After a long hiatus, I once again return with a Completely Useless Movie Preview, in which I offer my opinion on the merits of a film based solely on the evidence presented in the trailer. Thus, I present you with Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.
It's a bad sign whenever your sequel contains "of the" in the title. Good sequels have phrases like, "strikes back," "Tokyo drift," or "electric boogaloo." Bad sequels always fall back on some abstract concept being done by some group you've never heard of. Revenge of the Sith. Itchiness of the Guelphs. General Malaise of the Iceni. The only exception is if the action word is "wrath." Can't go wrong with wrath.
Anyway, on to Transformers. When we last left off, Megatron was left for dead in the Laurentian Abyss, which the screenwriters confused with the Challenger Deep as the deepest void on earth. Turns out the Laurentian Abyss is only about half as deep as the Challenger Deep. Oops! If only it had been fifty percent deeper, we wouldn't be in this mess! Alas, we are. Megatron is back, and he's filled with vengeance... and this time, it's mechanical!
Meanwhile, our protagonist, Sam, having collected all of the crystal skulls by mailing in his proofs of purchase from cereal boxes, heads off to college. Unfortunately for him, his megababe girlfriend Mikaela can't afford to go, and is left at home to drape herself in erotic poses across various motorcycles. One would think she could have worked her way through school as an art model, draping herself over still lifes while majoring in cycle humping.
What's Megatron's plan? Your guess is as good as mine! It seems to involve more action figures. And probably the obsessive pursuit of the Allspark, that shiny Rubix Cube of life that sounds like a place where you'd get your muffler repaired. You'd think Megatron would have learned that it's not fun to mess with the Allspark considering that last time he did, it killed him. But I guess it didn't kill him, so lesson unlearned. We also learn that the Transformers were on earth well before the pyramids were built, which makes me wonder if, in the back of their minds, they're complaining to themselves how the neighborhood has gone downhill since.
Turns out that Megatron has help from The Fallen, the founder of the Decepticons, now trapped in another dimension. People/cars called "the Fallen" are always trapped underground or in alternate universes. (See Slayer, Buffy the and Eden, Garden of.)
You know, if you're engaged in an epic interstellar battle to colonize the universe and eliminate all organic life, you could find a better name for your organization than the Decepticons. The root of "deception" is right there in the name! And you expect earthlings to trust you? At least, all of the English-speaking ones that you keep encountering? Go for something that sounds more trustworthy. The Truthtellers. The Kitten Protectors. The 1957 Brooklyn Dodgers.
So. Is this the right movie for you? Will you feed it every day, take it on walks, and teach it right and wrong? Spay it, neuter it, and bring it to bed with you? Well, that depends. Are you into big iron testosterbots, and sweaty grease-covered eye candy draped over them? Do you find yourself aroused at Meineke? Does the very thought of the existence of Go-Bots make you shiver? If so, then I'd like to hook you up with this film. I think you'd hit it off. On my high octane scale of one through 88 stars, with 15 being the number of action figures you'll buy to reenact scenes on lonely Saturday nights for the rest of summer, I give this movie a pair of fuzzy dice, one of those beaded seat covers, and a shiny coat of Armor-all.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
A Dreaded Sunny Day
It's a dreaded sunny day, so I'll meet you at the cemet'ry gates. Keats and Yeats may be on your side, but weird lover Wilde is on mine. As well as...
Ezra "The Ground" Pound
His virulent antisemitism is matched only by his thirst for everyone else's blood. Along with Dorothy Shakespear and Olga Rudge, he'll form a ménage à disembowelment, and then issue a propaganda broadcast in honor of the event. Is his lust for violence the product of insanity or a tortured poetic soul? Trying to find out may be hazardous to your health.
Percy "Son of a Bysshe" Shelley
I met a traveler from an antique land, who said, "I'm gonna git you, sucka!" That man was Percy Shelley, and he meant it. Look upon the chainsaw attachment strapped to his arm and despair! He controls sinister agents from the briny depths of the sea, and will ensure that your three hour tour of the Circle of Death will feel like forever. You can cremate his body, but the spirit of carnage remains.
T.S. "P.S. I'll Kill U" Eliot
The product of The Wastelands, London's premiere venue for elite cage fighting, Eliot will make company between you and hell- pressing lidless eyes against the door and waiting for your screams of agony. An expatriate of morality, he has no qualms about turning your excruciating death into a Broadway musical. He'll do as he do do, and there's no doing anything about it.
Mary "The Monster" Shelley
The modern Prometheus of death, Mary has powerful thighs that can snap a skull completely from the torso it was previously attached to. Even debtor's prison can't save you from her vicious wrath, as she'll travel the ends of the earth to kill you, then exhume you, and then kill you again.
George "Lord of Pain" Byron
If you think Wilde is a weird lover, you ain't seen nothin'! George brings an orgy of mayhem and destruction in his wake, throwing disowned children and chunks of the Parthenon at anyone who stands in his path. He'll bury your lungs in Greece and your pickled remains in Nottingham. And then have sex with them both.
They were born, they lived, and then you died! Unfair? Well, you shouldn't have tangled with them.
Ezra "The Ground" Pound
His virulent antisemitism is matched only by his thirst for everyone else's blood. Along with Dorothy Shakespear and Olga Rudge, he'll form a ménage à disembowelment, and then issue a propaganda broadcast in honor of the event. Is his lust for violence the product of insanity or a tortured poetic soul? Trying to find out may be hazardous to your health.
Percy "Son of a Bysshe" Shelley
I met a traveler from an antique land, who said, "I'm gonna git you, sucka!" That man was Percy Shelley, and he meant it. Look upon the chainsaw attachment strapped to his arm and despair! He controls sinister agents from the briny depths of the sea, and will ensure that your three hour tour of the Circle of Death will feel like forever. You can cremate his body, but the spirit of carnage remains.
T.S. "P.S. I'll Kill U" Eliot
The product of The Wastelands, London's premiere venue for elite cage fighting, Eliot will make company between you and hell- pressing lidless eyes against the door and waiting for your screams of agony. An expatriate of morality, he has no qualms about turning your excruciating death into a Broadway musical. He'll do as he do do, and there's no doing anything about it.
Mary "The Monster" Shelley
The modern Prometheus of death, Mary has powerful thighs that can snap a skull completely from the torso it was previously attached to. Even debtor's prison can't save you from her vicious wrath, as she'll travel the ends of the earth to kill you, then exhume you, and then kill you again.
George "Lord of Pain" Byron
If you think Wilde is a weird lover, you ain't seen nothin'! George brings an orgy of mayhem and destruction in his wake, throwing disowned children and chunks of the Parthenon at anyone who stands in his path. He'll bury your lungs in Greece and your pickled remains in Nottingham. And then have sex with them both.
They were born, they lived, and then you died! Unfair? Well, you shouldn't have tangled with them.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Circus of the Who?
It's been fourteen years since the last installment of Circus of the Stars, a chintzy relic of the three-network era where sitcom actors owned as property by studios could be forced to walk on a tightrope with a burlap sack over their head if a cigar-chomping bigwig demanded it. After Mr. Belvedere was savagely ripped to shreds by a performing lion, the format fell out of favor and the show hasn't aired in the U.S. since.
Today, the networks' grip on performers has slipped. A star coerced into being shot out of a cannon as part of a ratings stunt can just say no, and go appear on a dimly-lit drama on FX instead. CBS isn't going to force the cast of CSI to cram themselves into a clown car if they want to keep them around very long.
But the rise of free agency hasn't helped the bottom-of-the-barrel performers- the washed-up, bankrupt and otherwise unemployable. Future Lindsay Lohan, we're looking in your general direction! I'm talking about former child stars, supermodels above the age of thirty, musical one-hit wonders, and anyone who's quasi-famous for being on a reality show and losing. Are these people in any position to turn down work, even if it's grinding up puppies into Puppy Chow? (Oh yes, that's how it's done. Also, Santa Claus isn't real.)
Thus, this summer we face Celebrity Circus, a revival of Circus of the Stars done up in a so-new-it's-old-already reality show veneer. Note that rather than stars- you know, people who star in shows and that you want to see, you now get celebrities- people who can range from real actors down on their luck, to people who are simply famous because they do other famous peoples' tattoo art. Celebrity is cheap these days. Many of these same people have appeared on Dancing with the Stars, which is confusing, because those who are danced with are most assuredly not stars, but merely celebrities. Don't confuse the two!
Thus, you will get to see Christopher Knight, poor middle Brady child, now willing to endure public humiliation as a trapeze performer. Knight has made a "living" out of stuff like this- he's been married on a reality show (My Fair Brady), locked in a house with other celebrities (The Surreal Life), hunted ghosts (Celebrity Paranormal Project), waxed nostalgic about the 1970's (I Love the 70's: Volume 2) and done everything else on television short of dying (which may just happen here!). The difference between Stars and Celebrity is that on Celebrity, you're rooting for these losers to get injured. Whereas on Stars, network execs prayed that Ed Asner wouldn't be maimed beyond recognition and lead to the untimely cancellation of Lou Grant. The commercials even acknowledge this, showing a teaser of Knight landing on his face after falling out of a big hamster wheel.
(There's another comeback- between the revival of American Gladiators and now Celebrity Circus, big-ass hamster equipment is having its best week ever!)
So, will the new Circus provide as much entertainment as the old? Well, that's debatable. It depends on whether you want stars or will settle for celebrities, and how much you want to see them suffer. If you're willing to watch celebrities dance, lose weight, eat bugs, go stir crazy, or box each other then you probably don't have anything against seeing Rachel Hunter wounded by a cotton-candy machine.
Today, the networks' grip on performers has slipped. A star coerced into being shot out of a cannon as part of a ratings stunt can just say no, and go appear on a dimly-lit drama on FX instead. CBS isn't going to force the cast of CSI to cram themselves into a clown car if they want to keep them around very long.
But the rise of free agency hasn't helped the bottom-of-the-barrel performers- the washed-up, bankrupt and otherwise unemployable. Future Lindsay Lohan, we're looking in your general direction! I'm talking about former child stars, supermodels above the age of thirty, musical one-hit wonders, and anyone who's quasi-famous for being on a reality show and losing. Are these people in any position to turn down work, even if it's grinding up puppies into Puppy Chow? (Oh yes, that's how it's done. Also, Santa Claus isn't real.)
Thus, this summer we face Celebrity Circus, a revival of Circus of the Stars done up in a so-new-it's-old-already reality show veneer. Note that rather than stars- you know, people who star in shows and that you want to see, you now get celebrities- people who can range from real actors down on their luck, to people who are simply famous because they do other famous peoples' tattoo art. Celebrity is cheap these days. Many of these same people have appeared on Dancing with the Stars, which is confusing, because those who are danced with are most assuredly not stars, but merely celebrities. Don't confuse the two!
Thus, you will get to see Christopher Knight, poor middle Brady child, now willing to endure public humiliation as a trapeze performer. Knight has made a "living" out of stuff like this- he's been married on a reality show (My Fair Brady), locked in a house with other celebrities (The Surreal Life), hunted ghosts (Celebrity Paranormal Project), waxed nostalgic about the 1970's (I Love the 70's: Volume 2) and done everything else on television short of dying (which may just happen here!). The difference between Stars and Celebrity is that on Celebrity, you're rooting for these losers to get injured. Whereas on Stars, network execs prayed that Ed Asner wouldn't be maimed beyond recognition and lead to the untimely cancellation of Lou Grant. The commercials even acknowledge this, showing a teaser of Knight landing on his face after falling out of a big hamster wheel.
(There's another comeback- between the revival of American Gladiators and now Celebrity Circus, big-ass hamster equipment is having its best week ever!)
So, will the new Circus provide as much entertainment as the old? Well, that's debatable. It depends on whether you want stars or will settle for celebrities, and how much you want to see them suffer. If you're willing to watch celebrities dance, lose weight, eat bugs, go stir crazy, or box each other then you probably don't have anything against seeing Rachel Hunter wounded by a cotton-candy machine.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Speed Racer
Gentle readers. Once again, I will offer my take on films you may or may not wish to see, based only on the knowledge I have gathered through osmosis. Or from watching the film's trailer. Because if you can't fill out a minute with the good parts, you probably have a hundred and seventy-nine and a half minutes of suck left over.
This time, I warn you away from Speed Racer, made by those Matrix guys. You know, the ones who we wish more and more, with each successive film since The Matrix Reloaded, that they'd never made a film after The Matrix.
Speed Racer is based on the 60's proto-anime cartoon of the same name, and is the tragic tale of a boy suffering from attention deficit disorder. Speed, named for the drug his mother was on throughout her pregnancy, wants to win something. I think it's a race. He's aided in this goal by just the people you want surrounding you so that others take you seriously- your parents (Dad likes to dress up like Mario), your girlfriend, your little brother, and an armed chimp.
Speed is driven to drive both by his desire to escape the movie, and also to avenge the mysterious death of his older brother, who supposedly died in a freak accident coincidental to the appearance of Racer X on the scene. Racer X looks like Speed's brother, talks like Speed's brother, and raced like Speed's brother. Except Racer X doesn't show up at family events like reunions and barbecues, so it obviously isn't him.
Threatening all that Speed holds dear (apparently dysfunctional families, primary colors, and chimpanzees) is Mr. Royalton, who wants to sign up Speed to either race for his Team of Evil or work in his whimsical candy factory. I'm unclear on this. Speed can't sell out, though, because he's a commie. Becoming a cog in the bourgeois capitalist machine of excess would be betraying the sweat and blood of his fellow human and chimp workers. Will Royalton accept his refusal without a plot point? Will Racer X save Speed, and then unmask himself and help out with the family yard sale? Will we all get massive seizures watching the bright lights and pretty colors?!
Another item of note is the production style. This is the type of film that doesn't need to brag about being in color. Not that many films do, these days. Instead, this is the type of movie that opts to brutally assault you and leave you for dead in an alley with color. And then pisses color on your corpse. It's like having your blood replaced with liquefied Skittles. If that's not an endorsement, then what is?
So, on my scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 88 being the number of times you're likely to have synapse misfires and hallucinate dead relatives while watching, and 12 being the highest age of someone who would enjoy this thing, I give Speed Racer a six-pack of Red Bull, a zany simian sidekick, and a healthy dose of Ritalin.
This time, I warn you away from Speed Racer, made by those Matrix guys. You know, the ones who we wish more and more, with each successive film since The Matrix Reloaded, that they'd never made a film after The Matrix.
Speed Racer is based on the 60's proto-anime cartoon of the same name, and is the tragic tale of a boy suffering from attention deficit disorder. Speed, named for the drug his mother was on throughout her pregnancy, wants to win something. I think it's a race. He's aided in this goal by just the people you want surrounding you so that others take you seriously- your parents (Dad likes to dress up like Mario), your girlfriend, your little brother, and an armed chimp.
Speed is driven to drive both by his desire to escape the movie, and also to avenge the mysterious death of his older brother, who supposedly died in a freak accident coincidental to the appearance of Racer X on the scene. Racer X looks like Speed's brother, talks like Speed's brother, and raced like Speed's brother. Except Racer X doesn't show up at family events like reunions and barbecues, so it obviously isn't him.
Threatening all that Speed holds dear (apparently dysfunctional families, primary colors, and chimpanzees) is Mr. Royalton, who wants to sign up Speed to either race for his Team of Evil or work in his whimsical candy factory. I'm unclear on this. Speed can't sell out, though, because he's a commie. Becoming a cog in the bourgeois capitalist machine of excess would be betraying the sweat and blood of his fellow human and chimp workers. Will Royalton accept his refusal without a plot point? Will Racer X save Speed, and then unmask himself and help out with the family yard sale? Will we all get massive seizures watching the bright lights and pretty colors?!
Another item of note is the production style. This is the type of film that doesn't need to brag about being in color. Not that many films do, these days. Instead, this is the type of movie that opts to brutally assault you and leave you for dead in an alley with color. And then pisses color on your corpse. It's like having your blood replaced with liquefied Skittles. If that's not an endorsement, then what is?
So, on my scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 88 being the number of times you're likely to have synapse misfires and hallucinate dead relatives while watching, and 12 being the highest age of someone who would enjoy this thing, I give Speed Racer a six-pack of Red Bull, a zany simian sidekick, and a healthy dose of Ritalin.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Alvin and the Chipmunks
Gentle readers, it's that time once again, wherein I tell you everything I think I know about a film based on a glance at the trailer. And then you trust me completely, as you are wont to do. Because you're gullible like that.
Alvin and the Chipmunks is a heartwrenching story of three small rodents taken from their natural habitat and rendered in less-than-convincing computer animation. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore desperately want to spread a message of environmental awareness and the dangers of global warming, but instead are enslaved by the cruel and heartless David Seville. Hopped up on goofballs and chained to a microphone, their screams of anguish are digitally altered into classics such as "Christmas Don't Be Late" and "The Witch Doctor."
Seville, whose hobbies include deep-fat frying underperforming chipmunks as bite-size nuggets, is played by Jason Lee. Lee was booted from the remake of Fletch because studio execs didn't think he had the persona to carry a film on his own as lead. When people compare your charisma to Chevy Chase and decide unfavorably on your behalf, this is a message. That message is, it's time to talk to your agent about that dancing rodent flick.
Big questions are presented in this movie, many left up in the air. Will Dave get rabies? Will the chipmunks take home the Grammy? Will their droppings lead the health department to condemn Dave's home, or will the Chipmunk saga ultimately end in a small cardboard box buried beneath some cigarette butts and a whiskey bottle in the backyard? You'd think the writers would care enough about their characters to supply us with this vital information, and not leave us without closure. We, as an audience, demand to see the horrible, grisly fate that awaits this trio. Especially if an owl is involved.
Fans of the 80's cartoon maybe disappointed that the Chipettes are nowhere to be seen. These proto-furry heroines were lusted after by many a lad who wished their figures were anatomically correct. Does Hollywood today not care about the money in the pockets (among other things in the pockets) of horny teenage boys who crave anthropomorphic sex idols? Their appearance would have catapulted this movie to blockbuster status. Especially in Japan, where themed panties could have been sold in vending machines.
So. The Chipmunks. A cautionary tale of animal abuse, the cold uncaring world of contemporary top-40 radio, and the career of Jason Lee. On my voodoo-cursed scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 12 or so being the general level of tolerance I can muster for any Jason Lee film, I give this movie three deep-fried chipmunk nuggets, a pair of Chipette panties, and time served. Now let us completely forget this cultural phenomenon for another couple decades at least.
Alvin and the Chipmunks is a heartwrenching story of three small rodents taken from their natural habitat and rendered in less-than-convincing computer animation. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore desperately want to spread a message of environmental awareness and the dangers of global warming, but instead are enslaved by the cruel and heartless David Seville. Hopped up on goofballs and chained to a microphone, their screams of anguish are digitally altered into classics such as "Christmas Don't Be Late" and "The Witch Doctor."
Seville, whose hobbies include deep-fat frying underperforming chipmunks as bite-size nuggets, is played by Jason Lee. Lee was booted from the remake of Fletch because studio execs didn't think he had the persona to carry a film on his own as lead. When people compare your charisma to Chevy Chase and decide unfavorably on your behalf, this is a message. That message is, it's time to talk to your agent about that dancing rodent flick.
Big questions are presented in this movie, many left up in the air. Will Dave get rabies? Will the chipmunks take home the Grammy? Will their droppings lead the health department to condemn Dave's home, or will the Chipmunk saga ultimately end in a small cardboard box buried beneath some cigarette butts and a whiskey bottle in the backyard? You'd think the writers would care enough about their characters to supply us with this vital information, and not leave us without closure. We, as an audience, demand to see the horrible, grisly fate that awaits this trio. Especially if an owl is involved.
Fans of the 80's cartoon maybe disappointed that the Chipettes are nowhere to be seen. These proto-furry heroines were lusted after by many a lad who wished their figures were anatomically correct. Does Hollywood today not care about the money in the pockets (among other things in the pockets) of horny teenage boys who crave anthropomorphic sex idols? Their appearance would have catapulted this movie to blockbuster status. Especially in Japan, where themed panties could have been sold in vending machines.
So. The Chipmunks. A cautionary tale of animal abuse, the cold uncaring world of contemporary top-40 radio, and the career of Jason Lee. On my voodoo-cursed scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 12 or so being the general level of tolerance I can muster for any Jason Lee film, I give this movie three deep-fried chipmunk nuggets, a pair of Chipette panties, and time served. Now let us completely forget this cultural phenomenon for another couple decades at least.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Real Problems. Real Answers.
I have a plan to solve the energy crisis!
Okay, so Santa brings coal to children who are naughty, right? Okay, so we encourage all of the kids in the world to misbehave. Santa can't well give them toys, so he leaves lumps of coal in their stockings. We all know that Santa doesn't have mining operations, but rather has magic elves fabricate everything he dispenses. Thus, free coal! We take each lump of coal, put it together into a big stockpile, and voila! Enough to put a dent in the ever-growing energy void.
Yes, I know, my plan is, essentially, to steal Christmas. But I'd like to hear you come up with something more foolproof!
Okay, so Santa brings coal to children who are naughty, right? Okay, so we encourage all of the kids in the world to misbehave. Santa can't well give them toys, so he leaves lumps of coal in their stockings. We all know that Santa doesn't have mining operations, but rather has magic elves fabricate everything he dispenses. Thus, free coal! We take each lump of coal, put it together into a big stockpile, and voila! Enough to put a dent in the ever-growing energy void.
Yes, I know, my plan is, essentially, to steal Christmas. But I'd like to hear you come up with something more foolproof!
Completely Useless Movie Previews: Beowulf
Once again, I'm here to fill you in about a movie you don't have to see, because I've seen the trailer. This time out, the film in question is Beowulf, and left me guarantee, it's a Beowulf Cluster of fun.
Much like 300, large portions of the movie have been digitally created. Except Beo (as the cool kids will surely call it) takes the added step of digitizing the actors. Sure, this brings them creepily close to the Uncanny Valley, wherein almost-human creations are so close to humanity that their faults become exaggerated to the point of eeriness. But ignore those dead eyes and read on. The man behind them is none other than Robert Zemeckis, whose animated Polar Express certainly didn't give any children deep-rooted psychological problems.
Unlike other retreads of the source material, this one is, oddly-enough, not set in a "techno-futile world." Rather, it's the dark ages, and the Danes are up against the monster Grendel, and his mother, Angelina Jolie, who is really taking this adoption thing way too far. Grendel is played by Crispin Glover, which is a bit much, since merely casting Crispin Glover makes your villain plenty scary right there. Grendel's mommy likes to prance around nude in gold paint and stripper heels, which don't seem to be the best choice for mortal combat, but hey, times were different in ye olden days.
Beowulf is a very manly hero. Well, as manly as you can be fighting a girl. You can tell he's manly, because he does manly things, like yelling his name repeatedly ("I... am... Beowulf!") just in case you forgot who he was, therefore reminding you of his Shatneresque manliness. You know, just in case you happen to have heard about this manly guy named Beowulf, and need your memory jogged indirectly when you realize it's this guy. (It's him. HE'S BEOWULF.)
Taking a cue from 300, many other things are screamed in an important manner as well. Historical records show that, in the past, screaming was more culturally acceptable than it is today. Evidence comes in the form of the original, screamed Gettysburg Address, delivered by a half-nude Abraham Lincoln.
So, is it worth watching? Duh! Did you read about the nekkid Angelina Jolie? Granted, it's a computer reproduction, but it's as close as we can get while she's still employed by the United Nations. Or until such time as naked screaming becomes fashionable again.
As a bonus, watching the movie exempts you from reading the poem in an English class. It's true! Clip this out and give it to your teacher as proof. Even reading this review is enough to cut you some slack with the poem, letting you just read the good parts about the disembowelings.
So, on my medieval scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 15 being "good" and 87 being one shy of 88, I give this film two mugs of mead, the slain body of our enemy, and a computer-generated sex scene between two copies of Angelina Jolie.
Much like 300, large portions of the movie have been digitally created. Except Beo (as the cool kids will surely call it) takes the added step of digitizing the actors. Sure, this brings them creepily close to the Uncanny Valley, wherein almost-human creations are so close to humanity that their faults become exaggerated to the point of eeriness. But ignore those dead eyes and read on. The man behind them is none other than Robert Zemeckis, whose animated Polar Express certainly didn't give any children deep-rooted psychological problems.
Unlike other retreads of the source material, this one is, oddly-enough, not set in a "techno-futile world." Rather, it's the dark ages, and the Danes are up against the monster Grendel, and his mother, Angelina Jolie, who is really taking this adoption thing way too far. Grendel is played by Crispin Glover, which is a bit much, since merely casting Crispin Glover makes your villain plenty scary right there. Grendel's mommy likes to prance around nude in gold paint and stripper heels, which don't seem to be the best choice for mortal combat, but hey, times were different in ye olden days.
Beowulf is a very manly hero. Well, as manly as you can be fighting a girl. You can tell he's manly, because he does manly things, like yelling his name repeatedly ("I... am... Beowulf!") just in case you forgot who he was, therefore reminding you of his Shatneresque manliness. You know, just in case you happen to have heard about this manly guy named Beowulf, and need your memory jogged indirectly when you realize it's this guy. (It's him. HE'S BEOWULF.)
Taking a cue from 300, many other things are screamed in an important manner as well. Historical records show that, in the past, screaming was more culturally acceptable than it is today. Evidence comes in the form of the original, screamed Gettysburg Address, delivered by a half-nude Abraham Lincoln.
So, is it worth watching? Duh! Did you read about the nekkid Angelina Jolie? Granted, it's a computer reproduction, but it's as close as we can get while she's still employed by the United Nations. Or until such time as naked screaming becomes fashionable again.
As a bonus, watching the movie exempts you from reading the poem in an English class. It's true! Clip this out and give it to your teacher as proof. Even reading this review is enough to cut you some slack with the poem, letting you just read the good parts about the disembowelings.
So, on my medieval scale of 1 to 88 stars, with 15 being "good" and 87 being one shy of 88, I give this film two mugs of mead, the slain body of our enemy, and a computer-generated sex scene between two copies of Angelina Jolie.
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