"Better than the original," and "Greatest goodguy badguy banter this side of a Spider-Man comic," ARE NOT THINGS YOU WILL HEAR IN THIS REVIEW! There is little I enjoy more than destroying something via Hardcore Review. I can use words no one would associate with the project being reviewed. And be as verbose as I want and those of you who read this will salivate like the proverbial Pavlov's dog.
Cause I am fucking honest to a beat down truth. I'm ruthless when it comes to reviewing shit I don't like. And this is gonna be one of those reviews. So, let's get past the greeting and intro and get into the steaming pile of shit that wouldn't be able to fertilize a lawn. Yeah, it's that bad.
First of all to try and sell a movie to potential fans with Edward Furlong, Tara Reid and David "Angel" Boreanaz is your first, second and third mistakes. If it were a felony to cast shitty actors, and it should be, the casting director and director should be in prison without the possibility of parole. I would change my stance on the death penalty for this one folks. There were two possible good points to this utter episiotomy of two hours of my life, Tito "The Huntington Beach Badboy" Ortiz and Danny Trejo, and both were cast to NOT play themselves and fell flat on their faces. Who the fuck casts Danny Trejo to act? Even his cousin doesn't attempt that.
The fact that the hero was five foot nothing and then they tried to spin this whole massive fail of overacting, and tough guy gothitude, not only didn't work, I was actually hoping there was gonna be a repeat of the first movie. No goth is tough. They all sit at home, write shitty poetry in black ink on black notebook paper while listening to either shitty music that makes your ears bleed or 80's (which honestly isn't all bad, but the stuff they stomp dance to sure as fuck is) and cut themselves with their ceremonial fantasy daggers that are laden with crystal balls and dragon handles, they bought online while wearing black vinyl they got at Hot Topic. These people are people I laughed at ten years ago when it was in vogue, and now, I just feel sorry for you that you haven't gone on to the next fad. Especially since most of you haven't bothered to STOP eating or START working out as you've grown ancient.
David Boreanaz as the "satanic biker cult leader," WHEN THERE WASN'T A FUCKING MOTORCYCLE IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING MOVIE! And you gave Tara Reid a speaking role? Who the fuck are you trying to pander to? Cause it wasn't someone who enjoys thinking, or being even remotely entertained.
I've had bowel movements that were more pleasant than listening to the dialog in this piece. I mean to me, James O'Barr is a one hit wonder when it comes to comics, but at least he's had the decency to stay out of the spotlight when he has nothing interesting to say. That guy looked so on edge during his interview on the two disc collector's edition of the original The Crow, that he probably would have strangled his wife and then blown his own head off if he had seen this.
But then, there was the very last possible saving grace, and that was Dennis "PABST BLUE RIBBON" Hopper in one of the final scenes where a Las Vegas style goth Boreanaz shows up to marry Reid's character and all we get is this drivel dialog with Hopper spouting hip hop phrases while conducting the marriage vows. I could barely stomach this, but then again, I already awarded the vaunted Hogan "leg drop" as a grade so, nothing could ever be quite THAT bad. Right?
In terms of this being HARDCORE, here's my take on it. Sid Vicious, when he was Sycho Sid in the WWF, SHITTING HIMSELF during a match with the Undertaker. That's how hardcore this bowel movement was.
Showing posts with label the undertaker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the undertaker. Show all posts
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Tank Girl Apocalypse; A Hardcore Review
So last night some fucking guy thought he was a badass and tried shitting on my comic book. Which he has no doubt, never read, and is seriously jealous of the fact that I can eat whatever I want and not be a fat pathetic loser like he is. I don't give a shit that you're getting married Poncho. You're still a fat fucking clone who's become what he thinks he has to be. You can say shit about me and my hair, the fact that I hang out with a sidekick and that my "comic book that's not going anywhere." But you're a fucking tattoo artist. That's not exactly a tough profession to get into. Hey I have a bunch of friends with ink and friends who are tattoo artists, but let's be honest, it's not rocket science, and you're not saving the fucking world either. Plus I would think, a grown, fat man who dresses up like a Ghostbuster on the weekends would shy away from trying to talk shit. Cause, the pigtails, sidekick, comic book, all a part of who I am at a fucking genetic level. You, you fucking play dress up on the weekends. You're like the goths who haven't realized that the goth movement is long dead. But on to bigger and better things...
Much in the spirit, of Tank Girl, I felt that rant was not only needed, but fucking necessary. I am after all the Hardcore Comic Book Icon, and pigtails or no pigtails, you're still a fat piece of shit who couldn't get laid if he wasn't getting married. So go and fuck yourself, while I run you over with my tank. By which I mean my thighs, which are bigger than your fat fucking head, because I work out porky. Maybe you should take that tattoo gun and ink on some abdominal muscles or something.
So the other week, I read the Apocalypse trade of Tank Girl, where Tank is being hunted by doomsday cultists. Supposedly there comes a messiah. And with it, possibly the end of the world. Tank Girl is restless, doesn't want pizza, beer or sex, and is in a malaise like state where she vegges out and watches daytime TV, the most evil of all evils.
She then leaves the confines of her home, fires off a shot in her tank and continues on till she meets up with a "standing on one leg guru" in a funky top hat who tried to get Tank Girl to join her in her one leg standingness. After which the leaders of the world, including long thought dead, Hitler and recently thought dead, Princess Diana show up. And Tank knocks Lady Di the fuck out. Not to mention Jet and Sub Girl show up to ride the rocket to Utopia. How the fuck a submarine travels in a desert is beyond me, but it's a comic book that has never made sense and that's why people love it. One of the all time most respected indie characters of ALL TIME still hasn't lost her edge, even when Hewlett and Martin aren't working on the project she stars in hits the racks. Tank learns she is pregnant, and after hitching a ride to Utopia, her and her friends party like rock stars, and then she gives birth to a half baby/half tank. Turns out Tank Girl cheated on old Booga with her tank? But she was drunk and I'm sure that makes it justifiable.
Tank Girl is the kind of comic book we need more of. Bizarre, fucked up and just plain strange shit with an edgy attitude that has always been is something we need more of in this world. I know if you're reading my reviews, you know I get tired of the run of the mill primary color boy scouts running rampant on your local comic store racks. When you're unhappy with the the regurgitated characterizations that lost their luster decades ago, take the money out of your wallet, AND BUY SOMETHING ELSE! We vote with our money. Money that is hard to come by and is very precious in today's world thanks to the powers that be. And I don't limit that to your "elected" government officials but more so directed to the corporate giants who only want your money and are currently gouging your pay check. Living pay check to pay check is tough, and we need something to raise our spirits in times like these where bullshit like a Royal Wedding is headline news, movies being Americanized from amazing International ORIGINAL versions, music that I wouldn't wipe my ass with and story lines from twenty years ago pass as brand new, edgy and best selling on the comic scene. You say, "FUCK YOU, I'm gonna read, watch, listen to what I wanna listen to." Your money and more importantly, time is much to valuable to waste on common, trivial shit like that. Show your support to the little guys in the industry who bust their asses even harder than the regular pros, cause quite often to support ourselves we work a full time job, AND then put out REAL cutting edge stories and art that gets swept under the carpet cause we don't have marketing bank like Disney and Warner Brothers backing us up.
In 2002, a monster arrived on the wrestling scene. He was a former NCAA heavyweight wrestling champion. His name, Brock Lesnar. Yeah, that Brock Lesnar, the same one who at one time was the youngest WWE World Champion at 25 years of age. Although Vince has never acknowledged Mikey Whipwreck winning the ECW World Heavyweight Championship in 1995 at less than 22 years of age from the Sandman and then defended it against the future Stone Cold Steve Austin. Anyways, after winning the WWE title, Lesnar set his sights on the most respected veteran in the locker room, The Undertaker. Pushing the "Dead Man," to his emotional limits by attacking him in front of his then pregnant wife Sara. You know the little blond who got Taker to ink her name across his throat. Beating Taker to a bloody pulp and breaking his right hand, then Smackdown general manager Stephanie McMahon, order the two behemoths to fight for the belt inside Hell in a Cell. And to up the ante, she ruled that Taker would be allowed to keep the cast on his broken hand for the match.
The match went off and there was a bucket of blood spilled, mostly from the Champion Lesnar and his manager Paul Heyman. There was nothing but utter chaos in the match, including Taker's cast being ripped off of his hand, Lesnar foiling Taker's move of "old school," and the bloodied, beleaguered champion hitting the F-5 to finish the Dead Man.
Much in the spirit, of Tank Girl, I felt that rant was not only needed, but fucking necessary. I am after all the Hardcore Comic Book Icon, and pigtails or no pigtails, you're still a fat piece of shit who couldn't get laid if he wasn't getting married. So go and fuck yourself, while I run you over with my tank. By which I mean my thighs, which are bigger than your fat fucking head, because I work out porky. Maybe you should take that tattoo gun and ink on some abdominal muscles or something.
So the other week, I read the Apocalypse trade of Tank Girl, where Tank is being hunted by doomsday cultists. Supposedly there comes a messiah. And with it, possibly the end of the world. Tank Girl is restless, doesn't want pizza, beer or sex, and is in a malaise like state where she vegges out and watches daytime TV, the most evil of all evils.
She then leaves the confines of her home, fires off a shot in her tank and continues on till she meets up with a "standing on one leg guru" in a funky top hat who tried to get Tank Girl to join her in her one leg standingness. After which the leaders of the world, including long thought dead, Hitler and recently thought dead, Princess Diana show up. And Tank knocks Lady Di the fuck out. Not to mention Jet and Sub Girl show up to ride the rocket to Utopia. How the fuck a submarine travels in a desert is beyond me, but it's a comic book that has never made sense and that's why people love it. One of the all time most respected indie characters of ALL TIME still hasn't lost her edge, even when Hewlett and Martin aren't working on the project she stars in hits the racks. Tank learns she is pregnant, and after hitching a ride to Utopia, her and her friends party like rock stars, and then she gives birth to a half baby/half tank. Turns out Tank Girl cheated on old Booga with her tank? But she was drunk and I'm sure that makes it justifiable.
Tank Girl is the kind of comic book we need more of. Bizarre, fucked up and just plain strange shit with an edgy attitude that has always been is something we need more of in this world. I know if you're reading my reviews, you know I get tired of the run of the mill primary color boy scouts running rampant on your local comic store racks. When you're unhappy with the the regurgitated characterizations that lost their luster decades ago, take the money out of your wallet, AND BUY SOMETHING ELSE! We vote with our money. Money that is hard to come by and is very precious in today's world thanks to the powers that be. And I don't limit that to your "elected" government officials but more so directed to the corporate giants who only want your money and are currently gouging your pay check. Living pay check to pay check is tough, and we need something to raise our spirits in times like these where bullshit like a Royal Wedding is headline news, movies being Americanized from amazing International ORIGINAL versions, music that I wouldn't wipe my ass with and story lines from twenty years ago pass as brand new, edgy and best selling on the comic scene. You say, "FUCK YOU, I'm gonna read, watch, listen to what I wanna listen to." Your money and more importantly, time is much to valuable to waste on common, trivial shit like that. Show your support to the little guys in the industry who bust their asses even harder than the regular pros, cause quite often to support ourselves we work a full time job, AND then put out REAL cutting edge stories and art that gets swept under the carpet cause we don't have marketing bank like Disney and Warner Brothers backing us up.
In 2002, a monster arrived on the wrestling scene. He was a former NCAA heavyweight wrestling champion. His name, Brock Lesnar. Yeah, that Brock Lesnar, the same one who at one time was the youngest WWE World Champion at 25 years of age. Although Vince has never acknowledged Mikey Whipwreck winning the ECW World Heavyweight Championship in 1995 at less than 22 years of age from the Sandman and then defended it against the future Stone Cold Steve Austin. Anyways, after winning the WWE title, Lesnar set his sights on the most respected veteran in the locker room, The Undertaker. Pushing the "Dead Man," to his emotional limits by attacking him in front of his then pregnant wife Sara. You know the little blond who got Taker to ink her name across his throat. Beating Taker to a bloody pulp and breaking his right hand, then Smackdown general manager Stephanie McMahon, order the two behemoths to fight for the belt inside Hell in a Cell. And to up the ante, she ruled that Taker would be allowed to keep the cast on his broken hand for the match.
The match went off and there was a bucket of blood spilled, mostly from the Champion Lesnar and his manager Paul Heyman. There was nothing but utter chaos in the match, including Taker's cast being ripped off of his hand, Lesnar foiling Taker's move of "old school," and the bloodied, beleaguered champion hitting the F-5 to finish the Dead Man.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Watchmen; A Hardcore Review
On Friday March 6, 2009, there was a historical event that came upon the movie and comic book industry....
Alan Moore and Dave Gibbon's Watchmen hit theatres. Me and my crew went at half after midnight on the day in question.
What followed is three hours of some of the most captivating feature film I have ever seen. The idea that this was an impossibility only a few years ago, and then chided by Alan himself, as he broke ties with DC and said none of his comics needed to be turned into movies. Well he was right about League, that was a pile of shit, and he had his name attatched to that one.
Watchmen is one of the most loved and best selling graphic novels of all time. One of a handfull of graphic novels taught in college classrooms. It encompases the worst feelings of the cold war and the bitter hideousness of McCarthyism.
In short, the movie was a huge success. The soundtrack rocked. They intermingled 80's pop with modern covers and seemed it beautifully. The visuals were spot on. The costume redesigns were great.There were a few things that were superfluous: like the seemingly endless sex scene abourd the Owl-jet. It was the type of scene that makes you feel like you were watching Roadhouse with your mom. That level of discomfort. The build up on Rorschach was great. Jackie Earle Haley was awesome. As if this was the role he was born for (it reminded me of Brandon Lee and the Crow). The only other man who could have been Rorschach was that crazy fucker Danny Bonaduce. The prison scene made my night with Rorschach uttering the most famous words of the series, "I'm not locked in here with you! You're locked in here with me!"
Beautiful.
And man Golden Age Silk Specter may have been hotter than Modern Age Silk Specter. But that whole pin up doll thing really works for me. Not to mention she was a redhead. NOICE!
I give Watchmen a blast from the past... Mankind being chokeslamed through the top of the Cell onto the cold hard, unforgiving canvas below, with a steel chair crashing onto his head.
Alan Moore and Dave Gibbon's Watchmen hit theatres. Me and my crew went at half after midnight on the day in question.
What followed is three hours of some of the most captivating feature film I have ever seen. The idea that this was an impossibility only a few years ago, and then chided by Alan himself, as he broke ties with DC and said none of his comics needed to be turned into movies. Well he was right about League, that was a pile of shit, and he had his name attatched to that one.
Watchmen is one of the most loved and best selling graphic novels of all time. One of a handfull of graphic novels taught in college classrooms. It encompases the worst feelings of the cold war and the bitter hideousness of McCarthyism.
In short, the movie was a huge success. The soundtrack rocked. They intermingled 80's pop with modern covers and seemed it beautifully. The visuals were spot on. The costume redesigns were great.There were a few things that were superfluous: like the seemingly endless sex scene abourd the Owl-jet. It was the type of scene that makes you feel like you were watching Roadhouse with your mom. That level of discomfort. The build up on Rorschach was great. Jackie Earle Haley was awesome. As if this was the role he was born for (it reminded me of Brandon Lee and the Crow). The only other man who could have been Rorschach was that crazy fucker Danny Bonaduce. The prison scene made my night with Rorschach uttering the most famous words of the series, "I'm not locked in here with you! You're locked in here with me!"
Beautiful.
And man Golden Age Silk Specter may have been hotter than Modern Age Silk Specter. But that whole pin up doll thing really works for me. Not to mention she was a redhead. NOICE!
I give Watchmen a blast from the past... Mankind being chokeslamed through the top of the Cell onto the cold hard, unforgiving canvas below, with a steel chair crashing onto his head.
Observe and Report; A Hardcore Review
What more can I say except, sure was a lot of cock in this movie.
Once again Seth Rogen is pretty damn hilarious. He's the new Vince Vaughn in terms of being the regular, quasi out of shape funny guy.
Any way, he plays Ronnie, this dilusional mall security guard who dreams of being a savior. The movie opens with a slow motion montage of the goings on in his mall. The second it ends, the hilarity ensues. A chubby mid lifer runs amoke in the mall parking lot, flashing female patrons and yelling some pretty heinous shit at them.
Bring in Ronnie and his random crew of motley misfits, a greasey whatever the fuck that guy was and the Chinese twins who have as much a hard on for firearms as my crazy, dilusional cousin, who interestingly enough is also a security guard with dilusions of gradeur.
Ronnie's other dream includes plowing the cosmetics counter whore, played almost too well, by Anna Faris.C'mon, this chick works at every fucking mall in the free world. And ladies, if you cannot identify this bimbo, well then it's because it's you.
After quite a bit of craziness including having to see Ray Liotta's fucked up mug and his partner's obscene hairline and Steven Segal-like ponytail for far too long. The dialog was pretty good, with Liotta playing the hardnosed, battle hardened detective who fails at every attempt to hold back the "retard" with the badge.
The movie culminates with something you see coming a mile away, even if it is tiny and almost obscured by errant belly flab. As well as the whole romance thing that according to Rich from KRQ's John Jay and Rich, Roy Orbison could see coming. Only to be corrected by John Jay and the internet.
Make sure you have fun while watching this movie, but please don't take your "Fifi" loving soon to be twelve year old daughters.... SANDRA! Jesus, and then she has the audacity to get mad at me for saying cock like twenty times afterwards. Fucking douchebag. I swear to god.
Now, onto the grade this movie receives. Observe and Report deserves the biggest car crash award it can possibly receive. And that would be once again dipping back into the classic match from King of the Ring 1998 where upon Mick Foley flew off the top of the Cell and crash landed through the Spanish announce table and halfway rolling under the guardrail behind them.
Once again Seth Rogen is pretty damn hilarious. He's the new Vince Vaughn in terms of being the regular, quasi out of shape funny guy.
Any way, he plays Ronnie, this dilusional mall security guard who dreams of being a savior. The movie opens with a slow motion montage of the goings on in his mall. The second it ends, the hilarity ensues. A chubby mid lifer runs amoke in the mall parking lot, flashing female patrons and yelling some pretty heinous shit at them.
Bring in Ronnie and his random crew of motley misfits, a greasey whatever the fuck that guy was and the Chinese twins who have as much a hard on for firearms as my crazy, dilusional cousin, who interestingly enough is also a security guard with dilusions of gradeur.
Ronnie's other dream includes plowing the cosmetics counter whore, played almost too well, by Anna Faris.C'mon, this chick works at every fucking mall in the free world. And ladies, if you cannot identify this bimbo, well then it's because it's you.
After quite a bit of craziness including having to see Ray Liotta's fucked up mug and his partner's obscene hairline and Steven Segal-like ponytail for far too long. The dialog was pretty good, with Liotta playing the hardnosed, battle hardened detective who fails at every attempt to hold back the "retard" with the badge.
The movie culminates with something you see coming a mile away, even if it is tiny and almost obscured by errant belly flab. As well as the whole romance thing that according to Rich from KRQ's John Jay and Rich, Roy Orbison could see coming. Only to be corrected by John Jay and the internet.
Make sure you have fun while watching this movie, but please don't take your "Fifi" loving soon to be twelve year old daughters.... SANDRA! Jesus, and then she has the audacity to get mad at me for saying cock like twenty times afterwards. Fucking douchebag. I swear to god.
Now, onto the grade this movie receives. Observe and Report deserves the biggest car crash award it can possibly receive. And that would be once again dipping back into the classic match from King of the Ring 1998 where upon Mick Foley flew off the top of the Cell and crash landed through the Spanish announce table and halfway rolling under the guardrail behind them.
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