And the award for best culturefuck goes to…

Maybe I’m just bitter that Bruce Springsteen’s awesome tune from The Wrestler didn’t even get a nod, or maybe I’m pissed about Slumdog Millionaire being the new bukkake. Probably both.

More like “SUCKdog Millionaire!”

After seeing Slumdog Millionaire (“Mill-a-naire!” as that adorably dot-headed Regis Philbin wannabe excitedly cries all the time), I turned to my mother, my date for the evening, and asked her what she thought of the movie. “It was awful!” she cried, and with a furrowed brow I asked her why. “Because no one took care of all those poor, starving children. How could they just leave those poor Indian children there to die? They need to give the money to the children. This is ridiculous.”
“But what about–”
“No, just-just no. It was awful. I can’t believe that with all the talk about the movie, no one’s talked about that.”

Okay, so her reasoning doesn’t quite add up, but the more and more I thought about it, the more I started to really hate Slumdog Millionaire. It’s not that it’s a bad movie, per se; in fact, I thought it was phenomenal (at least, at first), so I’ll admit that the (absolutely brilliant and clever) portmanteau pun of the title above is really just me being facetious. Hell, I’ll even admit that I structured the previous sentence the way that I did just so I could use the word “portmanteau” in it (which I did. Victory!). So as long as I’m being honest with you, I would implore you to be honest with me in return and just admit that, while it was certainly a good film, Slumdog Millionaire did not nearly deserve the ridiculous amount of praise, adoration, and bukkake that it received.

So why did it win so many awards (aka, everything)? Because Americans, especially wealthy Hollywood moguls, are completely enamored on all things “cultural.” We look down at every non-white civilization in the world, and not necessarily in a condescending way; it’s the same way we look at a puppy dog. “Aw! Look at those Indian people with their brown skin and crazy cloth patterns and beads! Ooh, and the way they worship cows? How adorable! Who’s my little Slumdog? Yes you are!” It’s fucking kitschy! We’re too blinded by adoration for these delightful indigenous stereotypes to notice things like, oh, how come every single question Jamal was asked on the game show ran chronologically parallel with his life? OH HAY WELL THAT’S JUST A BIG COINCIDENCE. Right. Just like the coincidence that an Indian actor from a wealthy upper caste would ever fly randomly into the middle of the slums by helicopter, right where our protagonist is swimming in poop (unless I’m just being terribly ignorant on this like a real American?)

Most importantly, do we think that Danny Boyle was at all aware that is movie consisted almost entirely of flashbacks-within-flashbacks? If any other film maker had tried this stunt, he would have been crucified. And sure, the idea of revealing through flashback how Jamal knew every answer was a clever framing device. It also became an incredible tedious crutch after the millionth time it was used. Allow me replay the entire movie for you in broad strokes:

• We are from India!
• Here we are watching you on TV giving answers on a game show!
• How could you know the answer!
• I’ll tell you how I knew the answer!
• Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
• OMG FLASHBACK
• Terrible stereotypical happen in the Indian slums!
• I’m in love with a sexy sexy Indian girl who is devoid of all personality or character!
• My brother is a total douchebag!
• OMG! Somehow, a minor detail of the scene coincidentally correlates with the question I was initially asked in the first-step flashback in the present!
• More heartbreak, angst, and further complications!
• Benign authority figure in the present begrudgingly believes me while fat authority figure in the present is a total dick!
• DRINKS CHAI TEA
• We are from India!
• Here we are watching you on TV giving answers on a game show!
• How could you know the answer!
• I’ll tell you how I knew the answer!
• Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
• OMG FLASHBACK
• Terrible stereotypical happen in the Indian slums!
• I’m in love with a sexy sexy Indian girl who is devoid of all personality or character whom I met briefly over 12 years ago, but love knows no boundaries!
• My brother is a total douchebag!
• Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
• OMG! Somehow, a minor detail of the scene coincidentally correlates with the question I was initially asked in the first-step flashback in the present!
• More heartbreak, angst, and further complications!
• Benign authority figure in the present begrudgingly believes me while fat authority figure in the present is a total dick!
• DRINKS CHAI TEA! Wait, I thought I drank this already!
• We are from India!
• Here we are watching you on TV giving answers on a game show!
• How could you know the answer!
• I’ll tell you how I knew the answer!
• Cue glittery 70’s harp glissando flashback music!
• OMG FLASHBACK
• Terrible stereotypical happen in the Indian slums!
• I’m in love with a sexy sexy Indian girl (*now with a sexy sexy scar!) who is devoid of all personality or character whom I knew for all of 2 months about 12 years ago and I am still completely infatuated with her even though my brother is a total douchebag!
• OMG! Somehow, a minor detail of the scene coincidentally correlates with the question I was initially asked in the first-step flashback in the present!
• More heartbreak, angst, and further complications!
• Benign authority figure in the present begrudgingly believes me while fat authority figure in the present is a total dick!
• DRINKS CHAI TEA
• We are still from India!
• Completely contrived and stereotypical Hollywood ending cop-out that rivals even 28 Days Later!
• Exploitative tongue-in-cheek dance sequence supposedly created as an “homage” to the Bollywood films that the movie otherwise barely references but pretends to!

I read a review somewhere praising the movie for, “The best use of flashback I’ve ever seen.” This person must have written that review after just the first one, when it was still new and exciting, and not after the credits where its tiresome repetition turned it into little more than a cheap, over-glorified and wonderfully forced plot device. Such glaring errors and plot holes were, of course, easily overlooked by the feel-good nature of the thing (which I personally felt great about while watching), and the fact that it featured those cute widdle India people and their silly cultures. Aw, look! That God has tusks! And that one has lots of arms! Isn’t that just precious?

Well, at least the Indian chick was sexy. And that scar! Rawr.

Blue Man Poop

I fucking hate comic book movies.

Not to say that I don’t enjoy them — as an avid comic book reader, I’m often filled with fanboy excitement over them — I just hate that the tag of “comic book movie” has to exist. I’ll expand upon this in a later post (read: tonight, after I play the Y the Last Man drinking game), but the biggest problem with comic book movies is the weight of the “comic book” stigma that holds them down and forces ridiculous and arbitrary expectations and/or limitations upon them.

The point is: Watchmen. It was pretty good. Maybe not worth going to bed at 4am last night when I had to be at work at 9:30 this morning, but still pretty good. I enjoyed the whole thing. Was it perfect? Nah. But then, I didn’t expect it to be, because such an expectation would have been entirely unreasonable. It had plenty of problems (most of which can be blamed on its existence as a “comic book movie”) but all in all, it was an enjoyable experience.

Of course, your initial inclination is probably to ask me if the movie lived up to the hype that surrounded it. If, in fact, this is your inclination, then you, my dear reader, deserve nothing less than a laurel, and hearty skullfuck, because it’s stupid people like you who perpetuate all of the crap hype and conversation that surrounds these kind of films, and cause every other shitbag journalist with an ass hole to write his or her review on the film.

Like me.

What follows is a basic, spoiler-free review of the film from a technical standpoint. If you want to skip right to the spoiler-laden review, by all means, do so. But the rest of this stuff is important, too. Because I wrote it.

The problem with these other reviews is that they fall into two different categories, neither of which are capable in providing readers with an effective critical or, well, categorical opinion of the film. The first is fanboy douchebags who are only concerned with the film’s faithfulness to its source material. Please consider this simple fact: the source material is paper with 4-color printing. The movie is celluloid with sound. Therefore, at the purest and most basic root of the problem, the film is unfaithful to the source. According to the transitive property of equality then, your opinion is completely fucking useless. Moving on, the other category of reviewer is the kind who is not familiar with the source material, and are resigned to review the film based solely on the the hype surrounding it as generated by reviewers in the former category. These reviewers discuss the film as it relates to things they heard about the source material, and the reviewer is intellectually incapable of perceiving the film as anything other than a “comic book film” (or other such cheeky nerd subgenre). Neither one is informative, or even useful to the casual movie goer, who simply wants to know, “Should I go see this movie?”

And to that I would say, “yes.” Watchmen is, I think, an enjoyable movie for anyone to see. If you go into it expecting a “comic book movie,” you might be a bit taken aback (as one of my friends was, specifically by the dogs, and rape). For the fanboys who wonder how well the movie adapts the source material — pretty well. Zak Snyder does a really good job of telling the BASIC story of Watchmen in a film medium. I say “basic,” because Watchmen’s existence as a comic book is a crucial part of Watchmen as a comic book; much of the power, appeal, depth, and complexity of the story is inherently linked to the medium through which the story is told. Take Chapter 5, “Fearful Symmetry.” This chapter follows, amongst other things, Rorschach’s psychological examination, which is, coincidentally, full of Rorschach tests, which are, coincidentally, symmetrical blots of ink. The entire chapter of the book is actual symmetrical itself — the layout, coloring, and action of first and last page (and 2nd and 2nd to last, and so on) mirror each other; not perfectly, of course, as that would make for a chapter that was pretty redundant, but it’s there. And the exact center of the chapter is the two-page spread in which Ozymandias is attacked by his would-be assassin. You wonder why the graphic novel is so revered? That’s why.

Simply put: the story of Watchmen is replicated quite well on the screen. The acting is (mostly) solid. The production design is great, albeit different from the book. The concept, themes, and overall big idea of it are suggested, or at least referenced, but otherwise absent, due to the aforementioned complications. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing; it is what it is. I could write a short story about a ballet (or vice versa), and while it might be interesting, maybe even brilliant in it’s own right (especially if I wrote it), it obviously wouldn’t be the same. Elvis Costello once said, “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture,” and I think this idea is relevant here.

Now for the spoiler-filled analytical part.
**************SPOILER SPACE ZOMG***************
Throughout the film, fans of the book will appreciate Zak Snyder’s fine attention to detail, a trait of his that he has worn like a badge in his previous adaptations. Things that weren’t able to make the cut are at least given a winking nod of acknowledgment in the background — the homosexual relationship between Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis, the little black kid reading Tales of the Black Freighter, even Ozymandias’s latent homosexuality (the much-revered opening credits sequence features a shot of him outside of Studio 54 with David Bowie).

However, there are a number smaller details omitted or overlooked that are at least as important as the ones that were included, if not moreso. Consider the character of Rorschach: heroic and well-intentioned if not entirely sociopathic (sociopathetic?) and mentally unstable, Rorschach is so far gone that he actually believes his mask to be his real face, and the identity/skin beneath to be irrelevant. This is made clear when he is first arrested, and cries “My mask! Give me back my face!” and is later expanded upon (as in the book) during his psychological examination and the prison riots that follow. Up until the point that he is unmasked, however, Rorschach refers to his mask as a mask, and his face as his face. Even in the quote above, he first calls it a mask, and then his face. While it may sound like I’m being nitpicky about the difference between “Saw Dan and Laurie…they didn’t recognize me without my mask,” and “Saw Dan and Laurie…they didn’t recognize me without my face,” it’s still a very important character detail, no matter how subtle. It illuminates just how fucking crazy Rorschach really is, and neglecting this fine subtlety reads as lazy on the part of screenwriters David Hayden and Alex Tse.

Eighteen seconds from now I am criticizing the movie’s poor handling of Dr. Manhattan’s nonlinear existence. Sixteen hours and twenty minutes ago I am disappointed with the film’s inability to portray him existing outside of and beyond time. It is November of 2006 and I am fascinated with the way in which Dr. Manhattan engages in multiple conversations at different times and begins to confuse them and respond to things that have not been said yet (I am particularly intrigued by the potential literary value of such a clever foreshadowing device). Three Months, fourteen days, seven hours and six minutes from now, Zak Snyder is remembering that he totally forgot to make the best use out of what is arguably one of the coolest storytelling devices that was handed to him by Watchmen. Four seconds ago I am skullfucking Zak Snyder for this mistake.

Also, the sex scene between Nite Owl and Silk Spectre was absolutely ridiculous. It was so painfully comical that it took me out of the film entirely. Rather than romantic role playing to the tune of “Unforgettable” (I think? Something sultry and jazzy), it was much more of a “bom-chicka-bow-wow” super hero porno parody, backed by Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Double you tee eff!

The most controversial part of this adaptation of Watchmen was, of course, the ending, which involves a giant Cthulu-esque artificial alien squid creature being teleported into the heart of Manhattan and utterly annihilating it and the rest of the tri-state area (Hi, Mom), thereby creating the illusion of an impending alien invasion and uniting the rest of the world in peace against this common enemy. As many people know, this ending was changed, if only slightly. While Ozymandias’s vessel of mass destruction/world peace is different, the idea remains the same; creative integrity is more or less retained. While I’ll be the first to admit that the book’s VD (vessel of doom) was a little absolutely fucking crazy and came totally out of left field — that is to say, I can kind of understand why they might want to change it — I found the new device is entirely underwhelming. I’d liked to turn things over to culturefuck’s private consultant on all things social and political, Adolf Hitler:

Thanks, Adolf. Now, perhaps this was just another one of the many differences between a graphic novel and a film: in the book, Ozymandias says, “I did it 35 minutes ago,” and the chapter ends. Turn the page to begin the next chapter, and you’re faced with something like 7 pages in a row of horrific, bloody aftermath. It’s shocking and repulsive, and really drives the point home. In the film, however, we are treated to a lengthy, effects-laden sequence of our destructive friend as it destroys Manhattan. The only aftermath that we witness is when Dr. Manhattan and Laurie teleport into the rubble and soot. The still-boiling remains of festering human flesh are nowhere to be seen. Great for my stomach, not for the potential impact of the scene. (hee-hee. Seen. Scene. I am so poetical!) On that point, a few of the bloodier scenes in the movie (specifically, Silk Spectre and Nite Owl fighting in the alley) looked like they were stolen from the cutting room floor of Kill Bill.

(Also conspicuously missing was a lack of sympathy for Ozymandias in the end. The book contains a brilliant scene where he and Dr. Manhattan are left alone and he asks, “Did I do the right thing, in the end?” Dr. Manhattan replies, “End? Nothing ever ends,” and immediately teleports away, leaving Ozymandias alone to dwell on his actions. Manhattan’s line is spoken instead by Laurie, thought credited to him, but finds itself in an entirely different context)

In the end, Watchmen was a pretty good adaptation of a great graphic novel, and until someone finds a way to make a film adaptation of a comic book or graphic novel that deconstructs the comic book adaptation while manipulating and exploiting the medium in other inimitable ways, I’ll keep it. Or at least I’ll NetFlix the “Ultimate Director’s Cut” DVD that comes out at Christmas.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this:

Dear M. Night Shutthefuckup

Dear M. Night Shyamalamalaman,

Are you really that desperate? No, I think you are. In a Hail Mary throw the likes of which even John McCain’s campaign team couldn’t even imagine, I see that you’ve decided to cash in on the success of Slumdog Millionaire and cast Dev Patel as a replacement for Jesse McCartney (what?) in your newest movie, The Last Airbender. What’s the twist: that he’s actually Indian? While I understand that, in Hollywood, capitalizing on such things is a common practice, I still have difficulty comprehending why on earth you still exist, and who the fuck keeps giving you money for these celluloid abortions. That person is like the Joseph Goebbels of your career, which makes you fucking Hitler.

Speaking of Hitler, I’m sure that you’re at least somewhat familiar with the philosophical debate of whether or not a time traveler should kill baby Hitler (in fact, I’m kind of surprised you haven’t used that as a plot line, with the added twist of “HE’S ALREADY DEAD”). Well, M. Night Shlamalamadingdong, if it were up to me, I would probably go back in time and kill you. I know it may seem harsh, but bear with me, and please, feel free to take it personally. You see, M. Night Shitalot, if you had died after Signs*, for example (in which your only serious mistake was actually showing the horribly CGI’d aliens**), you would have gone down in history as one of the greatest film makers of all time, a true poet of the Silver Screen, lost to us before his time. Your artistry would have become the stuff of legends, worshiped and analyzed by academics for years to come and taught in film schools for its meticulousl subtleties and the strict attention to detail that brought these fantastical but all-too-human stories to life.

Instead, you gave us shit like Lady in the Water, and if I had actually paid to see that instead of sneaking into the AMC Loews Boston Common movie theatre that Wednesday afternoon in the summer of ‘06, I would demand my $8.75 back. With a bullet.

Quite frankly, there is not a single person on the planet who would suffer if your life had been tragically terminated 6 years ago: you would enjoy insurmountable posthumous fame, and the rest of us wouldn’t have to suffer through your stupid fucking movies. It’s a win-win scenario. How’s that for a stupid fucking twist?

But alas, such a feat would be impossible, given our current technologies, so I guess the final, ironic, most shocking twist of all would involve you actually making a decent movie again, a concept which is about as unbelievable as killer vegetation. All we’re left to hope for is that The Last Airbender (and you’re remaking a Nickelodeon kids show? Really?) is in fact your last, well, air bender.

Oh no. Did I just ruin the ending (of your career)?

*Dude, Mel Gibson doesn’t even believe that the fucking Holocaust happened, and yet somehow, he’s got more integrity than you do.
**Some detractors might disagree with this statement, and insist that the whole “water” twist was lame. While I thought you could have done better, I understand that you didn’t want to blatantly rip off of War of the Worlds, so I at least commend the effort.

Zombies and Zombibilitiness

Renowned futurist/precog/feminist hack writer Jane Austen has once again foretold of the coming apocalypse. No, not Bollywood remakes. I’m talking about motherfucking zombies!

For those unfamiliar with this majestic literary work, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies is a re-telling of The Odessy in which the beautiful daughter of a wealthy Victorian family finds a way to resurrect herself as a zombie in order to be with the man she loves, the organ player in a mildly successful rock band that was unfairly overshadowed by “Pet Sounds” and “Sgt. Pepper’s” and still hasn’t really received their due. Also, the girl’s father is an alien. FROM THE FUTURE (of India). It’s a delightful comedy of manners that is loved the world over.

Austen’s writing has long been hailed by critics for its ability to predict the future with alarming accuracy (see Senseless Acts of Terrorism and Sensibility, or Mansfull Park), and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies is just the latest in this line of eerily precognitive coincidences. As of two days, the much-feared Zombie Holocaust has finally begun, in a quaint Texas town with less than 1,000 residents known as Austin.

As of eleven o’clock this morning, FEMA has cordoned off the area and secured it under a bubble to prevent the infection from escaping and turning the rest of the United States into brainless zombies. They have also enlisted in the aid of Dustin Hoffman to act as an official spokesperson, after Associate Deputy Administrator Robert Shea made an off-color comment acknowledging the containment of Zombie hordes as a higher priority than the overall well-being of black people. “We have received some criticism over our handling of the disaster in New Orleans, but we can assure you that we acted only in the best interests of the country, just as we are today. Zombies are an even greater threat to this country than those who were affected most tragically by Katrina, and I promise that FEMA will do everything we can to ensure that we don’t repeat the same mistakes twice.”

Good one, Bob-o.

More information on the Zombie Outbreak in Austin, Texas can be found here.

And now, puppies.

Cleft Palate is the New Gunshot Wound for Gangstas

I don’t know what’s worse: that Joaquin Phoenix quit has acting career to become a rapper, or that Casey Affleck (whom I actually respected before this) is directing a documentary about Joaquin’s rise to cash money and hoes. Casey, ever the eloquent speaker that is, was quoted as saying, “I don’t think that [Joaquin's] kidding. He’s got music and stuff.” I assume the inspiration for the biopic that’s already under production must have Phoenix’s highly praised performance in “Walk the Line,” the Johnny Cash biopic. Unfortunately, Johnny’s probably rolling over in his grave right now, sending his ghost to haunt Joaquin Phoenix as retribution for sullying his good name.

The Ghost of Cash was hard at work on Friday night, when Joaquin Phoenix (sporting an epic beard of Fleet Foxes proportions. Or maybe he’s just cashing in on the whole Matisyahu thing?) made his bumpin’ hip-hop debut and proceeded to FALL OFF THE STAGE LIKE A TOTAL DUMBASS. Watch, and enjoy:

I think you, uh, crossed over that line you were walking, buddy. Yeah. Look like producer Sean “P-Puff-Diddy” Combs has his work cut out for him.

Supposedly, Joaquin Phoenix was playing in a band called “The Lady is a Tramp,” with members of Spacehog, but I can’t find any proof of this anywhere on wikipedia or the interwebs which obviously that it can’t be true. Oh well.

Of course, it’s entirely possible that this whole is an elaborate prank. I mean, I would call Bruce Willis’s failed musical career a joke, but that’s not quite the same thing. Hey, at least Joaquin Phoenix didn’t do a cover of a song by Iggy Pop on the “Rugrats Go Wild” soundtrack. “Here comes Johnny in again/With liquor and drugs/And a fast machine/He’s gonna do another strip tease. ” Really, Nickelodeon? Really? It looks like we have a new competitor for our initial question. Which one really is the worst?

Casey Affleck

– Watch the best video clips here

Bruce Willis

Or
Joaquin Phoenix

Well, faithful fuckers, I will let you decide the final verdict.

Girls on Film

My girlfriend hates me. Not in a mean way, just in a general loving hatred kind of way. She likes to remind me daily that I am one pretentious fuck and that only me and a few of my friends are amused by or even care about, well, stuff like this.

She’s probably right.

More often than not, when I receive a new NetFlix in the mail (sign up today! Starting at $4.99 a month for our really shitty offer, but getting good around $8.99 a month which is still a good deal!), she gives me one of these endearing-but-scornful eyerolls that she does so well. In my mind, curling up together to watch a movie (especially in the dead of a Boston winter) can be sweet. But not if that movie is a film, which, as my darling lady friend often reminds me, mine usually are.

Film? Movie? WTF?

Granted, there are movies like Koyaniquatsi or Un Chien Andalou ( “Got me a movie/I want you to know/Slicin’ up eyeballs/I want you to know,” as so immortalized by The Pixies) which have their, uh, artistic merits, thanks to the, uh, inherent brilliance and progressive exploitation or manipulation (…yeah) of the medium through which they are expressed (Liberal Arts College Bullshit Seminar 101), but even I realize that these are hardly passable as date movies. But again, as the point of this whole blog is concerned, there are plenty of movies that go beyond the cookie-cutter mold of big-budget action flicks starring Vin Diesel (3 Fast 3 Furious on DVD Tuesday!) but don’t veer quite as far into the abstract and avant-garde as the aforementioned few. Most of these movies are what I would categorize as “good.”

See there? I called them “movies.” Not “films.” Sure, the overall idea and intention of these terms is similar, but they aren’t entirely synonymous; we’re not exactly indulging in the art of culturelovemaking here, are we? Of course not! Where’s the fun in that (somewhere discarded in a condom flushed away, I’d imagine. Too soon?)?

Pop Quiz: When choosing between Love Actually and The Cremaster Cycle (which my roommate has been unhealthily obsessed with lately), which is more likely to get you laid?

In general, it would seem like any movie on my NetFlix queue that did not receive a wide release in MultiPlex (such as Fido or Amelie) would be considered a “film.” But what about 12 Monkeys? Or Milk (which, by the way, was excellent)? I would certainly call these “films” if you were asking me to put things into two different categories using a delightfully arbitrary set of criteria. Hell, I could go through every DVD I own and tell you which ones could pass as “films” and which ones would simply be “movies,” but that wouldn’t mean I was bullshitting you with self importance any less, especially because those that I would categorize as “films” (if you so asked) would still undeniably be “movies.” According to the end-all-be-all source, the Almighty Wikipedia, “‘Film’ is more often used when considering artistic, theoretical, or technical aspects, as studies in a university class. ‘Movies’ more often refers to entertainment or commercial aspects, as where to go for fun on a date.” As with most things on Wikipedia, this fun fact is without a footnote or reference, which basically means some self-gratifying asshole like myself who actually thinks these kinds of arguments are worth dedicating your thoughts to just decided to put it up on the “Film” Wiki because it made him feel good about himself. He was making a contribution to society (and inadvertently, this blog. Which is society. So really, it wasn’t all that inadvertent).

Recently, my girlfriend signed herself up for NetFlix as well (refer a friend!), most probably so that she’ll always have an alternative whenever I suggest watching one of my stupid “films.” She spent the better part of an afternoon last week building up her queue which she later showed me, and what did I find? Why, a number of movies on her queue were movies that I had already watched from my queue, and about a third of the remaining films overlapped! She pointed out a movie to me (exactly which, I can’t recall) that she said she was particularly excited for, and after reading the synopsis and cast/crew list, I replied, “But that’s exactly the kind of pretentious ‘film’ shit that I always watch and you make fun of me for! How is that any different?”

She looked at me with the sweet, patronizing-but-still-oddly-comforting eyes of a dog owner whose pet just ran into a screen door. “Yeah, but…your movies suck.”

D’oh.