The Most Recent Mr. Cranky Reviews
It wasn't until 2011's "Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows" that a solution was finally found: gypsies.
Yes, that's right - gypsies.
I wonder who will be the first in the "Harold and Kumar" franchise to bite the dust before they stop churning out lamentable carbon copies of gags that were vaguely amusing the first time and indescribably torturous after the 93rd re-telling.
The main character's bout with cancer throughout "50/50" was nothing compared to the mental anguish I was forced to deal with as the 'plot' of this misguided medical morass unfolded before me.
Another half-baked helping of the worst kind of scientific clap-trap.
As for the movie itself – well, there’s nothing new here.
Mr. Cranky hates remakes, but Mr. Cranky hates it even more when cult films get recast as big-budget flicks that strip any vestige of what might have been cool out of the original and then set it on fire in front of you so you can watch your childhood memories burn alongside the $15 you paid to get into the theatre.
Why can't Hollywood make a single "man versus nature" movie that is actually interesting to watch?
This would have made a decent premise for a video game - at least until they introduced the 11-year old boy who somehow discovers the robot boxing prodigy that will become their meal ticket. Remember the last time you found something at the junkyard that, instead of giving you tetanus, made you the champion of the world? No, me neither.
"The Ides of March" is sort of like the "Star Wars: Attack of the Clones" of the boring dudes in suits genre. You get a trailer that makes you think it's all going to be light saber battles and spaceships but in the end it's a bunch of guys sitting in a room talking about the most tedious aspects of government policy.
It's just two guys sitting in an office for the better part of two hours, talking about stats and at-bats and making you regret ever signing up for that fantasy baseball league at your office that you never win yet consistently pay $50 to enter.
When the disease that’s wiping out mankind has more of a personality – and a back story – than a crying Matt Damon or his uncomfortably immune daughter, then your script has a problem.
“Captain America” is a movie where nothing really happens until just before the very end, when the director accidentally filmed a few action sequences but made sure that the main bad guy wasn’t involved whatsoever. Then nothing happens, again, then roll credits.
Yes, the powers that be are now scraping the bottom of the remake barrel, casting their net as wide as possible to snag titles that people vaguely remember from their childhoods in order to lure them into theatres
It used to be you could walk down almost any alley in New York City and pay a carnie with one eye two shillings to watching a gorilla eat the scalp off of a homeless drifter's sweaty, tear-stained skull. Now I can't even get virtual satisfaction from the fifteen bucks I spent to watch hyper-intelligent monkeys denying their true selves in the name of family entertainment.
How can we identify with a pizza delivery boy who's had a bomb strapped to his chest in a plot that steals the absolute worst parts from films like "Heat," "Speed" and "Speed 2: Cruise Control"? The answer is, we can't – not even a little bit.
Think of Cowboys & Aliens as the wet spot on your mattress after a night of questionable passion. Everyone knows who MADE the wet spot, but no one wants to own up to it.
This trail-blazing filmmaker who brought us such original remakes as "Friday the 13th" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" set his sights on destroying what was already a pretty shitty series of 80’s films originally helmed by right-wing maniac John Milius – and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Is there anything real about "Larry Crowne" other than the money I spent to see it? Probably not.
No justice here in "Horrible Bosses," however. Just three of the least-likable actors in Hollywood paired up with three total has-beens in an over-long, convoluted rehash of every "I hate my boss" plotline that you've ever seen. Except all of the funny ones.
Thank you for the rose colored glasses, the very gay senior citizen, and for reminding me that dogs can keep secrets, too.
Instead of descending into tragic self-parody like Michael Myers, or only saying yes to movies that allow for the employment of talentless hangers-on like Adam Sandler, Wiig has elected to become a male chauvinist lapdog.
It probably helps if you're high too when checking out "Bad Teacher," as that might help you get through the film's excruciating lack of plot, combined with a cast of characters that might as well have been lifted directly from every single fucking movie about a school ever made, ever.
The weird part about the advertising for "Midnight in Paris" is that it wasn't at all presented as some kind of time travel fantasy, which meant I left my aviator goggles and opium ampoules at home.
History will also judge how good of a decision it was to cast a soulless supermodel non-actor as a lady mutant who can transform into pure diamond (fantastic) and a somewhat chubby, always frowny-faced blonde as a shapeshifter (terrible).
Abrams left out the mega-cool weaponry, mildly disturbing co-ed shower scene and surprisingly soap opera-friendly cast that made "Starship Troopers" an instant classic, opting to instead replace those elements with acne-ridden teenage fatties, little girls with daddy issues and a dead mom.
"The Hangover 2" is a fill-in-the-blanks photocopy of "The Hangover," with all major plot points intact and only the window dressing changed so that the suckers in the theatre seats don't feel too stupid about having shelled out $20 for a ticket, popcorn and a half-gallon of questionable cola.
"Priest" is essentially "Alien 3" if it had been modeled after "West World" instead of set on a prison planet. We've got monks in robes with questionable facial tattoos and the inability to socialize with the opposite sex dueling with vampires that have been sent to the H.R.
Thor is really just like your dad out in the garage after a few drinks. Only more racist.
Bald and buff fantasists couldn't ask for more from this collection of explosions, motorized mayhem and sweaty, sweaty men staring each other down with barely disguised passion in their eyes.
This movie was designed for the truly sick out there in the audience, the ones who are totally cool with an uncomfortably pre-teen looking female protagonist sexually assaulting a short order cook and then having half her face blown off by the karmic revenge cycle that governs all gore movies.