A Very Brady Sequel
Most film openings are accompanied by promotions that feature some sort of "giveaway" trinket. For some films it's buttons, for others it's stickers; some hand out posters. What this film needed was the Brady cyanide tablet.
You know there's going to be trouble when you show up to a sneak preview attended by only ten other people, and five of them are chained together. I blame society for allowing this kind of hideous film to happen and one day I plan to take my vengeance. First, I'm going to find Ted Danson and kick his ass for not beaning Shelly Long with a shot glass during "Cheers" and eliminating that particular Hollywood plague at the source. The fact that the film studios haven't figured out yet that Shelly Long shouldn't be allowed in any more motion pictures is reason enough to hope for a massive earthquake that sends Hollywood to the bottom of the ocean floor.
The first five minutes of "A Very Brady Sequel" will make you wish a whole fleet of screaming Ebola-infected infants had tumbled into the theater at the last minute and ended up in the row behind yours. The next five will make you long for the welcome distraction of total global apocalypse.
The movie's only story line has to do with Tim Matheson showing up and claiming to be Carol Brady's long lost husband because he wants to get his hands on a valuable artifact that resides in the Brady household. Beyond that, the movie consists of nothing but cringingly bad gags about how Jan bobs her hair, how Marsha combs hers and how Alice talks about being "slipped a tube steak" by the butcher. How I wish I could be slipping a tube steak myself -- if only it could pierce the heart of every Brady Bunch fan on the planet and end my suffering forever.
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