YTAH's Weblog

Your Favourite Movie Sucks.

Posted in movies,rants,satire by YTAH on February 26, 2008
Tags: ,

That’s right, buddy — it sucks fucking piles. It’s the worst, most undeserving pile of steaming donkey shit I’ve ever been forced to endure. It’s longer and more pointless than Apocalypse Now Redux. It’s more derivative than American Pie: Band Camp. And it’s more insipidly PC than Philadelphia. If I were that guy from that film where some government bloke ties him to a chair with his eyes stapled open while they play Beethoven — or if I was that Other guy from the last season of Lost who’s found strapped into a chair while subjected to music at ear-bleeding volume and a seizure-inducing multimedia extravaganza — if, in fact, I was a tortured 11-year-old forced to endure yet another fucking recap of their Most Embarrassing Moments Forever Captured on Film and Presented in an Album to be Hauled Out Annually for the Benefit of Posterity — I would be a much happier person than the one who just had to sit through every redundant minute of “the greatest movie ever, since at least like 300!!!”.

I can’t even be bothered to remember what it’s called. I just know that the director is a fuckhead, and his films are uniformly incompetent, not to mention a giant truckload of balls. Every one of them – not just this one, but every, single, rancid piece of left-over rodent turd (the ones even the other rats won’t go near) he calls a “film”. Even if he’d gone to film school with McG, he would still have won the class’s “least promising filmmaker” award.

No, I can’t tell you which other films he’s made. They were so bad I couldn’t be arsed to remember to wipe the vomit from the cinema chair, nevermind the titles of all those shitty movies. It was all I could do to drag myself out of the theatre. If Da Vinci or Thomas Edison had watched this movie, they’d celebrate the experience by defecating on their own faces. In the interests of avoiding further torture, I even took the time and effort of looking him up on the Internet, so that I could warn my friends and enemies about its lacklustre plot, disappointing ending, and pandering stupidity, but I couldn’t even remember how to spell the director’s name. Turns out he’s got this strange unfamiliar surname, which probably means he’s foreign. Goddamn foreigners make me sick. Foreigners who make shitty movies are even more annoying than the drugged-out hippies at ObzFest or drunk colleagues at the end of year staff function.

Even if I hadn’t heard about the scriptwriters’ strike in Hollywood, I could have worked out that nobody literate enough to tell the “Gents” from the “Ladies” had anything to do with this movie, simply by watching this film. It’s the only rational explanation for how the lyrics to In Utero can make more sense than the crappy half-assed bullshit those “actors” call dialogue. The best acting involved in the making of this movie is in those incessant, self-congratulatory interviews that the cast give to any media outlet that will have them, wherein every one of those mutant whores claim that this was “the most fun experience” they’ve ever had on set, or that their director and co-stars are “just great”. The only way the acting in this film could have been worse is if it starred Kevin Costner as Robin Hood and featured star turns by Rob Schneider and Dakota Fanning, playing lovers. No, scratch that – adding Rob Schneider might just have been one of the only things that could have made this damn thing bearable, short of adding Pauly Shore, Andy Dick, and that guy who played Ernest. I’ve seen better performances – and better dialogue, better camera work, better catering – in porn films. Amateur porn films, made locally. Taken on a cell phone. With the lights off.

Yes, I realise that this film and its message of hope, tolerance, and mutual understanding represents the most transcendent and beautiful statement of everything you hold dear. Yes, I know you treasure its poignant insights on life and, in particular, love, which encapsulates your most deeply-held beliefs. But that doesn’t mean that you’re not a complete asshole. And your mother thinks so too.

Oh, what’s that? You posted a comment on the director’s blog, congratulating him on once more selling out his potentially-once-creative soul for the trifling pay-check he received for producing this terrific piece of cinematic excrement? Loser. You’re such a fucking cunt. If you think your snivelling attempts to ingratiate yourself with the “creative genius” behind “the best film in years” will get you a menial job on his next uber-suck-cessful cesspool of a blockbuster, then you’re even more pathetic than your friends have told me. Go outside and give those big ol’ Fanboy diapers you’re wearing an airing, why don’t you. You’re so full of shit even newborns wouldn’t hang with you. And I’m talking newborn monkeys. You know, the shit-flinging kind.

Oh, by the way: your mother is a whore. There. I said it. Lord knows somebody had to. Perhaps you could pass on that message for me. (I’d give it to her myself, but I was afraid that I might catch something.)

And don’t think you can undermine my astute and balanced assessment of this cinematic revulsion simply by pointing out that I wasn’t conscious for the whole film. The fact that I haven’t actually watched your favourite movie is completely beside the point. In fact, it puts me miles ahead of all the other reviewers, in that my opinion is completely unbiased by mere facts.

My realization the other day that your failure to copy my own taste in films is a clear sign that you are a fuckhead. The mere existence of this film represents clear proof that god exists, and that he hates us.

Yours truly, asshole

[Originally posted on, December 18, 2007.]


One Response to 'Your Favourite Movie Sucks.'

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  1. Lieutenant Vasili said,

    Suggested by a t-shirt on the A.V. Club web site, “Your Favorite Band Sucks.”

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