Nightmare Alley: Book Vs. Movie
Come on in, and let’s watch the geek bite the head off this chicken…
Come on in, and let’s watch the geek bite the head off this chicken…
I’m actually fairly disappointed that’s not what this film is called.
A movie so stuffed with whiz-bang your whiz-banger will cease to whiz and bang.
The send-off of the original cast dreams it’s a movie, but belongs on TV.
I hope to remember to avoid being killed by neo-Nazis, attack dogs, box cutters, or red laces.
Jaws 2 will keep you entertained for for a couple of hours, especially if you like sharks, sharks eating teen-agers, helicopters, and sharks attacking helicopters.
Hunt for the Wilderpeople shows up with little to prove, and proves it anyway, exactly unlike any of the sequels or reboots that have been crowding cinemas of late.
Cast whomever you like in this thing–women, men, moose, crustaceans, four neatly arranged piles of gravel–it’s still terrible.
Watch you don’t get possessed, now.
If Steve McQueen racing around in a 1968 Ford Mustang in Bullit’s single chase scene is great, then a whole film built around McQueen, fast cars, and racing should be mind-blowingly awesome, right? Right?
How great is Muhammad Ali? Let him tell you…
Who is he? Where does he come from? And, most critically, how does he keep his hair so damned fluffy under his helmet?
It is, after all, a film about a flatulent corpse. And probably the best one you’ll see all year.
This is the worst film I will never be able to forget seeing.