In hindsight, it’s a damned shame when the best part of the movie experience is a preview for a jag-off romantic film with less than five seconds of footage of Papi and the rest of the “idiots” last season.
That’s some sorry shite.
The year is young but I’d be willing to put fair odds on Be Cool being my worst cinematic experience of 2005. Where do I start? Last night I started another viewing of Get Shorty; easily one of my favorite films of all time. What does one say about a sequel so interminably long that by the midpoint one is hoping out loud that someone would shoot the protagonist – Chili Palmer – right in his smarmy guinea mouth.
Maybe it’s just me but I don’t think that’s the fate one ought to wish for the ostensible hero.
And the music! The fuggin’ music! In Get Shorty we get Booker T, in Be Cool we get Christinia Milian, in Get Shorty we get Us3, in Be Cool we get Sonny and Frickin’ Cher! Someone just shoot me.
My God, I could go on for hours: the ridiculous re-warmed scenes, the horrible characterizations, the stupid sterotypes. Jaysus wept. He really did. And not because the goddamned nails hurt, either.
There is only one relatively unscathed survivor of this train wreck: who would have imagined that in a film with John Travolta, Uma Thurman, Cedric the Entertainer and Harvey Keitel that “The Rock” would have been the only person worth watching. That guy makes me laugh. He could read from the fecking phone book but if he did it with some flair it would be well worth the time spent listening to, “Adams, Mabel, 555-3838, Adams, Mathilda, 555-6452.”
When The Rock, as entertaining as he is, is the bright spot of your star-studded sequel that’s some pitiful shite man. Just pitiful.
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