Monday, March 06, 2006


Decided to slum it for a few titles on the Netflix queue.

Fuck this movie. Described as a "comic thriller" with evidence of neither in the 1 hour 45 minutes of precious existence I flushed away on it. I've seen late-night Discovery Channel re-enactments of rural hauntings and exorcisms done with more elan--and better acting. Adolescent, stupifyingly dull, featuring many of the worst performances I've seen. Any respectability the presence of Christopher Walken might have lent this catastrophe is drained away by the other actors, imbeciles all. Particularly woeful are that punk ass kid from Roseanne--he sucks hairy taint in the sorriest excuse for acting I've seen since Pia Zadora hung up her chemise--and Jay Mohr. Mohr is definitely less! Standing out for ineptitude amongst this cast of hamfisted schmucks is an achievement indeed. Dennis Leary has charm, but his character is un-funny and wholly unbelievable. And he's the comic relief! There is no relief from Suicide Kings, which presumably is arthouse fare to those who find Porky's ingenius. Cha and I both despised it.

This was harmless and even funny at times. Not nearly as bad as expected. Steve Martin reminds us that once he was a skilled actor who could rise above the material he had to work with. These days he slums it abysmally, of course. Bernadette Peters is hot.

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