of the New York Post
Hey Whore, how's
the whoring? According to this week's Quote Whore:
Men of Honor is "a must-see movie! Riveting!
Highly entertaining! A sure oscar contender!"
Bamboozled is "Brilliant! Undoubtedly
the year's most important movie!"
Little Nicky "Rocks!"
Randy Shandis Enterprises. All rights fucking reserved.
I had some pretty fucking grand plans this weekend to see
three movies (and pay for two), but that was before I made sloppy
joes Friday night. Folks, making sloppy joes from scratch is
a hell of a lot harder than it looks, and if you get it wrong
you'll sit on the toilet shitting out your intestines all weekend.
I still don't have a fucking clue what goes into sloppy joes,
but here are a few things I am almost positive don't: cinnamon,
eggs, butter, one-half cup of salt and isopropyl alcohol. I wish
Mrs. Filthy hadn't joined that Oprah book Club so she'd be home
on Fridays to monitor what I eat.
After eating the sloppy joes but before feeling the effects,
I headed out to the cineplex to see Bounce and then sneak
into Ron Howard's Dr. Seuss's How Jim Carrey Fucked the Grinch
for Christmas. But, by the time Bounce ended, my bowels
were stretched as tight as my wife's stirrup pants and I needed
to release them before I broke my ass muscles.
There are movies worth sitting through, even when your bowels
are aching to burst, but Bounce isn't one of them. It's
a dippy, tedious romance between two people with the on-screen
chemistry of noisy refrigerators.
Ben Affleck is a smarmy advertising man (quite a stretch from
the smarmy copywriter he played in Forces
of Nature) who gives his airline ticket to a TV writer
(Tony Goldwyn) so he can stay in Chicago and stick his slimy
dick into hot Natasha Henstridge. The plane crashes, killing
everyone on board and leaving Affleck feeling really guilty and
jumping on the fast track for alcoholism. First, who feels guilty
about killing a TV writer, especially one staging a crappy play
with "Lilacs" in the title? You're supposed to get
a medal for that. Second, turning Affleck into a stumble-bum
drunk in one year is an insult to all the people who work their
whole lives to do that.
In his recovery from alcoholism, Affleck joins Alcoholics
Anonymous and must make amends for his past poor judgment. Apparently,
the only mistake he ever made was giving away that airplane ticket,
so he goes to apologize to Goldwyn's spouse (the always-pasty
Gwyneth Paltrow). It's entirely unclear how he tracks her down
trying to lease space in a Strip Mall, but it provides the required
and lame "Cute Meet" with a big Rottweiler who doesn't
go nearly far enough trying to eat Affleck.
Things get insufferably cute from there because Affleck is
too big a pussy to tell her why he has come to see her and instead
they fall in love. It's a slow build with lots of tears and lots
and lots of talking that doesn't go anywhere because Affleck's
big lie hangs over them like a Cleveland Steamer. And just like
the steamer, you know this shit's gonna hit you in the chest,
the only question is when will it detach from the hairy asshole
and land with a dull thud? Well, this steamer hangs on for a
long, long time.
Finally, the shit hits the proverbial chest. There is a big
crisis when Paltrow finds out who Affleck is and they break up.
That they get back together is inevitable, but how is cheesier
than that shit under my toenails. Suffice to say that Affleck's
character is given a national broadcast opportunity to redeem
himself through an impossible speech that's sappier than a Vermont
It's like Roos purposely wanted me to suffer with my swelling
intestines. He shows no sense of pacing. He tells the story so
that we know Goldwyn is dead but still have to watch Paltrow
mope for fifteen minutes while she thinks he isn't. It's unpleasant,
hammy moviemaking with nothing at stake. Then, the entire middle
of the movie is the tedium of two actors kissing and crying.
There is no growth, just cheesy bumps in the road.
Roos is a good dialog writer lashed to a bad idea. Throughout
the movie, there are great snips of dialog that belong to a better
movie. In particular, he brings up some interesting ideas about
the dead and the responsibilities of those still alive. A couple
times in the movie, there were lines of dialog that sounded smart,
perceptive, and like something someone would really say. But
they're wasted here amid the sticky-sweet bullshit and grinding
Affleck's character is supposed to be redeemed through the
story, but that's horseshit. First he's an asshole. Then he's
a drunk. Finally, he's a good guy. Even accepting that this transformation
is possible, we don't see anything that connects one stage to
the next. We're just expected to believe the prick emerges from
his boozing like a saint, and with only a single momentary craving
As a director, Roos ain't such hot shit. The movie looks flat
and the settings are boring. It's suburban dipshits in suburban
dipshit houses. We see kitchens, commercial real estate and a
water park, all filmed drably and head-on. Even Affleck's beach-front
condo looks more like a bad museum than a swinger's paradise.
Characters don't have anything to do but talk, occasionally while
cutting vegetables. There must be so many food-prep scenes in
the movies because it's easier for screenwriters to have characters
do that than something original.
Roos also gives Affleck and Paltrow way too much space to
suck the ass of Oscar. They have the chemistry of two appliances,
designed to look pretty together in the kitchen, but not to interact.
And they're about as convincing in this romance as my stove and
refrigerator would be. They never seem to be listening to each
other, just getting their eyes all moist before their next line
of dialog. It's probably the kind of shit that the buttlickers
at the Academy will eat up, but crying is a cheap substitute
for showing an actual range of emotions. Affleck really pisses
me off because he always has that shit-eating "Aren't I
cute?" smirk on his face. No, anyone who is so fucking sure
he's adorable can no longer be cute. He's a self-satisfied prick
selling us another load of bullshit, coasting on what he expects
us to think of him.
WARNING TO FUCKING PUSSIES AND SISSIES: THE ENDING IS REVEALED
IN THIS PARAGRAPH. IF YOU ARE A BIG FUCKING BABY WHOSE ONLY JOY
IN LIFE IS BEING SURPRISED BY LAME ENDINGS TO BAD MOVIES, READ
NO FURTHER. As often happens in movies where the writer thought
he had a good idea but no idea how to fluff it out to two hours,
Bounce is driven by a cheesy series of events. First,
the accident, then the unlikely event that Affleck can't tell
Paltrow the truth. Finally, Paltrow finds out that Affleck gave
her husband the ticket by watching a video, and she kicks him
out of her house in a "very emotional, very important, very
tearful, very long" scene. And Affleck redeems himself by
using his time on the stand during a major court case to give
a excruciatingly long and corny speech about courage that is
a waste not only of the court's time, but also the audience's.
It's so long and insipid that any real judge would have said
"Shut the fuck up, you windbag."
Of course, Paltrow sees his speech on national TV and realizes
"Oh, my God, I really do love that Kenmore Automatic Defrosting,
22 cubic-foot Refrigerator. Oh, and he makes ice cubes!"
It's all cheesy and manipulative. Mr. Roos, find a good director
to work with, one who will restrain your worst instincts and
use the good shit. Two fingers. Now, if you'll excuse
me, those sloppy joes are making more noise.
to tell Filthy something?