Pseudonyms Are For Pussies. And Oliver Stone.
1) xXx: State of the Union. I saw this movie for forty five cents, and I still felt ripped off. Not so much for the money, but for the 120 minutes I spent watching Ice Cube convey emotion by varying the intensity of his scowl. I don’t expect much from action films, other than at least one sexy-but-deadly female assassin, but I don’t see why they don’t have to follow the same laws of physics I do. If Ice Cube can fall faster than burning train wreckage by grimacing really hard, then I get to warp the space-time continuum and get my two hours back.
2) You Got Served. I understand the plot of this movie less than I do its title. People think dancing is cool? Who? Why? Who exactly thinks that getting a bunch of guys together and popping on a CD of some bejeweled black man crooning like a castrati with bad grammar is cool, all the while shaking their hips like the sailor from the Village People? I need names, people. Because they need to die before they breed more boy bands.
3) The Entire Oliver Stone Collection. Seriously? He takes credit for his films? Then why do they all look like Easy Rider’s home movies? Every Oliver Stone picture is like a car crash on an acid trip. The guy’s like a walking billboard advertising art therapy for mental patients. Regardless of how vapid his movies are, they still take at least three hours to end. And should he have a point to make with his film, like the relationship of violence and the media, or the corruption of power, strap yourself in for three solid days of After Effects trying to mimic synesthesia.
4) C.S.I Miami. It's like going to science class, except the only thing your teacher knows is how to match Humvee tire treads and how fast maggots breed. Plus you got stoned between periods, and so did your teacher, so all you really to is try to makes stuff in a test tube glow under a black light. I can’t believe people put their names on episodes of this stupid, stupid show. That means that these people, like Judge Dredd’s Danny Cannon, are willing to admit that they directed David Caruso to deliver his lines like he’s learned them phonetically and has no comprehension of proper inflection. It’s quite possible they get paid a bonus for every time Caruso takes his sunglasses off and then puts them back on, but I don’t believe it’s worth it.
5) The News. Whoever directs American TV news should be ashamed of themselves, but not half as ashamed as whoever writes it. And I don’t for a second believe that the news isn’t scripted weeks ahead of time by unemployed sitcom writers. Otherwise I’d have to believe that the entire country has gone insane, because no one airs a story about stranded dolphins in the middle of a massive natural disaster unless they’re joking, and have a bad sense of humor to boot. And that whole Kansas allowing Intelligent Design in schools thing? Not buying it either. I keep waiting for the punchline where they punish truants by having them carve the Ten Commandments into a chalkboard, or start advancing the ‘magic pixie’ law of thermodynamics.
Alright, the floor is open, and while my finger heals, hit me with your picks for worst movie of all time.