Kicked in the Head
If only it were that simple. There's a choice here between the literal and the figurative that demands attention. Knowing what I now know, were I given a choice between having someone boot me in the skull and watching this awful piece of ponderous crap, I would have happily chosen the former. In fact, Nazis in golf shoes could have tap-danced on my testicles until the rise of the Fourth Reich if it would have saved me from this film.
The defining moment of my experience with "Kicked in the Head" -- and certainly the most entertaining -- was the point at which I realized I had to do something to avoid falling into an acute coma. Thus, I slouched way down in my seat, threw my foot over the chair in front of me, closed one eye, and pretended to jab Linda Fiorentino in the ass with my big toe. After I was done with that, I looked down at the worn seat covers where probably thousands of people had rubbed their dirty bodies, and considered sucking the skin flakes out of them. Now, I didn't just think about this because I'm Mr. Cranky and thought somebody would laugh at the idea -- I truly, honestly, was going out of my mind.
The movie was written by actor Kevin Corrigan and director Matthew Harrison with the intention -- I presume -- of showcasing their talents. What Harrison and Corrigan do instead is to have their protagonist, Redmond (Corrigan), walk around New York on a self-imposed spiritual quest. He gets involved in a shoot-out with his buddy, Stretch (Michael Rappaport), talks to his uncle (James Woods) and becomes obsessed with a flight attendant (Fiorentino).
There isn't an interesting piece of dialogue in the whole 90 minutes. Furthermore, Corrigan is about as unappealing an actor as exists on the planet today. Word to the wise: If you're an ugly, unappealing actor, I suggest you not situate yourself in a film where your sole function is to whine. If this movie is truly an example of Corrigan and Harrison's "talents," I suggest they seek other employment.
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