A parody? A comedy? A romance? A film - noir? A mystery? An adventure? Is it possible to cut my wrists with a movie ticket or else with the battery door of the remote control? Smart asses usually point out that cinema is first and foremost about visuals and imagery.
Yeah, right, that’s the spirit.
Unfortunately, that isn’t The Spirit. Here you‘ll become witnesses – sorry I meant martyrs – of how a movie with sharp visuals and cutting edge imagery, can be the violent opposite of the words “first” and “foremost”. Honestly, I have never seen such an insanely abysmal movie before. Really, I am SO shocked that I can hardly swear or produce some kind of naturally profane reaction.
The Sin City breakthrough, the 300 epic visualization, all faded away screaming for their creator' s lost soul. Frank Miller’s pencils are almighty but as a director he sucks cock fields like a nuclear vacuum cleaner. I still can’t believe how he could manage to play out such a horrible conception, so jerkily executed. Even if you create such an abomination on purpose, you still have to be exceptionally untalented and even uncultivated to succeed. Was he thinking that he was an Uber-deity or something and wanted to make a cheap rip-off of himself, just to get real – you know!
I don’t even know where to start here. A cliché vigilante story that struggles between promiscuously contradicted themes and idiotic complexities to appear something more than what really is – a formal address to retards exclusively, pseudo avant garde art aesthetics, quotes and lines ripped from some 80s nightmarish asylum, toilet humor jokes worse than the “toilet cistern” first, endlessly long, kitsch, boring, without purpose fight scene of the movie, more and more disgusting gags, a colorless – and not because of the filters – protagonist that is not able to pull a right grin, destined to embrace “nobodiness”, a Samuel Jackson embarrassingly OVER-overacting, a Scarlet Johansson bound to fetishes as the apple of any pervert’s eye, building her puny part from kinky schoolgirl to slutty teacher, from slutty teacher to horny executive, and from horny executive to Reichshuredominazitrix, an Eva Mendez starring as “Her Ass That Won’t Save The Film” – both ladies dead gorgeous and acting like dead – and a multiple cloned bozo – dressed in ancient Greek names because American grunt Miller probably thinks they make him look more intellectual – that makes viewer’s redemption a fat chance.
Overall, the puke of artistic evilness and immaturity rises from the gutters in an excruciating experience that threatens to shred Hollywood’ s spirit via fool and foul necromancy. Miller’s spirits are certainly down after this film and his chips buried all the way down to Davy Jones locker.
Next time, if you want a spirit, just try a scotch malt or something.
Yeah, right, that’s the spirit.
Unfortunately, that isn’t The Spirit. Here you‘ll become witnesses – sorry I meant martyrs – of how a movie with sharp visuals and cutting edge imagery, can be the violent opposite of the words “first” and “foremost”. Honestly, I have never seen such an insanely abysmal movie before. Really, I am SO shocked that I can hardly swear or produce some kind of naturally profane reaction.
The Sin City breakthrough, the 300 epic visualization, all faded away screaming for their creator' s lost soul. Frank Miller’s pencils are almighty but as a director he sucks cock fields like a nuclear vacuum cleaner. I still can’t believe how he could manage to play out such a horrible conception, so jerkily executed. Even if you create such an abomination on purpose, you still have to be exceptionally untalented and even uncultivated to succeed. Was he thinking that he was an Uber-deity or something and wanted to make a cheap rip-off of himself, just to get real – you know!
I don’t even know where to start here. A cliché vigilante story that struggles between promiscuously contradicted themes and idiotic complexities to appear something more than what really is – a formal address to retards exclusively, pseudo avant garde art aesthetics, quotes and lines ripped from some 80s nightmarish asylum, toilet humor jokes worse than the “toilet cistern” first, endlessly long, kitsch, boring, without purpose fight scene of the movie, more and more disgusting gags, a colorless – and not because of the filters – protagonist that is not able to pull a right grin, destined to embrace “nobodiness”, a Samuel Jackson embarrassingly OVER-overacting, a Scarlet Johansson bound to fetishes as the apple of any pervert’s eye, building her puny part from kinky schoolgirl to slutty teacher, from slutty teacher to horny executive, and from horny executive to Reichshuredominazitrix, an Eva Mendez starring as “Her Ass That Won’t Save The Film” – both ladies dead gorgeous and acting like dead – and a multiple cloned bozo – dressed in ancient Greek names because American grunt Miller probably thinks they make him look more intellectual – that makes viewer’s redemption a fat chance.
Overall, the puke of artistic evilness and immaturity rises from the gutters in an excruciating experience that threatens to shred Hollywood’ s spirit via fool and foul necromancy. Miller’s spirits are certainly down after this film and his chips buried all the way down to Davy Jones locker.
Next time, if you want a spirit, just try a scotch malt or something.
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3 comments:
So true... Thank gods it's only 90 minutes (of eternal strugle with the spirit of Eisner) and thank goodness you can always watch the Watchmen one more time to pull it together :)
You are lucky for not wasting money and time to watch it on the big screen. ;)
Η μεγαλύτερη σπατάλη χρόνου και χρήματος που είχα ποτέ :(
Απίστευτη η απογοήτευση και κρίμα για τα ονόματα.
so true and so well written!
I applaud while mourning for the 90 minutes and 11 euros (incl. popcorn) wasted.
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