tries to kill the redheaded kid just to shake things up?

Who could possibly be the person behind all of the attempts on Harry’s life?

If you guessed the strange and menacing new teacher then you’re an idiot.

In every one of these films, the strange and menacing new teacher is always the guy who saves Harry’s ass. That is unless (just to screw with your head), it really IS the strange and menacing new teacher.

Got that?

M. Night Shamalan eat your heart out.

There’s one inconsistency in these films that has always bugged the hell out of me. Harry is supposed to be the most powerful wizard every born.

He’s basically Jesus except that imagine that our Lord was a really shitty carpenter or that someone was slipping him a few extra loaves of bread and some fish when everyone was looking in the other direction.

The whole favoritism angle really ticks me off.

Every time Harry has been given a magical quest to complete there’s a sympathetic classmate or teacher, who gives him the answer or gives him some sort of rare herb so that he has an edge on the competition.

“Don’t worry about finding your way through that lost maze of trees Harry, just make sure that you go left.”

No one else is getting GPS coordinates beamed to them by the gardener!!

Harry Potter is the freaking Paris Hilton of Hogwarts. No wonder everyone hates his prissy ass.

Then there’s this part:

The “Harry came in second place, but because he did something brave or compassionate we’ll make up some extra points that puts him in first place” scene at the end of every movie.

I repeat.

Paris-fucking-Hilton.

Even when he loses he wins because Dumbledore always decides to add some bonus points that were never explained when the rules were read out to everyone.

If I was the poor bastard who was came in second because of a technicality I’d be saying:

“Hang on mate. If you had TOLD me that I could still win first place by helping the other guy, I wouldn’t have pulled a groin muscle racing for the finish line. I would have hung around the back and just helped the fat kid who couldn’t outrun the Dragon.”

One thing that this movie finally did right is to completely bypass his terrible home life. Usually we’re subjected to a scene in which his sadistic adopted (and mortal) family makes him live in a closet under the stairs, completely ignoring the fact that every year at school this wizard is learning how to cook you from the inside out. I always thought that these people had a death wish and I’m glad to see them gone.

Overall, these movies aren’t too bad but I’d really like to see something new happen just once. How about Harry gets expelled from Hogwarts? How about someone else’s life is threatened? How about Hermione gets locked out of the castle in a rainstorm wearing nothing but a white cotton wizard’s robe?

If you ask me, J.K. Rowlings is just re-writing the same damn story over and over.

Mind you, a lack of imagination never hurt George Lucas or Bill Gates either.

“Derailed” is one of those movies that you can really enjoy if you’ve had enough beers to dull your senses. It used to take me 15 pints to get there, but I have a girlfriend now so I drink like a bitch.

Pretend for a minute that you’re a devoted father. Your daughter has a terrible illness and there’s some sort of experimental drug coming out but of course your insurance won’t pay for it.

Fucking insurance assholes. Them and lawyers should have a contest in which they pound their nuts with a rubber hammer, but I digress.

You’ve spent the last seven years saving every damn cent you can so that when the drug hits the streets you can save your little girl’s life.

Life must be pretty stressful eh? You probably haven’t had a vacation in years, you’re married (so you’re not getting laid more than once every other weekend), and you have a job that pays well but sucks ass.

What do men do in such situations? They sport enormous erections and run around town trying to hump anything that had the misfortune of slipping on a patch of ice. I’m sure science will back this up as soon as the Canadian government can free up 100 million dollars for the study. In the meantime just keep saying “Buttafucco” to yourself.

One day Clive meets Jennifer Anniston on the train who just happens to be a sexy high powered executive whose equally successful husband ignores her.

Buttafucco.

They stumble into a sleazy hotel room but Clive forgets to lock to door. It’s just when things are about to get interesting (not interesting enough though because there’s no nudity) that a thief breaks into the room, beats Clive up and rapes Jennifer. They decide not to call the police because they’re afraid of what their spouses will say and they go on their way.

Then a few weeks later, Clive gets a phone call from the thief.

Got your beer ready? There’s a huge gap in logic coming up so we need to pretend that we’re the Duke boys driving the General Lee.

The thief wants Clive to give him $20,000 or he’ll tell his wife what he was doing in the hotel room!!

Yeeeeeeehaw (insert banjo music as we jump over the chasm in slow motion).

Um, hello?!!

Firstly, if the thief tells your wife that you were having an affair he doesn’t have much proof to offer except your stolen wallet. Wives are notoriously trusting creatures who always believe their husbands no matter how lame their excuse is.

Go and Google the word “Buttafucco” if you don’t believe me.

Secondly, haven’t you been busting your hump for the last decade to buy your daughter some medicine? I’m thinking that 20 grand ought to be worth a pill or two. The worst thing that’s going to happen is that your wife divorces you. Actually let me rephrase. The worst thing that could happen would be your wife finding out that there’s 20 grand missing from your bank account while your daughter dies.

But who gives a shit about logic? Crack open another beer and just forget the whole damn thing. It’s a good movie if you’re dead from the eyebrows up.

Ok, so is everyone good and drunk? Let’s carry on.

The movie is actually a pretty good thriller.

The thief gets more brazen and Clive starts to fight back. Blackmailers always come back for seconds right? Who even cares that Clive starts breaking laws like they were breadsticks in Oprah’s lunchbox? We’re all hopped up on goof balls at this point.

It doesn’t matter that a simple phone call to the police could end this charade at any point in the movie.

Clive keeps digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole.

Unfortunately in order for you to accept the ending of this movie you have to have a heroin addiction that would freak out Courtney Love.

I can’t tell you any more, but people in the audience started to guffaw.

Guffaw? Who the hell even says that anymore?

That’s how stupid this movie becomes. They forced me to write words that my grandmother would use.

People aren’t supposed to laugh at the shocking conclusion. That’s like giggling during the money shot in a porno. It’s just wrong people.

Well, at least you’re drunk right?

Buttafucco.

What is it with rap stars making movies anyway? It used to be the Country music stars putting out mediocre movies every other month.

Oh, how I used to look forward to seeing Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers teaming up to smuggle moonshine with a cigar smoking chimpanzee. 

Now I have to watch sneering rap stars popping a cap in someone’s ass on a weekly basis.

Fair is fair people. If hip hop stars insist on making action movies then all of the unemployed actors out there should be signed to Death Row Records.

I think listening to Steven Segal sing “My Humps” would be pretty damn entertaining.

Picture it… fat boy grabs a mic and belts out:

What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps.

Tell me that wouldn’t be more entertaining than Queen Latifah’s last movie?

Well, lets get on with “Fiddy’s” movie shall we?

“Get Rich or Die Tryin’”

Fiddy was shot 9 times before he was even signed. Imagine the embarrassment of the poor bastard who pulled the trigger? It’s like trying to kill Jason from the Friday the 13th movies. How can you not make a movie about this?

If I had to compare this movie to something else out there, I’d say it’s much like “A Star is Born” except that instead of Babs it’s Al Pachino, he has diamonds glued to his teeth and someone sets his mom on fire.

Oh….and he has a naked knife fight with 3 other men in the shower.

Wait, that’s not right.

Ok… the movie is like “Flashdance” but with crack whores.

No, that’s not it.

Anyway… there’s rapping and shooting and screwing and stabbing.

Normally I’d be loving this combination, but one story keeps getting in the way of the other.

Someone kills Fiddy’s mom and he thinks that the guy looks like Rick James. Why is this important? It’s not. There goes 20 minutes of your life you’re not getting back. The guy could have been dressed like Dame Edna and it would have made as much sense.

Let’s cut to the chase already. Would “Scarface” had been as good if Al Pachino broke into a big musical number while the guy in the shower was getting killed with the chainsaw?

Why then do I need sit through some bullshit Godfather power struggle and a gang war with the Columbians?

I don’t need to know who killed Fiddy’s mom, who Fiddy’s daddy is or how the bad guy got his groove back.

It’d be like watching Emimen studying for his grade 11 history exam. I’m sure some of it really happened but I don’t give a rat’s ass.

Go rent “Goodfellas” and if you really need a hip hop soundtrack then play some Public Enemy on your stereo.

I just pray to God that punk rockers don’t start making movies. The last thing I need to see is Billie Joe from Green Day remaking “Grease.”

“Zathura” (or “Space Jumanji” as I like to call it) is a movie that is eerily similar to the aforementioned 1995 flick.

What the hell is it now with all the sequels that are coming out 10 years after the orginals?! Between this and Zorro I’m half expecting “Being John Travolta” to be the next movie I review.

In case you missed Jumanji, let me break it down for you. Some loner kid finds a dusty board game in a forgotten basement somewhere that looks like it would fetch you about $100,000 on e-bay. He rolls the dice, or turns the key and spends the rest of the movie running for his life.

What fun eh?

It’s like putting some nitro in your pop-a-matic Trouble.

Zathura looks like a pretty boring game at first blush. Think of it as “Life” for the retarded. Turn a key and the game whips your man around a mechanical track while you scratch your balls.

You don’t even get to move the pieces!

How are kids going to learn about sex if they can’t make the little terrier hump the shoe in Monopoly, or put Mr. Green and Mrs. Peacock in the bedroom with the lead pipe?

Oh, what? Am I the only guy who did that?!!

Liars. You all disgust me. I’m praying for your souls you perverted bastards.

The real fun starts when the machine spits out a card because 90% of the time it’s something really, REALLY bad.

Attempted homicide for the whole family. Gather round kids, we’re killing one of you off with a giant robot.

It’s your turn Timmy… bwahahahahahaha

Turn the key, read your card and cover your ass.

Repeat.

I actually liked this movie but then again I think kids just don’t know how to have fun unless they have an angry sibling hurling a weighted metallic spike at their heads.

Zathura? Bahhhh… try Lawn Darts sometime!

Ok, now I’m not a marketing expert but I really have to ask what the suits were thinking when they started printing promotional material that states “Welcome To The Suck.”

Unless you’re Jenna Jameson, I wouldn’t be putting that on any billboards.

Calling “Jarhead” an anti-war film would be like calling “A River Runs Through It” a documentary on tsunamis. 

There’s no war in the film.

There are soldiers alright, but they’re bored soldiers with nothing to alleviate the tedium but their sadism.

Remember when your parents dragged you and your older brother on a road trip and you were stuck in the back seat with him for 6 hours? Change the hours to months and give your brother steroids.

Oorah mutherfucker.

If you ever wanted to change your teenage son’s mind about joining the marines then forget showing him pictures of charred corpses. Instead why don’t you try making him stir a burning oil drum full of shit? He’ll be enrolling in dance class before you can say “Semper Fi”.

This is a movie based on the best selling book by Anthony Swofford and having read an actual book for once I can tell you that it’s pretty accurate to the printed page.

It glosses over why a guy who reads Tennyson would sign up to go to war with a bunch of narrow minded psychopaths but the message remains loud and clear in Swofford’s mind.

I’d rather eat canned beans with the hillbillies in “Deliverance” then go drinking with the US Marines in “Jarhead”.  

It’s a great psychological movie more than anything else. I’m sure that someone in his unit will want to write a rebuttal, but they’re probably too busy disemboweling a cat with their fountain pen right now.