"I Told Myself I Would Never Come Back."

THE HANGOVER III (2013) 

The Wolfpack...or something like it.

Here's the thing. I've been a pretty big fuck-it fan of the Hangover series. Why? Because they're shameless, predictable, and usually come hand-in-hand with a good soundtrack and a couple memorable one-liners. The Hangover had a tight script, it knew what it was, and it owned it's insane ridiculousness. The Hangover II was a little less tight, a little less laugh-out-loud, but I stood by it because, hey. It's a bro-comedy about bachelor parties gone wrong. How seriously can you really take that shit, right?

Well. Apparently, very seriously. In Todd Phillips' final installment of the Hangover trilogy, I have finally run out of redeeming things to say about it. Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed it. Because, at the heart of it, I have a soft spot for the series and a soft spot for the characters. If you right fun characters and hook me in, I'm there. The Wolfpack (and Doug) are just fun to watch in action. Nine times out of ten, you get the feeling that, deep down, they're all bros in some way or another. Even (and maybe even especially) when they laugh at each other's misfortunes and pull terrible pranks on one another. 

Image from Huff Post.

However, the Hangover III forgot the main draw of the films. The bromance. The Wolfpack. Instead, it focused more heavily on the gimmicky characters. But the problem with gimmicky characters is that they're only funny because they're explosive side-characters. When you devote a whole movie to Leslie Chow...well. Yeah, we liked it, but not that much. 

If I had to pick one main character out of the entire series, I'd probably put my money on Stu. He's the one who always seems to have the major challenge to overcome, start to finish. He always goes through the most noteworthy "journey," where all the other characters are, more or less, just trying to get to the wedding on time. In Hangover III, however, Stu was basically nonexistent. He popped up now and then to deliver a couple one-liners that were repeated throughout the series, but that was it. He had approximately zero screen time. Phil, who often took the "leader" role, was also sectioned off to the sidelines. Instead, we handed the movie over to Alan and Chow. First mistake. 

To top off an already bad move, this wasn't even the same warm and well-intentioned Alan we'd grown to love from the first film. Instead, this Alan was mean, aggressive, and a little more sociopathic. Maybe the failed bachelor parties just hardened him into a bitter, angry man. Maybe he's worked so hard at impersonating Phil that he's got the callousness down to a T. I don't really know what was going on, all I know is that I was not a fan of Alan 3.0. 

My overall experience of Alan in the last movie.

But evil!Alan was, more or less, the epitome of everything that was wrong in Hangover III. Here's the thing: I wouldn't be bashing this movie if it just let itself be a bad movie. I had problems with Hangover II, but I let most them go. Because it presented itself as a shameless repeat of the first one. It said, "Hey, we know what you came here for, so here it is, word-for-word." A cheap move on Todd's part, but as I'm a big fan of unapologetic shamelessness, I could appreciate it for what it was. Hangover III, on the other hand, tried too hard to be a good movie. I could see it trying. But, at the end of the day, it was like watching Sam Worthington try to pull off an accent. Painfully obvious and, ultimately, a waste of time. 

I don't want to end this on a completely sour note. Because the thing is, shit. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed The Wolfpack. I enjoyed their antics and one-liners. I enjoyed the movie, overall. But at the end of the day, it took the series to a place it didn't need to go. I never thought I'd say this about John Goodman, because I love that man, but his character pretty much fucked up the whole movie. You know something's wrong when too many people die in what was supposed to be a shameless comedy, including the dogs. I enjoy excessive violence, but there's a movie for that and this is not it. I will say this, however: for people who enjoyed the series throughout (or at least enough to stick to it), this entire movie might have just been worth it for the ending credits scene. That last couple minutes was what I needed to see for the entire of the movie. End credits is where it's at. 

Dammit, Goodman. 

Modesty Blaise: Double Feature!

MODESTY BLAISE (1966)

Image from listal.

It's really only fair that Modesty Blaise follows James Bond (with a little Haywire in between--I got a little too excited about that movie and prematurely reviewaculated), as she is the 007 of women. She's the women every man wants and every woman wants to be. I mean...you know. James Bond with tits and a bad acid trip. The thing about Modesty Blaise is that it's your quintessential 60s movie. You have to go in knowing that or else you might squawk in surprise for the first half of the film like a violated chicken. Everything is weird and nothing makes sense, but you leave with the vague impression that you've been smacked in the face with an Andy Warhol.

I'm pretty sure there was a plot. Something about Modesty Blaise, the government spy type, being doubled crossed by...someone. I'm also pretty sure I zoned out halfway through, so I'm sure there was a little more to the plot than that. But the fact that my attention fizzled and died says it all, really. Credit where credit is due--Modesty Blaise packs some punches. Naturally, her biggest asset as a spy is her pretty smile and her way to charm everyone she meets (really. Everyone. She even has a small army of stereotypical arabs in her pocket). But the really wild thing about her is she's not afraid to kill. With a smile. Which is honestly a little chilling, because she's more or less what Audrey Hepburn would look like if she went M16. Now imagine Holy Go-fuckin'-lightly pulling a Patrick Bateman at the end of Breakfast at Tiffany's and you catch my drift. As for the actors themselves, Monica Vitta plays Modesty Blaise and does a good job of it. The only other one really worth mentioning is Terence Stamp, who plays her platonic (question mark?) partner in crime. I have a large soft spot for Terence Stamp, which is weird because he doesn't actually have a very large claim to fame, but he's always done good in my book.

But what this movie really has to offer is atmosphere. In bucketfuls. I don't know what was more colorful in this movie--the characters or the wallpaper. The outfits would have made David Bowie blush, the set design is trippy as hell, and the props are quite literally out of this world. And did I mention there are musical numbers? It couldn't get campier if two unicorns were having sex on a rainbow. Lady Gaga, eat your heart out.

In short, it's a great movie to have in the background while you have the pot smoke burning and the lava lamps glowing. As a cinematic story, I'm not sure it actually holds up. But it's visually amazing, generally good fun, and has a couple ridiculous musical numbers if that's your kind of thing.

MY NAME IS MODESTY (2004)

Image from www.blurayvn.com.

So, for reasons unbeknownst to...just about everyone in the modern world, for some reason, we've decided to pull Miss Modesty Blaise out of retirement. I have a vague suspicion that it might have something to do with the fact that Quentin Tarantino produced it. My Name Is Modesty has very little do with the original movie. We've picked up the pace, we've cut down on the flash, and we've modernized it. A shit ton. 

My Name Is Modesty follows Modesty Blaise, who now works in a casino. Which is all well and fine. Until, of course, a group of criminals come to collect what's theirs at the casino and find one very challenging roadblock in their way--Modesty Blaise. The only one who can let them into the vault. And so begins a long night of a cat and mouse game between Modesty Blaise and her captors. On a bet, she ends up telling them her history in entirety. It's really an origins story for Modesty Blaise, splashed with the nice tense background of a hold up at a casino. 

Modesty and the 7th Dwarf.

Modesty Blaise is played by Alexandra Staden, who comes across as a sleek, manipulative woman, always in control of herself and those around her. She has an edge of morbid humor and an uncanny ability to stare her attackers in the eye, even when they have a gun pointed at her. In short, she's a badass, but subtly so. In the other corner, we have the thief, Miklos, played by Nikolaj Coster-Waldau. If that name sounds familiar, you've been watching too much Game Of Thrones. Yes, Modesty is a badass, but this guy really steals the movie. He's sadistic, but in that way that taps into the campy, B-movie spirit of the film. He's smarmy, but at the same time very human. He's used to being in control when he has a gun in his hand, and it's a lot of fun watching him trying to figure out how to psych out Modesty, who is unshakable. 

Her origins story itself is a lot of fun. It has everything you could want from it--the wise old mentor, the young rebel girl, the story of these two surviving against the odds. Despite the fact that there's only really one fight scene at the end, the movie moves along at a clip pace and keeps you engaged. It helps that it runs a neat 77 minutes and is on instant play on Netflix. If you need a good rainy day movie or have an hour to kill, My Name Is Modesty is good, solid, B-movie fun. 

Are You There, God? It's Me, Marky Mark.

MAX PAYNE (2008)

Image from starpulse.com.

Everyone's had that moment. You watch the trailer, it's great, you're psyched. Then you go to the theater and leave feeling cheated out of your money and violated. I always assumed there was nothing worse than that let down. And then I saw this movie. Max Payne commits the crime of a well-done, exciting set-up...and then falls on its face by the third act, leaving you to wonder whether the writer didn't have a brain aneurysm on the table and slammed his head against the keyboard a couple times to finish the story. It's not the plot. There have been some very good combinations of murder noir and religious mysticism. This just isn't one of them. It's not about the actors. Even if they all look like some casting director's second choice, they pull it off well. And it's not about the characters. They're all solid. The fall of this movie is simply that, like a Harvard girl turned stripper, it makes some bad decisions down the road and doesn't live up to any of its promises. 

It sets us up with a good start. The whole thing is very murder noir, very eerie. The tone of the movie is great, there's a lot of evil "fans slicing through air" shots, and grundy, dark scenes. Our main guy is interesting enough--Max Payne, played by the hardass version of Mark Walhberg. He's got the classic hangups: his wife and kid were murdered and he was all of ten minutes too late. So it's a cliché problem we've seen before, but you know what? It always works. If it ain't broke. So instead of spiraling into an alcoholic depressed mess, Max decides to channel his rage in a different way--he chases down unsolved cases and beats criminals to shit, looking for the one that got away--the man who killed his family. Yes! A vengeance flick! I'm so on board. Tell me more, Max Payne, tell me more, like does he have a car?

Bad movie = suddenly worth it.

But, like all good detectives hell bent on his own self-destruction, Max gets in too deep. Following a hot tip, Max finds himself in a club full of nefarious types and smoking hot women. AKA: the gorgeous Natasha, AKA: Olga Kurylenko, AKA: motherfucking Bond girl. Her performance is short lived, but sure as hell memorable. And she introduces us to the next best thing--pseudo-dominatrix Mila Kunis who plays Natasha's Russian gangster sister, Mona Sax (you say sister, I say lesbian lover. Don't worry, John Moore, I'm rewriting your script, it's coming along great). Max gets mixed up with the sisters, all the while being hunted by Jim Bravura, a straight-edged detective played by Ludacris (am I the only one who gets really excited when I see rappers act...and act well?). So far, this movie has the makings of everything I want out of life.

And then the angels come. The angels are these strange Norse myth beasts that come out of the shadows and fuck your shit up. Okay. This setting is over the top as it is, I'm cool with introducing strange mythological beasts into it. Really. I don't have a problem with it. What I do have a problem with is the only time anyone sees these angels is when they're tripping off this drug that's a big "government military secret". I'm down with a secret military drug that makes soldiers super human. I'm down with mystical angels. But it's got to be one of the other. Why, you ask? Well. Enter Act Three.

It's right at the top of the screenwriter's handbook 101: your main character cannot be forced into the third act. They have to make a definitive choice that steers the final act of the movie, or else they're just a boring as shit main character. After a series of (fairly well done) action sequences and various interrogation sessions, Max Payne finds himself betrayed by his best friend and sinking quickly to the bottom of an icy river. And so Max saves his own life by drinking the punch--he downs a vial of the super secret military drug that makes you super human. And then everything goes to shit. Really. If you ever watch this movie, just turn it off when he hits that icy cold water. Make up your own ending. Maybe he sinks and dies. Maybe Natasha comes back to life and gets it on with her sister. Maybe Ludacris strokes his chin thoughtfully for half and hour. Whatever it is, it's better than what actually happens.

What actually happens is Max Payne starts tripping balls. Seriously. Not even exaggerating. He trips balls, sees these crazy ass angel things who don't do shit except hover menacingly, and throughout all that, somehow manages to kill the bad guy. I don't know about you, but if I was tripping that hard, I don't think I'd have the proper aim needed to fire a deadly shot into the bad guy. I think I'd probably inform everyone that I had become a rooster illusion and jump out of the fucking window. This is supposed to be the moment in which Max Payne confronts his demons and exacts his revenge on the man who killed his family, but instead it turns into Max Payne getting high as shit and somehow accidentally saving the day. If this was Pineapple Express, I would've been happy. But it's not. It had the makings of an excellent, albeit campy, murder noir action movie. And then the end was a complete mess. Mona Sax started off Russian and badass, and turned out to be completely useless. Jim Bravura played an excellent character with enemies on both sides of the fence who could have ultimately teamed up with Max Payne, but instead he fell into dust. And Max Payne's potentially awesome vengeance kick left me wondering what the writers were on when they wrote the third act and how I could get my hands on it.

"Drugs are bad!!!"

In short? Give this movie a watch. Just kill it as soon as Max Payne hits the icy water. Drowning death/incestuous lesbian zombies/anything else you can come up with is so much better. 

Kato And That Dude Who Makes Fart Jokes.

THE GREEN HORNET (2011)

Christoph Waltz does not approve. 

...Is more or less what the movie should've been called. If you're like me and went to this movie because you know nothing about the actually radio show/comic book The Green Hornet but you just wanted to see Christoph Waltz blow shit up, I'll give you the quick and dirty of it. Britt Reid (Seth Rogen) has major daddy issues (hey, at least he got it better than this guy. What is it with Tom Wilkinson and bad parenting?), which is fine until his old man kicks the bucket. So he goes putzing around for a bit, wishing he could do something useful with his life, when he comes across his dad's coffee maker mechanic, Kato. The two form a bond over being losers and decide to take control of their lives and become superheros--thus forming the identity of The Green Hornet and...Kato. Meanwhile, Britt Reid has to come to terms with inheriting his father's newspaper company and the responsibility that comes with it, while offing the bad guys in order to get to the king pin--Chudnofsky. 

Image from alanbobet.blogspot.com

My problem with the movie broils down to this. Chudnofsky, Christoph Waltz's character, carries around a two barreled gun. In theory, a two barreled gun is a good idea. You give it one squeeze of the trigger, and bam. Two opponents down in one blow. Great, right? Well, kinda. Except I'm thinking, you get behind that gun, where's your sight? Do you look down one barrel, aim, and hope the second bullet hits? Or do you aim for somewhere directly in between the targets and pray your bullet makes it there? What I'm trying to say is, simultaneously firing at two targets with one shot is a tricky task, and I'm sure with Seth Rogen's comedic gold on the left and the high action film budget on the right, the directors thought they'd hit both the action junkies and the collegehumor crowd in one blow. Weeell...not quite. 

It was a noble effort. I will say that. I don't think it's a crime to mix the action super hero addicts and the couch potato stoners. Just ask any superhero movie made in the 80s and 90s. Batman And Robin (1997)? Even Ghostbusters (1984) had a similar campy edge, even if they weren't superheros per se. Frankly, I think between Christian Bale's growly angst, Spiderman's "dark side", and now even Blondie Thor furrowing his brow in serious contemplation, it's about time we lifted the superhero genre with a much needed stop taking yourself so seriously injection. Give us something campy, something ridiculous! And, finally, The Green Hornet answered that call.

But the next step is actually pulling the comedic superhero action movie off, and there I think The Green Hornet came up short. This isn't to say I was stonefaced throughout the entire movie. It did pull some laughs--mainly from the banter between Britt Reid and Kato. Their petty, competitive little digs were nicely done, especially during their tiff about the Green Hornet gun. Seth Rogen's payback for shooting himself in the face was nicely done. But otherwise, the comedy just felt forced and out of place. And I'm still scratching my head as to why. I loved Pineapple Express (2008), written and directed by the same Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg. And Pineapple Express was a great example of a comedy-action movie that also happened to be a stoner movie, and came out perfectly on all fronts.

Image from schmoozequeentv.blogspot.com

The only way I can come to terms with the non-grooviness of The Green Hornet is the fact that...well. It wasn't a ridiculous stoner movie. It was a high budget action film with some larger than life action scenes and some badass Kato karate. But most of all, it was a superhero film, and with a superhero film, there are certain things you want to feel: fear of the bad guy, the badassitry of the good guys, and the overall sense of justice being served. And I felt none of the above. The Green Hornet was a crybaby loser, Cudnofsky (who I'll get to in a second) wasn't taken seriously by anyone, and I definitely felt no justice being served. Except for the first fight right after he's severed the head of his father's statue. Besides that...they were basically killing a lot of people who didn't need to die? They were killing small time crooks who may have never killed anyone. Not rending them unconscious, not handing them to the cops, killing them. And they did the same with...just about everyone else. Which didn't make them seem like the villains. It made them the villains. Even the ways in which they put down the real villains of the movie seemed a little cruel and unnecessary. Having a hero movie where justice doesn't feel...justified...is like having a Samuel L. Jackson movie in which his only part is to read The Little Engine That Could to retarded kids. It just plain doesn't work.

Welcome to Hollywood, land of bad career choices.

Enough of that. On to the acting. Seth Rogen was Seth Rogen, love him or hate him. I happen to just like the fact that a normal looking big-boned fella can now act in roles such as playboy. I think Hollywood's starting to come a long way with its "hunky men" stereotype--believe it or not, girls like a guy for his personality. Now if only I could say the same about Hollywood's women. On the flip side, we have Cameron Diaz, or Lenore Case. I will give Lenore props in that she only dates the sidekick once and doesn't go all the way with either of the men in the movie. Nor does she seem interested in them. Good for her! But if you're going to make a woman "the brainiac" and want her to be a strong character, it'd be a good thing to, somewhere along writing the script, actually insert a personality. I understand that Seth Rogen is better with the bromance and not so much with the writing strong chicks, but someone give him a hand here.

And then there's Kato, played by Jay Chou. Me, being the non-comic book reading freak I am, immediately went to Cato, who just happened to be inspired by the Green Lantern's sidekick. Who knew? First, I'm going to say that the Kato in the trailers was way more badass than the Kato on screen (seriously, am I crazy, or was the plot in the trailers an entirely different movie?). With that, he was a really awesome character. Even if he got pushed around way more than he deserved. And, honestly, I didn't see any sparks flying with him and Britt Reid. The bromance wasn't really doing it for me. Mostly because Britt Reid was a major dick, and Kato deserved much better. His marshal arts were the bomb, his technology work was amazing, in fact, by the end of it I was kind of hoping he'd get the girl because at least then he'd be getting something out of this very one sided relationship.

Of course, I've saved the best for last. As you may or may not know, I was practically salivating when I learned Christoph Waltz was to be the villain in a superhero movie. Christoph Waltz + guns + over the top action? Sign me up. After all, he's the ultimate villain, how could they go wrong, right? What I did not except was the most inappropriate casting choice of all time. How do you cast Christoph Waltz as the pathetic and desperate for attention Chudnofsky/Bloodnofsky? I'll repeat myself: how do you cast the most charming and subtly frightening villain in recent years as the non-threatening, non-charismatic, washed up hasbeen? The logic just does NOT compute to me. With that said, I will add that Christoph Waltz, being, you know, the genius that he is, does pull his own weight to make the character believable. The man's a professional actors, and as painful as it is to watch him turn off the charm, he does it well. And what Waltz adds to the character is an amazing--and yes, frightening! For the love of god, you have an intimating character, play it up!--lack of compassion and complete and utter apathy towards human life. In fact, he quite enjoys killing, and he'll do it just to lighten his mood, thankyouverymuch.

Image from www.eatsleepgeek.com

To bring this to a close, the movie had a heck of a lot of potential, and I feel like most of it went down the drain. But I will give it this: it was a fun movie, it has laughs, it has decent action, you won't feel like shooting yourself in the foot after seeing it. Just don't expect an Academy Award on this one.

...One last thing. I will say this. For the gear heads out there? I may not know one car from the other, but I am aware that this film was packed with many sexy sports cars. About that big budget? 

Terminator 4: The Only Script Written In All Caps.

TERMINATOR: SALVATION (2009)

Image from http://www.pinktentacle.com/

We all know the Terminator series. Even to all those who haven't seen it, they're aware that the only reason no one messes with California is because the Governator will seek it's enemy target and destroy without remorse. I personally did a marathon night of the first two, skipped the third one because I was told it was crap, then ran to the theaters to catch the fourth. By that point, I was married to the series. I was right there with them. But after seeing the latest addition to the Terminator franchise...I come away with mixed feelings. 

The thing is, it's problematic. It doesn't fit in neatly with the rest of the series, it feels disconnected, and it distorts some major facts we just spent three movies (or two, if you're me) laying out. The characters are off, the tone just doesn't jive...this isn't the future we've really been waiting for. It's so insane, I felt the need to give a play-by-play to sift through the nonsense. 

Terminator: Salvation (2009) follows two main strains: the John Connor (Christian Bale) story and the Marcus Wright (Sam Worthington) story. The John Connor story, frankly, I don't really give two shits about. Which is a shame, because child John Connor was actually pretty badass for a kid actor, which is saying a lot (I'm looking at you, young Anakin. Where did they find that boy, a Cheerios commercial?). The point is, in this movie, John Connor is a dickwad. Remember when Christian Bale flipped his shit? Now imagine that for two hours. Yeah. All John Connor did was scream. At everyone. There was something about a device that could basically pause robots, something about a bully on a submarine, but I couldn't really hear the plot over Christian Bale frothing at the mouth.

The second (and handsomer) storyline revolves around Marcus Wright. The best part of the movie is really the first five minutes, in which they threw all their movie making brilliance and then farted around for the remainder of the movie. It's a concise yet poignant scene in which Marcus Wright, the human, is trapped in a holding cell, waiting out his last few minutes before he gets the chair. He's visited by Dr. Kogan, played by the ever amazing Helena Bonham Carter, who pleads him one last time to donate his body to the noble cause of Cyberdyne. Dun dun duuun. He finally accepts her offer on one condition--a kiss. I don't really think Dr. Kogan complained much. So Marcus Wright is donated to science and...wakes up some 15 years later. Unaware of just about everything. He spends the next 20 minutes of the movie doing a sexy walk. I wish I was kidding. Actually, I don't. His walk is quite sexy. He could have shoved a dead rodent in his mouth and spun in tight circles burping the alphabet for 20 minutes and I would've watched it. It probably would've been a more cohesive movie too.

I digress. Marcus Wright stumbles upon a very young and very Russian Kyle Reese (Anton Yelchin), who doesn't really do older Kyle Reese any justice. Instead of being the badass we know, he's some loser who's holed up in this abandoned building uh...just because? No real reason why he's there. And he's got a sidekick black little girl mute, so they really jammed all their minority quotas into one character. I'll run with it. All goes well until Kyle and the sidekick get harvested by the robots. Yikes. So Marcus Wright is off to save the day. Or...you know. The loser and the sidekick black little girl mute.

Nothing sets the mood like a good near rape experience. 

Meanwhile, he runs into some resistance chick called Blair Williams (Moon Bloodgood). She attempts to be a badass chick, but kind of fails. Miserably. Especially since--oh--wait--the only problem girls ever seem to have is that old men in the middle of bum fuck nowhere are trying to rape them. Riiiight. Between her and John's useless as shit wife who he probably beats on a regular basis (all apologies, Bryce Dallas Howard), this movie doesn't really do much for anyone even remotely feminist-minded. In any case. After almost getting raped, unsuccessfully trying to defend herself, and having to wait for Marcus to beat the shit out of some smelly old homeless men, Blair decides what she really needs is to try to get in Marcus' pants. Because that's what I would do after almost getting raped too.

The ridiculous does not stop there. She brings her new crony home with her--AKA, to the Resistance headquarters. Which, credit where credit is due, leads into one of the most well done scenes in the movie. The tension rises when the man who we know to be a robot but who doesn't know himself attempts to walk through a mine field specifically designed to go after robots. Whoops. 

Needless to say, it does not go well for him (though I kept thinking what a crap Resistance they would be if he actually made it across). He gets dragged into the hospital wing where they tear him open and find out...holy crap. Heeee's a fucking robot. Well, except for bits of his brain and his human heart--looks like someone's been watching a little too much Wizard of Oz. Which leads to a nicely acted little emotional breakdown from Marcus. So what does John Connor do? I'll give you three guesses. That's right, kids. He yells and barks and froths at the mouth. I'm telling you. Patrick Bateman had fewer anger management issues. Granted, you know, I get it. He has issues with the robots. But I'd be a heck of a lot more sympathetic if he hadn't spent the last hour snarling like it was a full moon. 

Terminator...Salvation? 

So they chain Marcus up, thinking he's some new species of undercover robot, even though he just told them he's on a personal mission to rescue Kyle Reese (John Connor thinks he's after John Connor. All machines must be out to kill John Connor. John Connor is not paranoid. Don't look at John Connor like that or John Connor will eat your face!). But Blair is still trying to get to Marcus' metal parts, so she frees him and helps him escape. John Connor of course chases after them. John and Marcus confront each other, and have a conversation in the middle of a dangerous robot-worm filled lake that they literally could have had ten minutes ago if John had just stopped barking for two seconds. Marcus basically informs him that he'll get into the land of robots, find Kyle Reese, and help John Connor bust him out. Despite the fact that they carry on a perfectly calm conversation, as soon as they agree to it and everyone's happy, John starts barking again with, "WHAT ARE YOU?" Really, John? Homeboy is putting his neck on the line for your future father and you're going to show your gratitude by snarling? Allllright then. 

Skip-jump past a relatively badass John Connor scene in which he hijacks a robot motorcyle, and Marcus slips undetected into Skynet. Meanwhile, John is making his own break in to Skynet. Whoa...wait. Okay. Two seconds ago, Marcus agreed that he would help you get inside. And now...you're doing it yourself? Alright. Well. That's a giant fucking plot hole. Anyway, Marcus gets inside and has a Bladerunner moment where he confronts the hologram of our friend Helena Bonham Carter who in short, tells him he's completed his mission in drawing John Connor into Skynet, well done, Robotman. Fux. Marcus rails against his maker, rips out a chip in his head, and scrambles to keep a handle on his humanity, running to make sure he hasn't singlehandedly fucked over the human race. Go Marcus!

Which is just about when the movie makes a very sudden turn from mediocre crap to Holy fucking awesome. The machines blink and bleep...the red smoke fumes...a thick metal door explodes in John Connor's face, knocking him flat on his back. The epic music starts up, and...

Calves of steel...

...Chest of doom...

...

ofux.

That's right. The Terminator is BACK, bitches. And he's come to reign some asskicking hell on John Connor. I cannot tell you how fucking happy I was to see the Governator's bulldog mug. This is what the Terminator series is suppose to be about. Arnold Schwarzenegger making the human race (and occasionally the Skynet minions) eat dirt. And he owns the screen. So sure, it's a cameo that doesn't even last that long since his skin gets torn off more or less instantly, but the machine powers on like the beast it is. 

John Connor, in his infinite wisdom, grabs Kyle Reese and makes him tag along, even though he's...you know. Being chased by the fucking Terminator. But hey. Adult son/teenage father bonding moments really don't get any better than near death experiences. And despite the fact that John puts up a damn good fight...the Terminator fucks him in the ass. And who comes to save the day but...a man who needs to die for a noble cause. Or a machine. Marcus and the Terminator have an epic machine vs. mostly-machine battle, because there's nothing better than two super strong badasses going at it. But...alas, Marcus has a weakness. The Terminator uses the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique or something of the sort and Marcus falls to the ground. Terminated. Tear. 

And now John Connor's back in shit. But thanks to a bit of unfortunate construction design, some tool (get it? Tool?) decided to put the molten lava vat right next to the pipe of freezing ice air. And after being melted and frozen, the Terminator finally comes to a halt, but not after clawing a deep scar into John's face. Yes! Something canon! We have a origin for the scar! This movie just got knocked up a couple cool points. With that, John Connor scrambles back and tries to revive the hotness, because he realizes that Marcus Wright is really the only reason this movie works. So he hits him in the chest a couple times and...lo and behold! Marcus is revived! Just in time to watch the Terminator come back to life and stab John right through the chest. Bummer. Marcus finishes off the Terminator and carries John Connor to safety. 

And now our insane and nonsensical journey comes to an end. John Connor is on a poor excuse for a hospital table, his heart failing. Everyone's crowding around the soon-to-die John, weeping, looking pitiful, and it's like The Room 2. There are hugs all around, sentimental moments between John and Reese, a little "don't forget how awesome I was" to his wife, Kate. And then...finally Marcus steps forward. And the scene runs something like this:

"Kate..."

"You can have it."

"Your bod?"

"My heart."

"......yay."

We don't blame you, Kate. We really don't. So Marcus, the badass fucking machine, decides to give away his heart to save John. Hold on. They have a machine man on their side. Isn't he really fucking valuable in fighting the Resistance? Isn't there some old lady or any other partially dead injured Resistance fighters who would be more than willing to give their heart for the great John Connor? What the fuck? I get that it's exciting that we get to mirror the beginning, sacrifice and all that, but really. What the fuck?

And then, how could we forget John Connor's heartfelt thank you. Oh, wait, you don't remember it? Maybe that's because it didn't exist. That's right, Marcus just gave up his life so you could have your stupid heart and survive, but hey. I'm pretty sure a manly stare-off from your pedestal on the hospital bed will suffice.

Finally, the grand finale of failure. It ends with one of those: I know you thought this movie was pretty epic, but it was actually a minor battle in the war against Skynet. Wait...what? You're kidding, right? Way to end on a bum note and make the character's sacrifices and the entire battle the movie set up seem like grains of sand. Well. I'm glad I spent 11 bucks to see a small event in the war against Skynet. Give me a little more bang for my buck.

In the end, this movie is ridiculous, nonsensical, out of the loop with the rest of the franchise, but when you get passed all that crap...it's just a fun fucking movie. I wouldn't have done a play-by-play for it if it wasn't so much fucking fun. It's a perfect movie to watch in the wee hours of the morning when you're winding down with a couple friends.  The action is good, and the...uh...the Terminator's small cameo is good...and...um. The action is good. Next question. 

A Bad Guy Who Just Needs Finger Paint.

THE EXPENDABLES (2010)

Although I hesitated to review the movie, it's clear that this should have been one of the badass-est movies of the year. Instead? Well. I believe the title speaks for itself. The best part of this movie was the vague and mysterious promotional poster, a skull exploding with various threatening weapons and a list of enough big action movie CLASSICS. Enough to make every 13 year old boy (and 20 year old dyke) wet themselves with pure testosterone joy. Unfortunately, the mystery in the poster wasn't simply a ploy to drag audiences to the movie--it was the movie. Big names, big guns, and very, very little else. I'd give you a plot, except there was none. Something about mercenaries, an evil American capitalist, and a small town shitty Spanish country. The end.

Normally, I would not have a problem with this. I'm a James Bond fan. It's how my brain works. However. I do request a little something something. A little plot. A little character development. A little attention to dialogue. A little bone for my dog. The Expendables promised much and delivered zip. It felt more like a family reunion for all the aging action movie heros than a movie. Granted, to be fair. The big names were fun. Very fun. Schwarzenegger's appearance had me clapping, even his last "vote for me!" line was deliciously contrived. Bruce Willis also warmed the hollow place in my chest where my heart should be. But both had very little purpose to the actual film, clearly tossed in there as a last second cameo. Mickey Rourke, on the other hand, filled his small role with life and breathed some energy into the sterile script. He played a tattooist with a heart, boarding on born-again romantic, but dashed with a war torn cynicism. He was able to both straddle the line between rough and tumble and sensitive--a man with muscle and tears.

Now for the Expendables themselves. Stallone has to take the marbles out of his mouth and give Angelina Jolie her lips back. Jason Statham I love to death, thanks to every Guy Ritchie film ever made, and while he can do little wrong in my eyes, his character didn't have much of an arc and his romance troubles seemed a bit...dare I say it...expendable. Jet Li nearly saved the movie--his character was entertaining, witty, and simply fun to be around. Not to mention, bad fucking ass. Thank you short people. Lundren reminded me of Jaws from The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker. Crews was every token black man in every action movie combined into one. Austin and Couture were...wait...who were they? That's right: completely forgettable. Granted, Couture had the potential to be a cool character, if he only had more than 3 lines.

"What do you find when you look up 'plotless' in the dictionary?" "What's a dictionary?"

Credit where credit is due. Everyone knows that each and every one of these actors has the potential to be larger than life badass. They wouldn't be in this movie if that wasn't so. However, the script was clearly an unfortunate afterthought. The film circles around the tightly knit group of mercenaries called The Expendables. Which would be a kickass premise in itself, if they only KEPT THE EXPENDABLES TOGETHER. C'mon, Stallone. Really. You have a cast of about a dozen extremely cool cats. And yet they're only all together in...maybe a couple scenes? They're constantly split up into groups of 2s or 3s, giving the group a disconnected feeling. The A Team isn't called "The Hannibal and Face Movie". It's about the A Team--the four main characters are almost always together, even if they've pulled each other aside for a one-on-one conversation. It kept the feeling of brotherhood running thick through the film. Here, however, I couldn't care less for half the characters. And I got the feeling the rest of the crew couldn't care much either. I understand that in their badassitry, they'd forgotten how to have emotions. But really. Don't leave all the crying to Rourke. Let's give some familial feelings to the rest of the gang.

Lucky ball.

End rant. The plot. RIGHT. The mercenaries who aren't at all tight knit end up getting buttfucked by their man Gunner who betrays them and joins the bad guy instead (who would've thought, what with them being such a friendly group at all. Maybe Gunner just wanted more hugs!). The bad guy is an American businessman James Munroe, played by a relatively creepy Eric Roberts. Munroe is manipulating General Garza, the dictator of anonymous typical South American country, into doing what he wants when he wants it and raping anonymous typical South American country for every dollar it's worth. The Expendables take the job to assassinate said hopeless Garza (who's really a friendly dictator, if only he didn't have the Americans on his back). While taking the job, Stallone (let's call it like it is, there were no characters here, just actors) runs into the beautiful Giselle Itié. She happens to be the dictator's daughter, Sandra, even though she's rebelling against Daddy so she can be the female Ché. And she paints pictures we suppose somehow symbolically represent her anonymous South American country. We also want to see her take off her clothes (which, spoiler alert, we don't. But more about that later). Munroe doesn't like the daughter. The daughter's a problem. The daughter PAINTS. This is the last straw for Munroe. He really flips out when he sees her paintings. Why? My theory is he never got enough finger painting in as a child and this is really the last straw. In any case, he takes revenge on Sandra's paintings, and the Expendables come in to save the girl, kill the bad American, and blow some random shit up.

Sandra. Let's give her a moment. What the fuck was up with her? I would have been fine with her character if the movie had just picked a role for her and ran with it. She appears in the beginning as nothing more than your typical movie sexpot. She's hot, she's clearly a shoe-in for Stallone's love interest, the stage has been set. But as the movie progresses, she turns into something else entirely. She takes a few hits for the Expendables, shines on in her rebellion, and even takes a good waterboarding. Alright. I'm on board. Waterboarding is cool. If she can take that, she must be kickass. Right? Well, no. She's actually a helpless femme fatale who can't really do anything else for the rest of the movie except get herself constantly held ransom. Alright. So what happened to the chick who was able to withstand a waterboarding two seconds ago? Finally, at the end, she parts ways with them as those she's "one of the guys". No sex, no nakedness, not even a kiss on the lips from Stallone. You know what--fine. I don't care about a soppy love interest. I respect Guy Ritchie for the fact that he knows well enough to leave actually romance OUT of a good bromance action movie. However, Stallone just can't make up his mind about what he wants to do with Sandra. Does he want to fuck her, or does he want her to fuck everyone else up? Is she going to be badass or is she going to be the token set of breasts? I'm fine with either, really, I am. Just make up your mind, because after I got no nipples and no chick-with-firearms, I'm left unsatisfied on both fronts.

To conclude: Not enough sex, not enough bromance, and not enough badassitry for what had so, so, SO much potential. Someone fix this.