Toronto – Set against the backdrop of the Edinburgh rave scene, Ecstasy tells the story of aging clubber Lloyd (Adam Sinclair) and his growing romance with Heather (Kristin Kreuk).  It’s an entertaining story and the cast is all pretty solid, but I do have to say that it was a little odd for me to see the Canadian actors in the cast all putting on Scottish accents.  Not that they were bad accents, but it is a little weird nonetheless.  In fact, one of the few not speaking with an accent was Kreuk, whose character was Canadian.  I don’t know if this detail is in the original story or not, but if it was added, I assume it was one of two reasons – either director Rob Heydon wanted to add some Canadian content to his film or Kreuk couldn’t do a good Scottish accent.

Ecstasy is based on a short story by Irvine Welsh, best known as the author of Trainspotting, which was famously adapted to film in 1996.  Trainspotting was a fairly successful and influential film.  It had a lot of visual flair and inspired a lot of filmmakers.  It certainly seems to have had an influence on Toronto filmmaker Heydon.  Not only has he made a film based on another Irvine Welsh story, but Ecstasy also seems to borrow a lot stylistically from Danny Boyle’s film.  The voiceovers, the title cards appearing onscreen to introduce each character, the editing – all seemed reminiscent of Trainspotting.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it was certanly noticeable and something that kept going through the back of my mind as I watched.  Regardless, it was an entertaining, watchable film.

Well, advertising and ratings excluded. I feel a little sorry for Brit Marling, but there’s no helping it. As soon as I decided on these two topics I couldn’t resist the urge, and so took full artistic license since no one gives a blue crab about my rantings anyway. Let’s start with the movie. Another Earth is the love child of an odd pairing between an imaginative sci-fi circumstance and the makings of a great tragedy. But it becomes neither a serious science fiction that addresses our morality facing the improbable, nor a tear-jerker that laments the frailty of our being. But it is, oddly, not a wasted, art house film at all. Putting aside the disregard to gravitational forces that would have left the apple permanently buoyant in Son of man, Another Earth explores how we can be unsettled by the simplest things, even (or in this case, especially) ourselves.

The story starts directly. Rhoda (Marling’s character) is a reckless prodigy in astrophysics who was to attend a prestigious university at the age of 17. On the way home one night, she took her eyes off the road and toward the stars, looking for another Earth that is said to have come within viewing distance and closing in fast. When all of the physics (people flying, glass shattering, metals deforming, etc) was finished, she had killed everyone else in college professor John Burroughs’ (played by William Mapother) car: his young son and his pregnant wife. 4 years on, as the other Earth moves into our Earth’s orbit (you can imagine what havoc that will cause without a PhD in astrophysics…), a totally broken Rhoda is released from prison. Still ashamed of what she did, she took a janitorial job at a local high school – washing away her sins, as it were. This becomes more literal when she found out where John Burroughs lives. Determined to mend whatever pieces of his life that were left, she started to clean his house, too. And predictably, Rhoda falls in love with John as he is slowly rehabilitated. But this is where Another Earth diverges from other drama. What would normally lead to a boring ending of betrayal or revenge, is given a fresh option via the mirrored Earth. Is the grass really greener on the other side? Instead of backtracking in time, Another Earth tempts us with the answer that “yes, there might be another you who has been doing everything differently”, and then post the question: “are you happier knowing that, somewhere out there, your mistakes never happened”? It’s all very self-revolving, but the film never shoves philosophical questions down your throat. As this film would have you know (at least I think it did) – you did that to yourself. We are meant to guess at the meaning of the ending, and we are also meant to dwell on what we would do in her place. I thought Marling and Mapother both did a good job of portraying insipid characters who slowly recover their former selves. There are few antics, and the camera somehow translates that depression well – perhaps by mimicking the sight-lines of a drunkard? It sure looks like a hand-held video journal at times. Overall, I find Another Earth to be an enjoyable film. Sure, there are scientific problems that should have been sidestepped, and the mirrored Earth scenario seems unrelated, if not contrived, at times. But like any thought experiment, it is non-the-less useful if you arrive at a solid conclusion.

Speaking of shoving things down throats – let’s do an unboxing for blue crabs. This is how I was taught to unbox crabs this past Friday.

While(still hungry){
1. Take a butter knife (plastic will do). Pick open the wish-bone looking thing on the underside of a male crab.
2. Use 1. as a leverage or opening to pry the crab apart. The top of the crab should be open, exposing yellow goo, twisty intestines and other stuff.
3. If Asian, eat the yellow goo plus innards. If not, discard.
4. If lucky enough, the meat in the body would be in chunks with the legs still connected. Discard the legs but save the claws by twisting. Also pry the body in two.
5. If Asian, sink your face into the crab and spit out the tougher cartilage. If not, carefully pick out meat for consumption.
6. If Asian or barbaric, use your premolars to crack the claws. If not, use the wooden mallet to shatter them. Extract juicy meat.
7. Pick next victim.
}

Captain Chris’ Crab Shack is nearly off in the boondocks in Northeast Maryland, in a town creatively named North East. On a patch of land that would normally support a bungalow, there stand a dozen beach umbrellas and benches. And it is also full of sand, likely shipped in from Turkey Point, where there is a registered historic light house. From experiences so far, good food equals shacks. While there aren’t snow crabs, $15 all-you-can-eat blue crabs and corn is quite honestly a federal offense. On this first try, I demolished 20 crabs. Mmmmmm. And with old-bay spice. While they seem rather sedentary, the dead crab can seriously make cuts and scrapes in your fingers as you work through the carapaces… which is why I now have a salt-marinated thumb. Couple the feast with the blazing sun and $2 beer, we have an instant winner for low-brow food. Would I go back? Sure. If I have a car. Would I recommend it? Certainly, if your food must come with an expedition to rural America.

First up, a documentary named after Juan “Doc” Restrepo, who died in Afghanistan on July 22nd 2007, beside a quaint village hut in Korangal Valley. That, is a fairly emotional description, and a good note on which to start a documentary. Yet the film, build from interviews with shell-shocked soldiers and embedded TV camera footage, manages to be slightly monotonic. I’m still baffled as to how the filmmakers managed this feat, and have not quite come to a conclusion whether this is a good presentation style. It follows a basic recipe, composed of camera footage from the front-line operation OP-Restrepo, narrated by the men who built and held that position in daily contact with the Taliban. It starts out with the new recruits landing at a dead-locked operations base in the valley. Once these greenhorn soldiers got to understand the landscape and human conflicts, they chose to make some radical changes. You see, the villagers ARE the Taliban – or rather, they are related. The scenario is similar to being antagonistic toward democrat sons/daughters/cousins in Texas – you may not agree with them, but blood is still thicker than water. Not the least because relationships with Americans are often built on a monetary basis. “We will help you build roads, give you food/supplies, make you rich men”; these were things the village elders were promised. Town-meetings and negotiations often end in stalemates, and it’s often difficult to obtain results by being civil. Shortly after Retrepo died, the men snapped, and mounted a successful assault on one of the mountain tops held by the Taliban. They didn’t just drive the enemies away, either – they started to build a fort right in front of the enemies’ eyes. That base still stands, and until the US officially withdrew from Afghanistan in 2010, it was the furthest outpost ever established in the war.

Strung together by exotic cinematography of the Korangal valley, it makes for an often nose-souring story. Listening to a Hawaiian soldier sing about palm trees and the sea while sharing the mountain air with goats pulled me straight down the checklist toward depression. The improvised coping mechanisms obscuring what must have been the most disruptive events in these soldiers lives were very raw and difficult to sit through. When the footage of the full-scale assault (one that went terribly wrong for the Americans) comes on screen, you would need to have Asperger’s to remain detached and objective. The shocking revelation wasn’t that soldiers weep and cry and can be terrified when faced with losses and deaths – contemporary cinema has repeatedly pounded that idea into us. The value lies in a contemporary confirmation – the exposure to WWII, Korea, Vietnam, and Iraq did not make us into a generation of zombies. But the finer gradation is where my annoyance with this film lies. I find the “characters” very shallow. The soldiers seem to have single-track minds regarding their objectives, while the villagers appear shrewd, greedy, and uncooperative. It may be a good way to derive a feeling of futility, but it missed the chance to exploit the media, and ask how “else” that war could have been fought. That would have been especially valuable from the front-lines. Maybe my gripes are only reflecting how much I hate the ugliness brought out by war. I intended to compare this film with another documentary Human Terrain for a more careful critique of the whole approach (for fun, not to break any new ground). However, after Gasland and Restrepo, I need a light at the end of the tunnel. Your mental integrity does not scale with mine, so you shouldn’t hesitate to see Restrepo. Expect gritty realism and military intelligence, not a mind-boggling, well-researched expose of the War in Afghanistan.

Restrepo:

Paul had reviewed Arone Dyer and Aron Sanchez’s duo of homemade amps and guitars back in September 2010. That tells you how much I’m always behind. Buke and Gass has since put out a full-length album, Riposte. (I don’t know how scissors and fencing go together but then again it reflects well in the music). I was surprised how easily I got into the “beautiful noise” that they make. For anyone who has heard Shiina Ringo (a Japanese singer/songwriter), Arone Dyer’s voice will sound very familiar. In fact I went immediately to google Ringo when I first heard it on NPR. For a glimpse of those crazy guitars/bass, you can watch a Tiny Desk concert here. My favorites are Outt! and Sleep Gets Your Ghost. Another good one is Your Face Left Before You (below). I admit it’s not an everyday type of album – I’d listen to this if I parkour, while I parkour.

Buke & Gass : Your Face Left Before You by shalalabonbons

Buke & Gass:

Toronto – Ahhhhhhh, October. For most Americans, this means one thing – baseball playoffs. So it is with perfect timing that Jews & Baseball: An American Love Story was released this past weekend as well. Directed by Peter Miler, the 90 minute documentary tell us about baseball history (more specifically Jewish players in baseball) and tries to marry it with the tale of Jewish struggle in America.

The documentary, narrated by Dustin Hoffman, starts off in the 1800s. At this time, Jews were still relative outsiders in the United States and were discriminated against. The sport of baseball seemingly allowed the Jews to take their minds off this fact and allowed them to feel American. Most of the documentary is taken from the Jewish/outsider perspective and the acceptance of Jewish ballplayers in baseball is used as a larger metaphor for acceptance of Jewish people into American society.

For me, the most fascinating aspect of the documentary was when they featured players that I knew, more specifically Sandy Koufax and Shawn Green. Koufax is usually regarded as the best pitcher ever and Shawn Green was a Blue Jay, so I was particularly interested in hearing their side of the story. Detailed accounts of Koufax is told, with big names such as Larry King (alive since the 1700s, no doubt), Ron Howard and Fred Wilpon (Mets owner) giving their accounts of Koufax. While they do go on about how Koufax was instrumental to the Jewish community for his achievements in baseball, it doesn’t really pinpoint what exactly he did that was so instrumental, unless it was just a collective ego boost. I think his part in helping start the union was more fascinating then him being Jewish, but maybe that’s just me.

From a documentary perspective – the archival footage is great and the personal assembled for the documentary was impressive. The soundtrack was annoying. I get it, it’s baseball. There is no need to play “take me out to the ball game” or old time vaudeville music multiple times during the film. Once the documentary moved into more modern times and I started recognizing the players and people that were talked about, the documentary became much more enjoyable.

Jews and Baseball is a fairly interesting historical tale of the integration of Jewish people into the Major Leagues. It doesn’t dig deep into the Jewish psyche or explain much about what makes a Jewish baseball player Jewish, other then the fact that he’s Jewish. Does that make sense? I guess sometimes the “He’s a Jew, he’s doing well in baseball. He is being embraced by the general public therefore I feel like I am now accepted as part of the general public” idea seems kind of odd to me. I am not so sure that non fans of baseball will find the 90 minute film engaging, but fans of the game/Jewish people will probably enjoy the documentary as it tells a nice history of the game and a brief glimpse of the Jewish culture in America.

Jews in Baseball is currently playing at Cineplex Odeon Sheppard – 4861 Yonge St.

Toronto – As I watched this film, 3 words kept floating to the tip of my tongue. It’s not that Human Resource Manager (HRM) is unoriginal. But the setup and story lends itself to a natural, side-by-side comparison with Little Miss Sunshine. While the latter focuses on character growth through waves and waves of ridiculous scenarios, I find that HRM is a lot about testing one man’s perseverance amidst waves and waves of bull$#!&: how far he will go to “Be a man. Do the right thing”.

The narrative is such that no names are necessary. The HRM of a large bread factory in Jerusalem simply found himself, one day, beset by his boss and the media for the death of a migrant employee during a suicide bombing. Having never even met this worker, and did not even authorize her hiring or termination, the HRM is naturally distant. His instincts tells him that this hot potato landed on HIS plate because the boss is unhappy with him. As a reflex, he wants to do a good job this time to prove himself. Not to mention that one reporter is scrutinizing his every move against an inflated moral code – and if he fails the slandering articles will be all over town. So he delved into this woman’s past, searching for something that he can use to diffuse the situation. Then he realizes the real problem… something had to be done about the body. The custom is to send it back home – in this case, somewhere far in the Eastern bloc. So, the ragtag band of brothers including the vice consul (of whatever country, who’s really the driver of the Jewish consulwoman), the reporter, HRM, and eventually, the dead woman’s son, begins a journey in a 1950s van towards her remote village.

What really struck me throughout the movie was not how the HRM is able to do the right, honorable thing. If he didn’t, there wouldn’t be a story, nor the comedic anecdotes. It is how neglectful everyone has been until this woman is dead. Then, and only then, do they start to compensate – even complete strangers like the HRM will go to great lengths to avoid feeling guilty. The HRM’s daughter even asks: “how come you didn’t know that one of your workers is dead?”. Can you imagine if she cared enough to ask: “how come you didn’t know that one of your workers is starving to death?” That’s the biggest irony in this film. This is also reflected by the fact that the only character whose name we know, is that of the dead woman. No one else really mattered. There is a scene where the son tries desperately to come to terms with her death. While the HRM tries to comfort him, he grew angry at the HRM, who then said, “I’m sick of you people”. I think that’s the punchline of this film. A human resources manager sees what people (himself included) do, and is sickened by it. I feel that the son’s coming-to-age is a cliche that is simply a consequence of the events. I actually like this film, despite the appearance of it being a Little Miss Sunshine clone. The version I saw was unpolished, with conspicuous cuts/edits. But that doesn’t distract much and I believe it’s close enough to a production copy. If you don’t think too much, the comedic elements of the film carry most of the weight throughout, and easily glides you to the end. It’s a little dry – don’t expect Hollywood devices being used.

You can still catch the film: Sunday, 530pm (Scotia Bank theater).

Toronto - On-screen teen romance has always captivated me. I can appreciate the awkward pauses and hesitant first-kisses often brought to life a la film. I don’t think I’m alone in this. Most adults seem to gravitate toward any youthful display of affection. Maybe it’s because our innocence is pretty much obliterated by the time we graduate high school. We grow up. Become adults. At some point, Truth quietly slips out the back door just in time for Lust, Mind-Games and The Future to come barreling in the front. Between speed-dating and long-distance relationships, we forget the simple delights of young love.

Thankfully, director Ingrid Veninger is here to remind us. Her new film Modra is a coming-of-age story that uncovers the essence of teen romance. Set mostly in Slovakia during a week-long vacation, Modra features the seventeen-year-old Lina (Hallie Switzer) who, after an inpromptu break-up with her boyfriend, invites schoolmate and near-stranger Leco (Alexander Gammal) along for the trip. Enter teen angst.

Modra boasts two talented young actors that captivate the audience with their on-screen chemistry and age-appropriate woes. Lina is a young, strong-willed, mature girl who knows what she wants. In contrast, Leco is brooding, shy and immature. Together, they form a very convincing pair. In fact, don’t be surprised if their on-screen exploits have you coveting memories of teen-years past.

The beauty of the film is the dry, almost bland way in which the story is told. There is no fluff. No grand (unrealistic) gestures of love. No glib twenty-something year-old actors with silver-tongued vocabularies. Instead, there are plenty of awkward pauses, immature outbursts and mindless conversations. I, for one, appreciate this approach. It keeps the cheese factor to an all-time low. Having said that, Modra is definitely not lacking in the entertainment department. True, Veninger’s rendition of teenaged life is served straight-up. But she also adds a touch of spice in the form of a romantic rival or two.

Overall, Modra is not your typical coming-of-age story. It’s better. It’s a well thought-out portrayal of teen romance that should appeal to just about anyone – sentimental adults and youthful film buffs alike.

Toronto – I have some serious beef with cliché films. Be it comedy, drama or anything in between. I find it bothersome and downright irritating when a producer comes up with some lame-o homage to another overdone stereotype and declares it a movie. I usually approach such movie theatre invites with a polite ‘thanks-but-no-thanks’ attitude. So you can understand my lack of excitement when I popped Amazon Falls into my DVD player and came face-to-face with one of the most notorious movie stereotypes of all: the struggling Hollywood hopeful.

We all know the story: aging B-movie actress grapples with the inevitable demise of her career, while her less-than-glamorous life collapses all around her. Great. But, like it or lump it, I had a job to do. Begrudgingly, I put my biases aside for 90 minutes and watched. As the end-credits rolled, I came to a very startling realization: I liked it. I actually, truthfully liked Amazon Falls.

Thinking back, it’s easy to see why. Produced by first-timer Katrin Bowen, Amazon Falls is a heartbreaking story of Jana, a washed-up forty-year-old actress who spends every waking moment fighting for survival under the harsh L.A. lights. Jana is heartfelt and honest; a role Canadian actress Telek plays with stunning accuracy. Yes; it was predictable. Yes; it was packed to the tits with clichés. But beneath all the stereotypes was a big thumping heart that would not be ignored. It was real. It was raw. It was gritty. That’s something even this jaded cynic can respect.

Toronto – I’ve seen my fair share of accident revenge drama. Reservation Road and Red being the easiest ones to recall. Usually the central portrayal is the chase – how the sneaky criminal is slowly discovered, and tested at every turn for any shred of conscience in his/her moral fibre. If he/she does not repent, there’s usually a sad end waiting just before the credits roll to appease the audience . As the Romans (or the French) say: “heads will roll”. As if after 5000 years, after going to the moon and building LHC to attempt to detect the last hadron, we still can’t let go of community grudges, and that justice must run its course. Deborah Chow’s The High Cost of Living is no different. In many ways, it’s a very fulfilling film to the moral palette – crimes committed, regret felt, love lost and newly discovered, guilt overcomes selfishness, and justice  served.

Henry Wells fits the quintessential New York City stereotype. He dresses in a leather jacket with a hoodie inside, deals drugs but still manages to have fun, is socially sharp but dull of senses, slightly rough around the edges but has that sensitive side, reads Proust and can quote the novelist when called upon, and lives in a open-concept flat by himself (above a restaurant in Montreal’s Chinatown… which isn’t typical). The urban jack-of-all-trades. On his way to deliver some drugs one night, he happened to turn down a one-way in the opposite direction, and runs over a pregnant Natalie. Here we have another impossibly generic character – the bilingual Natalie is a reserved, and shut-in housewife living with her chauvinistic work-a-holic husband Michel. The novel part of the film, I guess, is putting these two characters together. As if there’s a cruel, invisible puppeteer, Natalie does not die from the accident. She loses the baby girl, and has a falling out with Michel because of his nonchalant ways. Still emotionally attached to the stillborn, Natalie decides to run away from home and to carry the baby to term. Lucky for her, Henry is feeling extremely guilty. So bait meets fish, and the rest is on the reel. (I must sound incredibly glib and lame…)

THERE ARE SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU CANT SEE IT COMING.

I find this film satiating, but not necessarily instructive. As a character study, it’s rather weak in that the growth of the moral dilemma doesn’t get deeper after the 10 minute mark. Merely reading into Henry’s demeanor, one could tell the ending straight from the first moment when he was dealing to Lily, an addict. Henry just doesn’t have it in him to be rough – what kind of dealer allows a client to come into his house? Where are the precautions? (I understand the setting is supposed to be Canada, but boy are we being ridiculously lax…) And consequently, we know he is going to confess. If I explain Natalie’s behavior as a quasi Stockholm syndrome, then there would not be much of a movie after the bagel scene. Zack Braff’s version of the troubled dealer is effective – I particularly liked the scene when he picks up a cigarette butt after a tough conversation – there is just enough wavering, weak will to imbue Henry with a little dark-side. Isabelle Blais did not fare as well. I thought Natalie was plain despite being visibly emotional. It’s just a bit of a let down when you have an interesting opening scenario which develops into a flopping soap opera ending. That said, I’m sure most people would not have a problem with the “just deserts” theme of the movie.

The High Cost of Living plays next: Friday, September 17, 930pm (Bell Ligtht Box 2) and Saturday, September 18, 8pm (AMC 5)

Toronto – I have a nonchalant disposition with regards to seeing stars. If I see them, is there reciprocity? Are they breaking the laws of physics if they don’t see me in return? If I don’t see them, do they not exist? I find that they are as distant and rare as astronomic stars, which reflects highly on the modern vernacular for celebrity. That also speaks to the “loneliness of the universe”, I guess. So when Cameron Bailey came on stage to ask an awkwardly suppressed Ben Stiller to introduce the director, I felt eerily at peace not reaching for my iphone camera. But how often do you see Moss? Fine. Ayoade being the director and this being the film’s debut, it’s hard to imagine him not showing up. But I was really surprised that his voice really was THAT hilarious. Just hearing the man work through the English vocabulary and say “dense vegetation” (Wintergarden’s roof, btw, is covered by fake foliage and ivy vines) can incite the entire crowd into a prolonged laughter. I think that hilarity is well-used here. Submarine is not a depressing film. In fact it has a happy ending for everyone involved. It just has a Superbad vibe about the way it’s done.

Our protagonist Oliver Tate lives at the top of the hill over looking a small town. As such, he feels that his is the best mind in the game and all others are inferior. He is, in fact, just very introverted and only recently reached adolescence. Chief amongst the many thoughts going through that first-rate mind of his is getting the girl. But just as he was working up to it, he discovered that his parents are inanimately drifting apart. Years of mundane living has reduced their marriage to the roommate stage. To make Oliver’s life harder, the new neighbor turns out to be none other than his mom’s first love. Nice. Oliver isn’t going to take this one sitting down. So, as he juggles the already unbalanced Jordana, he must also take on a detective and marriage councilor role for his parents. He will either be a man and carry this to the happy ending, or he will be burnt and get out while he’s 14. Either way, he’s laughing.

As far as a pigeon-hole, I would pin Submarine as teen drama. But that’s if films like Lat den ratte komma in (Let the right one in) is also in this bin. In fact I find some similarity here, if we cast aside the fact that vampires don’t really exist but it’s fairly simple to have a dysfunctional, Gothic girlfriend who lights matches for fun. Both films portray the near-invincibility of nascent, puppy-love in nearly-barren surroundings. But I much prefer how Let the right one in is told: through action and shear drama of the situations. The only thing stringing Oliver and Jordana along (yes, besides the sweet, folky sound of Alex Turner’s soundtrack) is Oliver’s incessant cerebral conversation with the audience. If Ayoade was in front of the microphone he might be able to make it work; or if every one of the kids had a line each time they came into view: anything but first-person. As it is, I was a little annoyed in the end. Craig Roberts and Yasmin Page were both very convincing in their roles, fully armed with expressive body-language. I would have loved it if Sally Hawkins had a bigger role – her take on the near-miss MILF, against Craig’s suspecting Oliver created some of the best moments of this film. They didn’t deliver in the Q&A, though. Ayoade stole the show again, with his stars mumbling and barely articulate. It smashes the illusion of the film, another reason why I was put off by the intellectual, internal dialogues prior to the credits. Submarine is smartly crafted, for certain. I’ve read comparison to Wes Anderson – unfair, in my opinion. If we replaced Jordana with a golden robot, and had much less film-grains in Oliver’s home-made movie, we would be closer to the mark. Ayoade’s Submarine is organic with feelings, but hidden behind smug narration and conspicuous cultural spices that take away from its original intention. This is his directing debut, I believe. So I’m sure there’s something else behind the glasses, already brewing, that will surprise even loyal fans.

Submarine plays next: Sunday, September 19, 6pm (Varsity 8)

As everyone knows, the Panic Manual loves free things. In fact, I’d be hardpressed to identify anything we enjoy more. So even though I wasn’t that keen on the idea of going to a  free sneak-preview of Grown-Ups last night with a friend, I went anyway. How bad could it be? I remember Adam Sandler being funny enough back in the day. Chanukah song was pretty good in a three minute format…and um, Chris Rock is still OK.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for how bad this was going to be.

If this is what resembles passable entertainment, I fear for the masses. The story is nauseatingly familiar enough. Five childhood friends have a reunion when their beloved basketball coach dies, prompting a reignited rivalry with five other childhood friends who disputed a championship game. It’s pretty much a hodgepodge of every stupid Disney summer camp, buddy picture, and braindead family movie you can imagine. A series of the stupidest cliches imaginable made this an experience so painful, I began texting folks during the middle of the screening. I secretly hissed at people who had the gall to “aww” any “tender” family moments shared between this group of morons and their children.

• Adam Sandler, Selma Hayek, their two sons and one daughter represent the protaganist family A.K.A. the “Joe Hollywood” stereotype
• Kevin James, Maria Bello, their daughter and song represent the “white trash” family
• Chris Rock, Maya Rudolph, their daughter and two songs represent the “black house husband” family
• David Spade is the bachelor for life
• Rob Schneider, Joyce Van Patten and Rob’s two daughters represent the “Jerry Springer” family

What ensues is a series of chunder-mile* moments. The magic of reuniting at this lake suddenly transforms everyone to realize the err of their ways and do a complete 180 with themselves and their families, which just illustrates everything that I can’t stand about a bad Hollywood movie. Cardboard characters who are so one-dimensional. Neat little package endings. DUMB fart jokes. Even stupider boob jokes. And this will undoubtedly be the number 1 movie when the Box Office tallies at the end of next week, attracting the same folks who thought Paul Blart: Mall Cop was “funny”. Anyone who thinks Paul Blart: Mall Cop warranted the expenditure of $11 should probably be sterilized.

This movie was so stupid an entire kilo of reefer wouldn’t get me to change my mind about it.

Sure, Selma Hayek’s stripper implants looked good, but you can stay home and Google “implants” if that’s all you’re after.

Complete fail.

*Chunder mile is a drinking game where you chug booze at the beginning an obstacle course that eventually becomes very slippery due to vom.

Some sidenotes about going to a “preview” screening–they check everyone’s bag, make you go through a metal detector, and force you to check your cell phone in. We of course, both lied about having cell phones and didn’t have to go through the painful leave and retrieve procedure, but it was seriously as much hassle as going through airport security.