Happy Landfill

I saw Vantage Point over the weekend. If you have not seen this movie and are considering it, I recommend spending your money someplace else. Like saving towards a root canal.

Vantage Point was one of the more tedious cinematic experiences I’ve endured in recent memory. It was awful. Sitting through it was not unlike experiencing the five stages of grief:

1. Denial: “I can’t believe I just paid ten dollars for this. What? There’s another hour left to this?”
2. Anger: “How was this movie greenlit? I want my money back. Fuckers.”
3. Bargaining: “If I don’t walk out of this movie, can I get a consolation prize, at least? Like a ticket to another movie that doesn’t blow?”
4. Depression: “I bet someone in the audience is enjoying this movie right now. And that makes me really sad for the human race.”
5. Acceptance: “I guess I’ll sit through the rest of this. But I won’t like it. And I’ll write about how awful it is.”

There were just too many things wrong with Vantage Point that I wouldn’t even know where to start. Almost every minute felt forced and was completely unrealistic—so much so that the suspension of disbelief usually required for something like 24 or Lost did not suffice.

Perhaps there was a silver lining to the 90 minutes I wasted on Saturday. Matthew Fox’s attempts at Spanish dialogue were hilarious.

I know I’m a week late, but I must say that I’m ecstatic the strike is finally over.

Now there’ll be real programming to watch soon. Instead of Dance War: Bruno vs. Carrie Ann. Seriously, what the fuck was that? Worst show ever.

It’s about time I started making use of the $17.99 I pay monthly for hosting.