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In alphabetical order.
By year of release.
Limited to men who are or have been in relationships which have produced biological children, but no sons. Yes, I have no life; thank you for your concern. In alphabetical order.
Come back, Napoléon! Come back!
Too bad Napoléon lost at Waterloo because he could have done EPIX customers a huge solid, and sacked this latest offering from the twerps behind "Downton Abbey".
The "big secret" which the Downton Dopes manage to string along for 5 episodes had me howling: NO man of Bellasis's rank would trick a young girl into believing that they are married (and recruit his buddy to "marry" them) unless he wanted to annihilate his family's reputation for the next 100 years! And what was in it for him to target Sophia (pronounced "So-FI-ah" -- EXCUSE ME!)? If you are the son of an earl and you are going to go through life being a cad, have some self-respect! Set your sights on a daughter of a marquess or a duke or - dare I say it! - the king, NOT on some girl whose family has just crashed the party! Well, the joke is on Lord Byron Wanna-Be: he buys it at Waterloo (thanks, Napoléon!). But So-FI-ah dies after giving birth to their son, whom her class-conscientious Mum has had stashed away like a draw-full of Daddy's old Playboys.
Byron Wanna-Be's Mum and Dad (who become the neighbors of So-FI-ah's family at Belgravia -- how convenient!) don't have a clue that they have a grandson, which is neither here nor there as the boy's illegitimacy entitles him to squat, which is also neither here nor there because, flash-forward 25 years, and Junior (who has been saddled with the moniker "Charles Pope") owns a cotton mill and is living large. I hope those who stick this dull, overwritten, (So-FI-ah could have explained her dilemma to Mum in 3 wordless shots instead of babbling about how Dad gave her his blessings to hook up with Byron Wanna-Be) ham-fisted ridiculousness out won't feel gypped when - "surprise"! - it turns out that Junior isn't illegitimate after all! Jane Austen must be spinning in her grave!
The Jazz Singer (1927)
A Boy and His Mama
Saw this "landmark" film, finally. I wasn't expecting The General, and I wasn't disappointed, but the plot - with enough clichés to sink Solomon's Temple - would make the good folks at Hallmark puke!
Where do I begin? A 13 year old kid is in a saloon, and none of the adults there find it strange, much less, call the cops. The kid's parents don't bother wondering where he is until their friend tells them where the kid is (why the "deeply religious" friend is at the saloon wetting his whistle at the same time the kid is there is not for us lesser minds to ponder). Papa drags the kid out of the saloon, and no one reacts. The kid declares that he will run away from home if Papa gives him another trashing, and he nor Mama don't so much as bother to go to the cops when the kid makes good on his promise. When we next see the the kid, he is 41 year old Al Jolson! NO explanation as to what he has been doing or how he survived on his own for 28 years -- he is now 41 year old Al Jolson! Just accept it.
"Jazz Singer" Jolson doesn't so much as sings as he tears through his repertoire like he's on crack! He utterly-butchers "Blue Skies", a song which demands that each word be delivered slowly and fully; I could just imagine Irving Berlin pounding his head against a wall in mortification.
Anyhoo, Jolson's love interest (a "shiksa" Mama bemoans in horror!) is a rising star who helps him bag his big break, and is happy to learn his career means more to him than Mama or Papa or her (weird!). As Jolson agonizes over subbing for Papa at the synagogue or going on with the show that night, the show's director warns him not to "queer yourself". I found that interesting as it showed how meanings of words can deviate over time. Ironically, the word "queer" is used today by men who identify as homosexual as the insult it was originally intended! Anyhoo, Show Director tells the Opening Night audience (who paid beau-coup bucks and dressed up to the nines) that there won't be a show, Jolson performs the Kol Nidre at the synagogue, is reconciled with Papa, who croaks as he hears Sonny Boy sing, and NOBODY except Mama notices! We then jump forward a few years: Shiksa is nowhere to be found, but Mama is front-row-center as her black-faced Sonny Boy serenades her. Freud would have had a field day with these two!
For the record: the blackface IS disgusting - more so because it's unnecessary, song-wise - but what I found truly-insulting is the film builds up a moral dilemma, only to allow Sonny Boy to have his Lekach and eat it, too.
The Blot (1921)
The Griggs family live in a really-nice house in a really-nice neighborhood. Dad is a college professor, and his daughter is a librarian. Yet, we're supposed to buy that the family is so "poverty-stricken", buying tea and fancy cakes forces them to fall behind on their mortgage? Spare me!
What had me wanting to put my head through the TV was the Woe Is Me Act by the Professor and Mrs. Professor. Why is it up to Rich Boy to tell his dad to raise Hell with the Board over the Professor's meager wages? Why doesn't the Professor (whom has tenure, I assume) go to the Board and raise Hell over his meager wages? Why doesn't Mrs. Professor tell the Professor to go to the Board and raise Hell over his meager wages? Why don't we see the other professors go to the Board and raise Hell over their meager wages? Why doesn't the Professor just quit and go to another college? These human doormats allow their circumstances to control them instead of the other way around. To add insult to injury, the title cards are few and far between (and lamely written, too boot). Unless you read lips, you won't know what everyone is blubbering about 90% of the time.
Then there is the "dilemma" Librarian faces choosing between her Three Romeos. Only Rich Boy is proactive in his pursuit of her (ignoring the Society Girl who loves him). Next door neighbor Shoe Boy just stares at her, and by the time Rich Boy's pal Preacher Man decides to make his weak-as-water move, it's too late. The film's final shot is of him walking away, moping.
The Blot's premise is as laughable as the idea of the Griggs's reputation being threatened over Mrs. Professor's half-hearted attempt to swipe Shoe Boy's mother's chicken. Mrs. Professor loses it when a basket of food containing - you guessed it - a chicken is delivered to the house, courtesy of Rich Boy. Mrs. Professor speculates as much to Librarian, who refuses to eat the subsequent chicken dinner, thinking it's Shoe Boy's Mother's chicken (which she tries later to reimburse Shoe Boy's Mother for); they fall into blubbering sobs after Rich Boy confirms that he sent the chicken! Had this ham-fisted virtue-signaling on income inequity not been written and directed by a woman, would critics and film scholars be praising it to the skies? Doubt it.
Catherine the Great (2019)
Cathrine the Not-So-Great
I understand actors wanting to develop their own projects, but surely Helen Mirren can do way-better than this slop. Had she made sure the script and casting (sorry HM, but you are WAY-TOO old to play the Notorious CTG; double-ditto, the stiff you bagged to play Potemkin) was as top-shelf as the sets and costumes, she would have really had something. Instead, we are treated to what I call "Caligula-Lite", complete with enough F-Bombs to sink the entire Imperial Russian Navy! And if you are looking for historical accuracy, look elsewhere!
Since IMDb is pulling the old Unable to Verify routine on me, below are a few of the reasons why this Chatty Cathy had me pulling my hair out:
* Potemkin and Praskovya were never lovers. She not only played Cupid between he and Catherine, she "tested" the men he selected for Catherine as potential favorites. Moreover, it was Potemkin who engineered her downfall.
* Potemkin was never lured into a game of billiards, then pummeled within an inch of his life by two of Catherine's Boy Toys.
* Potemkin lost his left eye in 1762 shortly after Catherine came to the throne, the circumstances of which remain unclear to this day. What is clear is that he didn't lose the eye fighting the Turks.
* While speaking of the Treaty of St. Petersburg, Catherine tells Zavadovsky and Zubov that Frederick the Great called her a Naughty Word. In fact, she asked him for recommendations for a bride for Paul. Would she have sought him out if she knew he thought she was a Naughty Word?
* Catherine, Potemkin, and other characters speak of Germany as a nation. Germany became a nation in 1871.
* Constantinople was renamed "Istanbul" in 1923.
* Potemkin yells "Let's get this show on the road!" as he boards Catherine's barge. That phrase was coined circa 1910.
* According to "Catherine the Great and the French Philosophers of the Enlightenment", she did not have a policy which punished her critics -- odd for a ruler who prided herself on being an autocrat. Ergo, the hissy fit she throws at court, announcing that "the monster" who slammed her will be tried and (hopefully) executed probably never happened.
* The French Revolution did horrify Catherine, as she saw it not as a product of the Enlightenment, but as an assault on civilization itself. While she did blame Voltaire, Diderot, and Rousseau for the uprising, she mostly blamed Louis XVI (for whom she had great sympathy) for "not knowing how to rule", and did not order a burning of books by French writers.
* Catherine's parents were German, yet she singles her mother out for derision because she was German, calling her a Naughty Word? Her relationship with her mother was ambivalent, however, her rise to power was due, in no small part, to Mama. The outburst comes out of absolute nowhere.
* Praskovja lost her position in 1779 when Catherine caught her and a Boy Toy in the act -- engineered by none other than Potemkin. Needless to say, Praskovja schmoozing with Potemkin at court, then chatting with Catherine in the garden later never happened.
* By the time Paul came to the throne, he had 8 children, not 2 (a 9th child, Olga Pavlovna, died in 1795 when she was 2 years old). He was also a man in his 40s, not an overgrown brat in his 20s.
* The account of Catherine's death is pure hooey. She was found on the floor of her study by her chamberlain; her physician diagnosed a stroke. Attempts to revive her failed, and she fell into a coma. Paul and Maria arrived at the Palace that evening (having been notified by Zubov, who traveled to Gatchina), and spent the night at her bedside. Informed that there was no hope of recovery, Paul ordered Bezborodko to sort and seal the papers in the study, under the supervision of Aleksandr and Konstantin; she died that night. The very-idea of a dying Catherine lying on the floor as Paul tears the place apart searching for the paper naming Aleksandr as her heir is unthinkable -- and twice as ludicrous!
* Paul scoffs at the rumor that Catherine married Potemkin in secret. The actual rumor was that she married Grigory Orlov, with who she had a son, Aleksey. Aleksey nor Catherine's two daughters are even hinted at here.
* The epilogue says Paul was assassinated on Aleksandr's orders. Aleksandr did not punish the assassins, yet there isn't any proof that he was in on in, much less, had Dear Old Dad offed. Also, the Aleksandr in the miniseries is a child (he was actually 18 when Catherine died): are we really expected to buy that a child ordered his father's murder, like some Mini-Mafioso?
Sid & Judy (2019)
Over the Blah, Blah, Blah
I read an anecdote once about Sid Luft and Judy Garland sitting at a restaraunt bar when she said something and he belted her in reaction, knocking her off of the stool. No one reacted as she meekly got up off the floor, and crawled back onto the stool next to him. Some years after her death, an acquaintance ran into Luft tooling around in a Mercedes: he had bagged the rights to Garland's work, and was now living large. In 2002, he was ordered to pay The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences $60,000 for attempting to sell the juvenile Oscar awarded to Garland for "The Wizard of Oz" and its replacement. Yet up until his death, Luft insisted that he was the only person who ever cared truly for Garland and had her best interests at heart.
Though "Sid & Judy" tries mightily to make Luft The Knight In Shining Armor to Garland's Damsel In Distress, it ends the charade when we are introduced to the vipers who became her managers. It then wants you to see Luft as this hapless schmo whom Freddie Fields and David Begelman push out their charge's life when, in fact, the three formed an Unholy Trinity; to protect himself, Luft recorded the telephone conversations he had with Fields, Begelman, and most everyone else in Garland's orbit without their consent.
For those with even a cursory knowledge of Garland's life, nothing in "Sid & Judy" will come as a revelation, although learning that she aborted Luft's child, as both were married (she to director Vincente Minnelli; he to actress Lynn Bari), and he being a total cad about the whole thing, was a shock. It also made me wonder why she decided to not only stay with him, but marry him.
While the focus is understandably on Garland, we don't learn anything about Luft, as if he just popped up out of absolute nowhere. I had to do some research to learn that he had been a test pilot for Douglas (now McDonnell Douglas), and was in the Royal Canadian Air Force. I also learned that while married to Garland, he lost the custody battle for his son with Bari, the judge ruling that the Luft household "was an improper place in which to rear the boy." Ouch!
Not omitted is the perfunctory exploration of Garland's addictions, which I sympathize with, yet never understood. Like Garland, Mickey Rooney was the product of show business parents who found himself a cog in the MGM soul-sucking machine before he hit puberty. The demands made on him by his overlords were just as punishing as the demands they made on her. And his private life was an even-bigger train wreck than hers, if that's at all possible. Yet Rooney didn't fall into the abyss, shuffling off his mortal coil at the ripe old age of 93, 44 years after Garland died!
The last 15 minutes are rushed, as if director Stephen Kijak had grown bored with his subjects. He jettisons Garland and Luft from their own documentary, ultimately, in favor of someone who calls himself "Miss Major Griffin-Gracy". A "trans woman activist", he prattles on about Garland being an icon for people who suffer from gender and/or sexual identity issues as we watch him and his confederates descend upon her resting place like the Army storming Normandy; "cringe-worthy" doesn't begin to describe it.
Judy Garland and - dare I say it - Sid Luft deserve better.
The Old Man & the Gun (2018)
The Sundance Kid's Swan Song
My mother and Robert Redford were born on August 18, 1936. As each approaches their 83rd birthday, Mom looks as though she's going on 73 while Redford looks as though he's going on 183! As I watched this last night, I was distracted constantly by the patchwork quilt which is now his once impossibly-gorgeous visage, his slovenly sideburns, and his shriveled-up physique to the point where I kept asking myself: What the HELL happened to him?!
When the "hero" of your opus is anything but, then you better give the audience at least one compelling reason to be invested in him; Redford's vanity project fails miserably. Bad enough it takes the usual liberties (Forrest Tucker - NO, not the guy from "F Troop" - was living in a retirement home in Florida when he pulled his final jobs; none of his wives or children knew about his shenanigans; he escaped San Quentin with two other inmates; the real Jewel was a Miami shipping heiress and Tucker's 3rd wife), we never learn a thing about him. Why did he pursue a criminal career the way other people pursue an actual career? Did he have Mommy issues? Was he exacting some bizarre revenge? Was he dropped on his head as a child one too many times? I didn't know nor did I care.
Where this lost me was how utterly-inept the film's Javert is. How did he NOT realize Jean Valjean was holding up the bank WHILE HE WAS THERE?! As if to make up for dropping the ball big-time, Javert - egged on by the Mrs. - launches a Les Misérables-like pursuit of Valjean, complete with having his kids follow Valjean's trail by pressing thumb-tacks into a map.
The thing which was impossible to ignore is how "woke" this is: Mrs. Javert; Javert's kids; Javert's partner; Valjean's cohort; a sheriff Javert talks to; and the bank exec Valjean tries to sweet-talk into letting him pay off Fantine's mortgage are black. Yet its "wokeness" goes only so far: none of the other Keystone Cops are Latino, Asian or Native American; ditto, Valjean's victims. And how ironic that the über-"woke" Redford lets his equally-"woke" writer/director David Lowery slip into a scene Javert's daughter reading her Get Well letter to then-President Reagan, thanking him for "making America safe"! All this "woke" accomplishes is to emphasize how forced, contrived, and condescending the whole enterprise is.
We never even learn if the cops ever found Valjean's ill-gotten booty. Speaking of, why didn't he retrieve said booty before he tried to sweet-talk the bank exec instead of telling her that he didn't have the money? At this point, I half-expected him to "get" the money by robbing the bank. But no such luck.
Near the end, The Sundance Kid pulls a Horse Whisperer (or a Jeremiah Johnson), and swipes one of Fantine's horses to attempt a getaway (how he knows how to saddle, bridle, and ride a horse is not for us lesser minds to ponder). I suppose we ought to just be grateful we were not subjected to Valjean and Fantine (aka Sissy Spacek) getting jiggy with it.
This Forrest Tucker needs to go back to F Troop!
Midnight in Paris (2011)
The Misadventures of Gil The Groupie
Caught this on Showtime the other night after seeing it a few years back, and was reminded of why I found it such pretentious clap-trap. As in "Celebrity", Allen taps yet another young blonde-haired, blue-eyed man to be his WASP doppelgänger, and surrounds him with obnoxious WASP elites. We're supposed to sympathize with him and his "plight". Only problem is Gil The Groupie (aka WASP Woody) is a such whiny, insecure twerp, despite being a successful screenwriter ("Adaptation.", anybody?), you want to deck him!
For reasons I didn't get, Gil The Groupie wishes that he could have kicked it with The Cool Kids of 1920's Paris, when Paris was, like, cool. One night, while wandering down a cobblestone road, Gil The Groupie gets his wish. What's more, The Cool Kids welcome him into The Club instantly; no one so much as asks: "Who is this guy?". Forget that none of The Cool Kids (Joséphine Baker, Djuna Barnes, Juan Belmonte, Luis Buñuel, Salvador Dalí, T.S. Eliot, F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Pablo Picasso, Cole Porter, Man Ray, Gertrude Stein, Leo Stein, Alice B. Toklas) were kicking it in Paris at the same time, Allen mocks these figures by reducing them collectively to the same shallow cliché as their new amigo.
Gil The Groupie finds himself in competition with Hemingway (whom Allen seems to have a bizarre obsession with; he gets more screen time than the rest of The Cool Kids put together) for the affections of Picasso's, ahem, "muse". Why any woman would give either of these jerks the time of day is beyond me, but then, the "muse" is doing the nasty with Picasso, King Of The Jerks, so her standards aren't very-high to begin with! Anyway, the "muse" is supposed to be this Little Girl Lost, so we're supposed to sympathize with her and her "plight". Only, we don't (I didn't, anyway): One minute, she's throwing herself at Gil The Groupie; the next, she runs off with Hemingway to Africa (!). After Little Girl Lost pops back up in Paris, Gil The Groupie gives her a pair of earrings, then they wind up in the 1890's because Allen has run out of ideas (not that he had any to begin with), where they find themselves kicking it with The Cool Kids, Belle Époque Version (Edgar Degas, Paul Gauguin, Henri Matisse, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec). When Little Girl Lost declares that she is staying in the 1890's, Gil The Groupie replies basically "whatever." This is the love of his life, but he just goes "whatever"?! Huh?! Did I miss something?! In case anyone cares, Belle Époque began some 20 years before Little Girl Lost declares "it's the start of the Belle Époque". But, I digress.
What had me screaming (aside from him finding Little Girl Lost's diary in a bookstore, and how Paris - one of the filthiest cities on the planet - is always freshly-scrubbed in the movies) was how Gil The Groupie tells everyone that he's from the future, yet no one asks for proof! He could have blown their minds by showing them his "masterpiece" on his laptop. But I digress (again). Such jaw-dropping stupidity really makes you question your faith in humanity.
Dano's Dumpster Dump!
Caught this on Showtime last night. Stylish and twice as boring, I didn't buy Carey Mulligan and Jake Gyllenhaal as a married couple, much less, as parents. Then-17 year old Ed Oxenbouldt as their 14 year old son was one, big 1,000 yard stare! It's never explained why the family moved to Montana or how they can afford to rent a house on Dad's meager $40 a week salary as a glorified gofer at the country club. Dad deciding that he needs to abandon his family to play Firefighter comes out of absolutely nowhere. Likewise, Mom pulling Junior out of school for the day to drive up to the fire WITHOUT tracking Dad down made even-less sense. Instead of setting an example for her boy on how to be strong, independent, and self-reliant, the now-"liberated" Mom throws herself at the slovenly Town Big Shot, and recruits Junior to help her reel him in in a scene which borders on incestuous! You've Come a Long Way, Baby!
Actor Paul Dano (in his directorial debut) does us no favors by chucking key points in the novel (Dad was fired because a club member accused him to stealing his wallet, which sends Dad into a breakdown). Worse, Junior's budding relationship with a classmate goes nowhere. So, what does Dad do when he learns Mom has been doing the "cha-cha-cha" with the slovenly Town Big Shot? He pours gasoline on the porch, and sets it on fire (I'm sure the Landlord really "appreciated" THAT)! No wonder the critics were hugging themselves, giving Dano props for making a 105 minute film about stupid, selfish, immature, pathetic trash right-thinking people would avoid like the plague! Dano ought to stick to doing the one, big 1,000 yard stare!
Ocean's Eight (2018)
Deep End of the Ocean
I hate stupid movies. I hate sloppy movies. I hate stupid, sloppy movies with A-List casts which cost the GDP of a small country. Judging by the reviews, I am the ONLY person in the entire universe who noticed that the "star" of this stupid, sloppy movie, the replica of a priceless Cartier diamond necklace a crew member the "criminal mastermind" behind the heist of the real necklace "fishes out" of a "moat", claiming that it "must" have "slipped" off of the lovely neck of the not-so-lovely celebrity racing toward the bathroom to puke her guts out, despite the unique clasp which makes such a "slip" impossible, was COUPLED, AND she is wearing the necklace when she has her head in the toilet puking her guts out! You would think the actors would have turned to the hack behind the camera, and yelled: "Hey, Dummy! The fake necklace is coupled AND she's wearing the real one when she has her head in the toilet puking her guts out!" But no such luck. Stupid Sloppy is as Stupid Sloppy does.
The owner of the lovely neck is Anne Hathaway, who plays a vapid creature named Daphne Kluger (why she didn't play herself, as Vogue's head honcho Anna Wintour does, is not for us lesser minds to ponder). Hathaway's ex, "real estate developer" Raffaello Follieri, defrauded investors out of $100 million in a scheme involving properties the Catholic Church was selling to settle assault claims. Unfortunately, humanity will never know if she so much as asked Follieri how the hell he was paying for their pricey amusements, as the FBI allowed her go on her merry way without so much as asking her a single question.
I mention this because Ocean's Eight isn't just about fraud, it IS a fraud: one, big 110 minute rip-off! This odious ode to Girl Power (co-written by a woman!) doesn't have one compelling reason to exist. Bad enough Marlo Thomas, Elizabeth Ashley, and Elliot Gould are dragged out of mothballs for cameos which give "cringe-worthy" a bad name, it has more plot holes than a sieve. The "criminal mastermind" is the sister of the deceased (or not) Danny Ocean. Hours after Debbie Ocean is sprung from the pokey after promising to be a good girl, she relieves Bergdorf-Goodman and Burberry of a few goodies, then crashes at The Plaza, with an unwitting couple footing the bill. Any one of these stunts should have landed her back in the pokey, but no one catches on because she is a "criminal mastermind"!
Criminal Mastermind wants revenge against her ex, an art fraudster (you were expecting a Boy Scout?) for sending her to the pokey, so she decides to steal a bauble, dubbed The Toussaint, during The Met Gala, and frame him for it. She and her Sidekick recruit a motley crew with specific skills, one of whom comes up with the "genius" idea of creating the fake bauble from zirconium by using a 3-D printer. Forget that it is impossible for a 3-D printer to 3-D print zirconium AND that zirconium is heavier than diamonds -- these are "criminal masterminds"!
The "master hacker" warns of the need to erase digital footprints as she creates digital footprints. Vogue hires four members of The Motley Crew for The Met Gala without conducting thorough background checks. How did Criminal Mastermind get the mobile she uses to con The Plaza into giving "the couple" their room back? How did the "master jeweler" set up shop in The Met's kitchen bathroom without anyone noticing? Did I mention the fingerprints The Motley Crew leave all over the 10 ounces of The Toussaint Criminal Mastermind slips into Art Fraud's pocket to "prove" that he stole it?
That this odious ode to Girl Power relies on a MAN (Yen from "Ocean's 11") to relieve The Gala of its other priceless bling was lost on everyone, too. Forget how we're supposed to buy that Criminal Mastermind moves over $300 million, then splits it eight ways without the FBI and the Secret Service on her like flies-on-stink -- she is a "criminal mastermind"! Had ONE of the ladies used her ill-gotten booty to help the less-fortunate, I wouldn't be feeling ripped-off. But no such luck. Stupid Sloppy is as Stupid Sloppy does.
Phantom Thread (2017)
I Swear I'll Kill You! I'll Kill You a Million Times!
Having seen this last night, and two other films by Paul Thomas Anderson, I am convinced that he is a reptilian and a misanthrope, too boot. His characters are cruel, selfish, sadistic, amoral or a combination thereof. The sequence with Barbara Rose (a stand-in for Woolworth heiress Barbara Hutton) in this twisted "Pygmalion" (that whirring sound you hear is George Bernard Shaw spinning in his grave!) is the perfect example of Anderson's truly-vile nature: the "hero" and "heroine" not only do not give a whit for their obviously-miserable client, after she passes out at her wedding, they decide that she does not "deserve" to wear the gorgeous gown they made (and she paid for!). They go to her hotel room, and demand the gown back. After the lady's lady companion balks (understandably), the "heroine" storms into Barbara's boudoir and strips it off of her -- an act which gives her and the "hero" a sexual charge! Karl-Otto and Ilse Koch had nothing on these two!
But things really kick into "high gear" when Ilse, sorry, Alma, discovers the joy of poisoned mushrooms: you can slice them; dice them; crush them; fry them in lots of butter. Oh, and you can use them to make the man you love deathly-ill to get back at him for raking you over the coals over how you cooked the asparagus! Now, you'd think the "my girlfriend is trying to kill me" bit would have Karl-Otto, sorry, Reynolds, running to the nearest police station, but, nope, he gets his sick kicks being waylaid by his Wicked Witch to the point where he tells the doctor his sister (aka The Butchest Women in The British Empire) drags into this sordid, sorry mess to examine him to shove his stethoscope where the sun don't shine!
Incredibly, Karl-Otto and Ilse tie the knot, and - wouldn't you know it! - run into Dr. Shove Your Stethoscope Where The Sun Don't Shine on their honeymoon. You're waiting for Ilse and Dr. Shove Your Stethoscope Where The Sun Don't Shine to hook up when he invites her to a New Year's Party he promises will be a jolly time; she goes to the Jolly Time, but Dr. Shove Your Stethoscope Where The Sun Don't Shine is a no-show (!). Anderson really drops the ball when Karl-Otto drags Ilse out of the Jolly Time, then whines to The Butchest Women in The British Empire that he made a mistake in marrying Ilse, who decides it's time to break her New Best Friends out (again!). Ilse could have dispatched Karl-Otto and The Butchest Women in The British Empire, taken over The House of Woodcock (what a stupid name!), hooked-up with Dr. Shove Your Stethoscope Where The Sun Don't Shine, and lived happily ever after -- until it was time to break her New Best Friends out (again!)
Justice League (2017)
Makes "Batman v Superman" look like "Citizen Kane"
$300 million was spent on this. All the good $300 million could have done, and Warner Bros. threw it at Joss Whedon, who took over after fellow hack Zack Snyder dropped out after the loss of his daughter (he is credited as the director as he helmed the principal photography). Warners turning to Whedon to complete a film featuring Wonder Woman after he was blasted on social media when his rejected Wonder Woman script was leaked unto an undeserving world was an irony lost on them, I'm sure.
The beef I have with superhero movies (aside from idiot studio execs throwing hundreds of millions of dollars at hacks) is NONE of them are faithful to the original origin story: the Kents adopted baby Kal-El from an orphanage; Diana competed against the other Amazons to become Wonder Woman; Bruce Wayne saw a bat come through his window as he was brooding in his study. Here, Snyder and Whedon "outdo" themselves by trashing not one but two superheroes: Aquaman is now a tatted-up boozer who can't communicate with fish, and The Flash is now a whiny Soy Boy who exclaims "Oh, snap!" And like the rotten cherry on top, the Villain has an Oedipus Complex!
Then, there are the plot holes. Yeah, a superhero movie just isn't a superhero movie without tons of plot holes. But Whedon and co-hack Chris Terrio (who won an Oscar; how in God's Name did THAT happen?!) seem to take a perverted delight in trying to out dumb-and-dumber Snyder: God-awful CGI; slow-motion sequences which will make you beg to be waterboarded; ripping off nearly every Si-Fi film from the past 20 years ("The Matrix", "Lord of the Rings", "Thor"). Barry and Victor exhume Clark's grave in the dead of night? Superman has memory loss after being brought back to life? The henchmen of The Villain With The Oedipus Complex tear through Russia, but can't tear the salt box a family lives in to shreds? Did The Villain With The Oedipus Complex set up shop at a defunct nuclear reactor in Russia so that the little girl who lived in the salt box could play with a flower on a radioactive LSD trip? Makes as much "sense" as anything else in this tripe!
But the real crime against humanity is Dumb and Dumber wasting the charged chemistry Ben Affleck and Gal Godot unleashed in "Batman v Superman". I was anticipating Batman and Wonder Woman hooking up (or realizing they are soulmates, at the very least), but in "Justice League", they act as though they hardly know each other -- and don't want to!
Seeing how Whedon has made a second "career" out of his seething hatred of Trump, I'm surprised he didn't manage to shoehorn some jabs at Agent Orange. Perhaps he did, but his overlords decided that was a Bridge To Nowhere Too Far (Walter Chaw of Film Freak Central opines Snyder's "Man of Steel" and "Batman v Superman" predicted the Trump presidency, but he gives Snyder way-too much credit for brains AND talent!).
At any rate, I don't blame Whedon (or Snyder) for this as much as I blame Affleck, who has managed to do the impossible: make George Clooney the second-worst Batman ever! One of the producers, Affleck hired Terrio to write "Argo", for which Terrio won an Oscar (how in God's Name did THAT happen?!); no doubt, he convinced Warners to tap Terrio to pen "Man of Steel" and "Batman v Superman". After the $75 million Warners had to eat when Affleck's opus "Live by Night" arrived in D.O.A., why the former Mr. Jennifer Garner hasn't been tarred, feathered, and run out on a rail is beyond me!
As Shakespeare would have put it, this "is a tale, told by an idiot (in this case, three idiots), full of sound and fury, signifying nothing".
That whirring sound you hear are the Warner Brothers spinning in their graves!
ericozu hits it out of the park
I'm writing this is because of the characters of Paget and Drummond. Yes, there actually was an Alfred Paget and an Edward Drummond, but NO, neither man identified as homosexual. In fact, the real Drummond (whose family owned Drummonds, banker to Victoria's grandfather, King George III) was 23 years OLDER than the real Paget, and died three years BEFORE Paget came to court as Victoria's equerry in 1846! In short, there is no evidence that Paget and Drummond ever met! That they are presented here as hunky 20-somethings with the hots for each other for no other reason than to push an agenda is a vile insult to them and to their families!
While there is a "point" to making Paget and Drummond hunky 20-somethings with the hots for each other, there is NO point in vilifying Victoria's and Albert's uncle, Leopold. The real Leopold was a tremendous help to his niece and nephew. Here, he is a scheming scumbag who undermines Victoria at every turn, then, because he can, hints to Albert that he is Albert's father. There is no evidence Leopold's relationship with Albert's mother was anything but platonic, and there is no point in making him the heavy.
The real Victoria and Albert were progressive-conservatives, determined to drag the United Kingdom kicking and screaming into the 19th century. But here, they are SO put upon! Neither takes any interest in the issues or the welfare of the people unless forced to; it's a wonder either notices that they have children, much less, give them the time of day!
But the real crime "Victoria" commits is that it is - as ericozu notes - shallow, boring, silly, poorly written, and annoying. And if you're looking for anything remotely-resembling historical accuracy, look elsewhere!
La La Land (2016)
Better Than I Expected... Which Isn't Saying Much!
Aside from the cliché-ridden "plot" you've seen a bazillion times, I was reminded constantly that people who have "made it" are playing people trying to "make it". Had this been cast with people who actually need that "big break", I might have been able to forgive the cliché-ridden "plot", and hopped on board.
Gosling and Stone have zero range, and their roles make their "abilities" only stick out like sore thumbs: can't sing; can't dance; can't act. Seriously, how much did Stone's team pony up for her to bag an Oscar? She is an "actress" playing an "actress", but couldn't convince me of even that! And Gosling is nothing but droopy locks and a grin. Unfortunately, "thanks" to Eva Mendes, we can't ship Droopy Locks back to Canada until she kicks him to the curb or their kids turn 18!
Four more beefs:
1) Stone skips town because her "brilliant" one-woman show flops, forcing the theater owners to eat the money she owes them; that DOES NOT happen in real life.
2) Who the hell blows beaucoup bucks on a band with NO SHOT of charting in the Top 100?!
3) Gosling proclaims that jazz is dying -- which "explains" the hordes of 20-somethings at his jazz club!
4) I lived in Boulder City. The name of the library is... the Boulder City Public Library! The film's assistant prop manager is supposedly from Boulder City, but didn't set the hack - sorry, director - straight, I assume, because she didn't want to lose her job.
Speaking of jobs, Earth to John Legend: don't quit your day job (whatever that is).
putrid piece of garbage
I'd copy-and-paste "putrid piece of garbage" like a broken record, but there are a few things which need to be said about this putrid piece of garbage:
* Dougherty has Marilyn's mother hauled off by the cops after she knocks down their bedroom door, brandishing a kitchen knife? If you buy that, I've got some oceanfront property in Arizona for sale!
* Marilyn basing "Marilyn Monroe" on a cigarette girl whom she sees seductively selling a boy a pack of gum? Rrriiiggghhhttt.
* No proof Dougherty ever called her "crazy like your mother" or threatened to take her to a "head doctor".
* Her first screen test/contract happened after she divorced Dougherty.
* No proof Tom Kelley knew Joseph Schenck, much less, wrangled her an invite to Schenck's "poker party".
* No proof her drug dependency began with Johnny Hyde feeding her uppers like they were candy.
* She rehearses a dance routine from "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" before she meets DiMaggio. In fact, she learned she got "Blondes" on her 26th birthday, after she met DiMaggio.
* She and DiMaggio met on a blind date at Chasen's, not at some dive where a brunette is ready to pounce on him. And the real date did not wind up like this one does. A figment of the filmmakers' warped imaginations.
* The DiMaggio dinner table is headed by his parents. He tells Marilyn when they run into each other after their divorce "my folks ask about you all the time". DiMaggio's parents died before he met Marilyn.
* Marilyn saying Peter Lawford's much-better half, aka JFK's sister, is everything she wants to be? Too funny.
* DiMaggio and Marilyn get jiggy with it after running into each other while she has drinks with Peter Lawford's much-better half, aka JFK's sister while still married to Arthur Miller, AND with the disapproval of Peter Lawford's much-better half, aka JFK's sister? In the filmmakers' warped imaginations. They did run into each other in Reno while she was filming "The Misfits", but she had her posse in tow, and, needless to say, there was no getting jiggy with it.
* No mention of DiMaggio's son or Miller's two children, all of whom she was very close to.
* Miller a passive-aggressive prick who blames Marilyn for killing their unborn child? Any takers for that oceanfront property in Arizona yet?
* No mention of her trip to Korea?! Are you kidding?!
* DiMaggio had a warm relationship with Eunice Murray, who found Marilyn dead (at least they got THAT right!) Threatening to sack her if she doesn't clean Marilyn's pig sty of a bedroom? Pure fiction.
* The real Marilyn was right-handed.
I should have copied-and-pasted "putrid piece of garbage" like a broken record.
Kingdom Come (2011)
@ericdrumz nails it
Saw this last night on Showtime. As I'm watching, it occurred to me that everyone bitching about how hard the indie life are highly-successful industry people. Whenever I think of Illeana Douglas, I think of her grandfather, who left behind - aside from a great body of work - two Academy Awards. I imagine if she were really hard-up, she could pawn Grandpa's Oscars for a pretty penny.
As for our "hero" Daniel Gillies (aka Whiny Bitch), he is a working actor whom, I presume, has an agent, whom, I presume, knows people, whom, I presume, can help Whiny Bitch get his vanity project off the ground! For the rest of us with no cash and even less connections, Kingdom Come tells you squat about how to get your little opus off the ground. And @ericdrumz was right about Gillies's "producer" -- talk about clueless!
The other thing that bugged me was how everyone bitched about "the money people". Again, these people crap what you and I make in a year. I guess there are a few twits who get their jollies stringing aspiring filmmakers along, but, if you're asking me for x-amount of dollars, what guarantee do I have that you won't go to Vegas, and blow the whole wad?!
The Colombia segment featured heart-breaking footage of stray dogs. When I realized Whiny Bitch did squat to help these poor creatures (I would have moved heaven and earth to bring them to the States or, at the very least, make sure they were off the streets and properly cared for!), he lost me.
If they ever make a film about Michael Hutchence (INXS), Whiny Bitch would be perfect. Not only is he a dead ringer for Hutchence, he is also vain, self-absorbed, and a legend in his own mind!
The New Normal (2012)
A Child is Not a Cupcake Out of an Easy-Bake Oven!
Watched the pilot. It's not the premise that I object to. Nor the inane set-up. Nor the insipid dialog. Nor the shallow, one-dimensional characters which reek of ugly stereotypes. It's the sanctimonious smugness, revolting misogyny, and even-more revolting attitude toward children, child-bearing, and child-rearing.
After the shopaholic half of the gay couple exchanges coos with a baby at Barney's, he rushes home to his non-shopaholic better half with a miniature blazer he has bought, and declares: "I want us to have baby clothes. And a baby to wear them." This will come as a shock, but a child is not a fashion accessory. And it is not a cupcake out of an Easy-Bake Oven (a truly vicious put-down). It is a human being.
By the way, people behind this travesty, what brought you into this world was not an Easy-Bake Oven. It was a woman. A human being. Deal with it!
Hemingway & Gellhorn (2012)
There was once a contest called the International Imitation Hemingway Competition, better known as Bad Hemingway, in which entrants submitted the most-ludicrous, ham-fisted short stories in the style of the man some consider the greatest writer America has ever produced, Ernest Hemingway. Too bad the contest is now defunct, because the twits behind Hemingway & Gellhorn could have submitted this ham-fisted ludicrousness, and "won" hands down!
I positively howled at the scene where a bomb explodes as the title characters are doing the nasty, stop as debris rains on them, then pick up where they left off. Then, the film had the gall to have the heroine come upon the crying baby who was the lone survivor of a Japanese bombing raid (one of the most horrific of all wartime images). When her guide (whom I thought at first was the butchiest woman in China) tells her there's nothing they can do, I wanted to reach inside the TV, and throttle them! That the guide turned out to be the future Chairman Mao - whose regime killed at least 40 million people (and babies) - was a bit of nasty the filmmakers didn't want to touch with a 10 foot chopstick. Instead, they were too busy turning Mao's partner in crime, Zhou Enlai, into an erudite stud, castrating Chiang Kai-shek, and making a convincing argument for "Papa" and "Marty" being Forrest Gumps's parents!
When one plays a real person, he should inspire the viewer to learn more about that person; Owen and Kidman fail miserably. Granted, Hemingway and Gellhorn were not the nicest people, to put nicely. And Gellhorn cheated on Hemingway throughout their marriage -- another bit of nasty the filmmakers wanted no part of.
Owen looked like a nerdy Groucho Marx, and Kidman looked like, well, Nicole Kidman. And the script was a putrid mess. "You spend so much time arguing with F. Scott Fitzgerald about who has a bigger penis, but I know the truth"? Gag!
After "Marty" kicked the documentary crew out of her apartment, I was hoping she would follow "Papa"'s lead. But no such luck. Instead, we are "treated" to a bizarre interaction between her and a raven at her window (!). Then, she straps a backpack on, and storms out like an overgrown Girl Scout having a bitch fit. She wasn't the only one having a bitch fit.
Stan Lee's Buffalo Chips!
After suffering through Stan Lee's latest offering of buffalo chips, aka Thor, Epix finally got around to showing this last night.
I have a lot of problems with this, namely how we're supposed to buy that a scrawny runt who couldn't cut it in Basic turns into Rambo the moment he's pumped full of some radioactive crap. That he always know exactly what to do. That he never hesitates, never has a "my bad", and the crap coursing through his veins doesn't affect him one bit. In real life, Scrawny Runt wouldn't have had a clue, his body would have attacked the crap coursing through his veins, and he would have been dead by the time he was popped out of his pod!
The Bad Guy, a Nazi gone rouge, has a ray gun that, literally, evaporates everything it's pointed at. So, he builds this complex deep in the forest, houses 400 Allied soldiers, goofs on Wagner, and waits for the right moment to unleash Hell. Makes sense to me, too. Moreover, the Good Guys know all about Nazi Rouge and his plans to unleash Hell. Huh? If Hitler had gotten his hands on the ultimate Weapon of Mass Destruction, do you think he would have been holed up in the forest somewhere, goofing on Wagner, and biding his time? Hell, no!
After nearly two hours of this ham-fisted nonsense (and Tommy Lee Jones looking really, really constipated), we are treated to a close-up of a pair of eyes with the longest lashes you have ever seen. Is this a Maybelline commercial? No, it's Scrawny Runt lying on a cot, waking up as if from a bad dream! Moments later, he's running down the streets of present-day Manhattan (my idea of a bad dream), and runs smack into Samuel L. Jackson, who informs Scrawny Runt that he's been "asleep" for 70 years! So, why isn't Scrawny Runt at some a top-secret location being defrosted and debriefed? Because that would make way too much sense! Besides, Mr. Lee needs him to peddle his newest bag of buffalo chips, The Avengers!
In Steven Spielberg's "brilliantly-original idea", the clichés are trotted out like a bad cold. The theater lover married to the jerk who hates the theater? Check. The catty gay guy? Check. The bitch who'd kill Grandma to land a gig? Check. The Babe in the Woods waiting tables as she struggles for her big break? Check. The hard-boiled producer desperate for a hit? Check. The homophobic director in self-denial? Check. The tacky, tasteless production numbers crammed with enough double-entendres to chock a horse? Double check!
And why Marilyn Monroe? Why not someone who actually mattered, such as Rosa Parks? No, not a Rosa Parks musical (that would be beyond creepy), but a Broadway play about Rosa Parks. Now, THAT is a brilliantly-original idea, Mr. Spielberg! The upshot is that the "talents" vying for this "dream role" are made up to look like drag queen versions of Anna Nicole Smith! At least someone associated with this tripe has a sense of humor!
If these writers ever want to learn how to do dialog that won't make the viewers squirm in their seats, my rate is $25 an hour. I'm sure Mr. Spielberg has that much in his piggy bank.
The King's Speech (2010)
If one needs proof that Americans have an inferiority complex when it comes to anything stamped "Made in the UK", look no further than this steaming pile of pretentiousness which gets my vote as the worst Best Picture ever.
Here's a bit of info I picked up in Film Appreciation 101: in order for there to be drama, there must be conflict. The "conflict" in The King's Speech is the bitchy (and probably gay) archbishop learning that the speech therapist treating the Duke of York (aka Bertie) is an unqualified quack! Well, I knew that when the quack had Bertie rolling around on the floor screeching like a banshee!
And this will come as a shock to these twits, but Edward's hook-up with Wallis Simpson was more than a quickie at the Quickie Mart. But instead of being given an idea of the turmoil triggered by their liaison, we get Edward acting like the petulant Golden Boy forced to marry the Coyote Ugly he banged in Daddy's Caddie. The reason for the opposition was because she was divorced, or as Daddy puts it, "has two husbands who are living still". Would he have felt better if they were dead?
To say the characters are two-dimensional is an insult to two-dimensional characters. Bertie is a repressed wuss with Daddy issues. Edward is a feckless wuss with Daddy issues. Logue (the quack) is an elitist wuss with Daddy issues. Bertie babbles like Lenny Bruce on an acid trip whenever he gets his knickers into a bunch. I seriously doubt that ever happened. Ditto, Bertie and Mrs. Bertie being allowed to leave the confines of their gilded cage without so much as a Bobby in tow.
But what really made me want to hurl was the whole German thing. Logue advises Bertie not come to the throne as King Albert because "Albert" sounds too German. Bertie did not come to the throne as King Albert because Queen Victoria declared that no successor be crowned as King Albert out of regard for Prince Albert.
By the way, Victoria and Albert were - you guessed it - German!
The Dotted Line (2011)
Swing and a Miss!
I was expecting this self-righteous screed about how professional athletes make too much money and must be forced to "give back", blah, blah, blah. But The Dotted Line was even worse than I feared. Spurlock took a fascinating subject, and made it utterly boring!
Since Spurlock couldn't even be bothered to explain why sports agents have become a necessary evil, I will. Until the 1970s, athletes weren't allowed to be represented in contract negotiations with a team; if it were suspected you had an agent, you were blackballed! Imagine it: 18, 19, 20-year old kids with no business acumen and even less formal education forced to deal with men who had the power to take full advantage of them! Spurlock never hints at any of this. Instead, he insinuates that, to the agents and the athletes' families, Super Jock is little more than a human ATM waiting to pay out, which is such a cliché, a TV series was based on it ("Arli$$")!
Eugene Lee - who must have been a snake oil salesman in a past life - feigns outrage when one of his clients dumps him for a rival. Did Lee take on the kid out of the goodness of his heart? Didn't think so! Boo hoo!
Wake Me When It's Over
If there was a story about finding the strength to overcome adversity, I couldn't find it. What I found was an insipid ploy right out of Made-for-TV Hell to cash in on a certain family member's celebrity.
The guy playing Walter didn't look more than 15 years older than the guy playing Wayne, and neither of them looked remotely like Walter or Wayne. The woman playing Phyllis looked like Sarah Palin, complete with glasses and hair in a French twist. The guy playing the therapist looked like he just dropped out of junior high school. The guy playing Walter's buddy looked like a dumpy version of Clive Owen. At least the guy playing the doctor actually looked like a doctor.
Here, Wayne, Keith, Brent, and Glen don't have lives, and Kim is well on her way to becoming Canada's most famous spinster when the therapist begins to hit on her. Yeah, they did wind up getting married, but it was more than a bit icky.
Since the therapist is so inept at his job, he makes lists, he must have written the following for Walter to do; there is simply no other possible explanation:
Have flashbacks about teaching your boy to play hockey while on the way to the hospital.
Visit your parents' graves, then flip out like Frankenstein on an acid trip while having flashbacks about feeding chickens with your mother.
Flip out like Frankenstein on an acid trip as you watch your kids play hockey.
Flip out like Frankenstein on an acid trip when your wife serves you lunch.
Flip out like Frankenstein on an acid trip as you chase after a figment of your imagination before it falls through the ice and drowns.
Babble in Ukrainian like Frankenstein on an acid trip.
Go into deer-caught-in-the-headlights mode at the drop of a hat.
Crawl on your hands and knees across a skating rink.
Get dissed by the coach of a pee-wee hockey team.
Drive your wife and daughter up the wall.
Phyllis and Kim were utterly unlikable because they had something resembling personalities. The others could have been played by cardboard cut outs, and no one would have noticed.
La passion de Jeanne d'Arc (1928)
Raiders of the Lost Arc!
After years of hearing this film praised to the skies, I finally got to see this last night, thanks to our buddies at TCM.
For the benefit of you budding actors, the following is a blow-by-blow account of Maria Falconetti's portrayal of Joan of Arc, considered by many critics to be the greatest performance in the history of film:
Goes into Pop-My-Eyes-Out-of-My-Sockets Mode. Then cries.
Goes into I'm-Feeling-Sorry-for-Myself Mode. Then cries.
Goes into Lomotomized Zombie Mode. Then cries.
Goes into Bobbing Head Doll Mode. Then cries.
Repeats modes like a broken record. Then cries. A lot.
Joan of Arc was a female George Patton, someone who knew how to kick ass and take names. Falconetti's Joan is a blubbering wack job no one would follow into a pillow fight! Oddly, the only time Falconetti stops the blubbering wack job bit is when Joan is about to be burnt to a crisp.
The ending is a stupefying orgy of violence and bizarre camera angles. There is even a shot of a baby nursing, complete with full-frontal boobie! And the guy in the Mountie get-up lording over Joan's execution is a hoot! Where I can score some of that crack Carl Theodor Dreyer was smoking?
Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work (2010)
The Queen of Mean
"A Piece of Work" begins with Joan Rivers looking like a refugee from "Night of the Living Dead" before tons of make-up transform her into something resembling a human being. This peek behind the pose may seem brave to some. To me, it confirmed that Rivers has turned herself into Leona Helmsley! A few more gos under the knife, she'll turn herself into Michael Jackson!
"A Piece of Work" actually has a lot to say about the nature of celebrity. Rivers has money and fame, but what she really wants is status, which is why she attends a Kennedy Center tribute to George Carlin, although, as she points out, the tribute represents everything Carlin was against, namely rich Republicans (yuk, yuk). That Carlin made millions off of his feigned disdain for the establishment is lost on Rivers. That you have to earn respect in order to get respect is lost on her, too.
Kathy Griffin prattles about how Rivers paved the way for her, but that's the extent of the props, which is telling yet not surprising. Like Helmsley, Rivers is an utterly unlikeable creature who makes Snooki look dignified. The tirade during one of her routines about her daughter nixing an offer to pose for Playboy made me want to wash my ears out with soap! Little wonder her manager bails on her every chance he gets, her staffers put up with her only because she pays them, and her daughter (a wanna-be A-lister herself) can't stand being in the same room with her for longer than five minutes. Only once, when she and her grandson (whom she seems to adore) visit an ailing photographer does Rivers seem to get that the world does not revolve around her. But maybe, that was just part of her act.
How to Make It in America (2010)
Dumb and Dumber!
Never heard of this until I caught some episodes last night. A few observations:
* "How to Make It in America" is too long of a title and, given the premise, makes no sense.
* These guys make The Real Housewives of New Jersey look like MENSA candidates. Dumb shows some gumption by charming the fashion designer with a toast, but when he and Dumber show up at the designer's place, what do they bring with them to this make-or-break meet-and-greet to prove that they're serious and got game? Nothing!
* After I stopped yelling at my TV, I realized that Dumb and Dumber are supposed to be stand-ins for every schmuck who's ever had a crazy dream. Well, even schmucks know they have to work to make their crazy dream come true. Dumb and Dumber seem to think that business models and prototypes and capital and material for their "visionary" jeans should fall from the sky and land on top of them because, well, heck, they just should, dang nab-it!
* Oddly, Dumb and Dumber take their sketches with them when they see the pattern maker. I have to assume the lone reason why they just happen to have the sketchbook was because Dumber's mother put it into his backpack!
* When the psycho cousin and the ex-girlfriend's nutter boss are way more interesting than your leads, you've got problems.