Cranky, Bro, you're slippin! You didn't even mention the grotesquely inappropriate and overwrought soundtrack - something between Tchaikovsky and Taiko drums, for a film that takes place in the bland California hills. I could never have imagined a film where the gushing oil is the actual highlight, but there you have it. The money I ponied-up to see this would have been better spent on lottery tickets and cigarettes - the chances of some actual gratification are bigger.
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