Jarret's FFF: The Most Awful Gatsby

November 23, 2013:  Good Lord!

I’m less than six minutes into the new Great Gatsby movie and I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed such all-out crap! Who, on god’s brown earth, gave this bozo Baz Lurhmann permission (let alone money) to make a movie. It’s a crime!

I never would have imagined anyone could begin with so much and turn it into so little. This is an outrageously laughable production, beginning with a painfully comical performance by Tobey Maguire, who I actually like, but who did his turn as Nick Carroway like a bug-eyed worm with the social poise of Lou Costello. He looks like he’s trying out for an elementary school acting part and some near-sighted silent film actor is directing him and keeps telling him, “Be broader! … Broader!!” It’s horrendous.

I haven’t even seen Leonardo DiCaprio yet, but I honestly don’t want to. And whoever is playing Daisy Buchanan—I don’t even care what her name is—couldn’t be more boring. And I could forgive her if she were drop-dead gorgeous, but all my expectations were dashed in the first millisecond of her reveal. (While I wouldn’t object to being seen publicly with her, I’m trouble to introduce her as my secretary, or perhaps my hairdresser.)

It’s astounding to think how much money this travesty cost—how much Larman was given to waste. (I won’t even do him the meager respect of spelling his weird name right.) I consider it a joke and a crime how anyone could build such carefully architected stupidity and put it before an audience. He could have followed Maguire to a urinal and filmed it and it would have had more merit as both a story and a work of art.

Please understand, while I’m a great fan of the book, it’s not the raping and ruining of that novel that bothers me. Truly, I’m ready for a movie-ing up of the thing. It’s fine. But this is just such a weak example of filmmaking, and simply stings of his over indulgence and tacky style over substance. Really, it’s got me dumbfounded, and I’m not usually dumb, as we all know.

Now, I consider his Romeo and Juliet a colossal piece of kaka. How that ever got made I’ll never know. But what’s so amazing about Lorhman is this bizarre reverse gift he seems to have to make his actors looks completely ridiculous and amateurish. When DiCaprio finally made his appearance, it was stunning to hear him unable to decide on what accent use—a poor conglomeration of Louisiana, British and Brooklyn, all geared to supposedly capture a character from the Midwest. Ouch! The tragedy goes on … And again, the way this amateurish—Yes, AMATEURISH! Completely AMATEURISH DIRECTOR—does his dips and cuts and special zooms and exploding computer-graphic silliness, it’s a wonder that any self-respecting actor would work with him.

Then there was the party scene, with the big bass beat rap music and the 20’s characters gettin’ the yo-yo-yo out. Puh-lease! I can just hear the sycophants standing around praising Blerman’s genuine genius. It makes my stomach hurt. “Oh, Buzz, you’re brilliant! Oh, the way you combine the sensibility of the 20’s sensibility with your own sensibility … It’s just … so … so … so sensible!”

The word pointless is thrown around a lot these days, especially by people who read my Blah-ugh! But I think we have a new dictionary definition of word following the release—I think it just came out; I don’t know; I don’t care; I don’t follow any of it—of this spectacle. Why any time was invested in this monumental crap will join the multitude of twisted human endeavors that will forever baffle me.

But don’t take my word for it! Rent the DVD from the library for free and watch the first seven or eight minutes and try to keep from laughing when Muguire bugs his eyes out … I dare ye!

Jarret's FFF - "The Defiled - We Are All Meat"

August 8, 2012: Just when you think you've seen it all, a movie like "The Defiled - We Are All Meat" comes along and reboots your reality. Actually I'm somewhat hesitant to even call it a movie. It's almost more like a bit of strange videotape that someone shot and managed to wrangle onto a DVD. You see, I found this very alluring zombie compilation at my wonderful local library called the Zombie Horror Fright Fest. Four movies! How can you beat that, and from the titles and pictures on the back -- "Woods of Terror" and "Fast Zombies with Guns" among them -- I really thought I'd found something remarkable. (We won't even START on trying to understand WHY my library stocked this weird item, but to me it's merely a credit to their awesome video section and its kind caretakers, who are among the few, rare people who treat me with any respect, despite my inability to ever get anything back on time.) Anyway, it was promising enough at first -- an appropriately moody black-and-white piece that began with your quintessential Romero-esque zombie stumbling through the woods on the wooden legs of a British punk rock guitarist, the way they do (the good zombies, I mean). He even looked like the classic first zombie in Night of the Living Dead, with the tall grey crewcut, casual jacket and face like my mailman. It wasn't long, however, before it all took a strange turn, beginning in about the first 90 seconds when apparently what was this guy's zombie family joined him at the side of a pond to lap up some water and grunt at each other. I mean, it couldn't have been dumber, despite the good make up. His son was more dog than zombie, and proudly bearing his one X'ed-over eye, he hobbled around on four legs and kind of barked. The daughter, meanwhile, made the most incessantly annoying whining sound, like Felix Unger. Things picked up at about Minute 12, however, when, after a sizable amount of zombie pantomime that reminded me of Raquel Welsh in One Million B.C., or Ringo's wife Barbara Bach in Caveman, the father and son find a pre-wrapped dead body in a tent for some reason, which we never actually get a good look at, but they bring it home to this odd structure in which they live, which is kind of some sticks tied together, and they eat it. This seems to be a key pay-off moment, and the director -- who I believe also shot, edited, wrote, produced and possibly acted in the film -- seemed to really relish the moment of some classic old-school zombie wolfing down. This includes one rather sexual moment, when the father zombie is kind of erotically having his wife suck down some stuff out of a very phalic sausage-like part -- I have to assume the intestines. Anyway, the film really gets entirely weird when the dog boy awakens in the middle of the night to see his father violently humping Zombie Mom from the back. It really brings disturbance to some new levels, and that's not even taking into account that the mom is on the verge of dropping her zombie baby. So then the next morning, when you're expecting the son to rape his sister -- and I'm still not entirely sure he DOESN'T, because these clothes are thrown down, but it's not clear whose they are -- the sister starts making that incessanty whining sound and the Dog Son begins losing his guts or something -- some parts come out of him, and the father tries to stuff them back in, but they won't go ... So then the daughter whines even more and she dies. It turns out that the dead body they ate was spoiled with some toxic waste or something that the guy had in the tent with him. And then, right after the wife dies, the mutated baby suddenly pops out. I'll be honest: this is as far as I got before my daughter came home and I got scared she'd see me watching it. In fact, I felt like I had the worst kind of demented porn or something in the player, and I fumbled it out with a wealth of fearful shame. Of course I wouldn't want to give the ending away, but at the same time, I'm not completely sure I want to know what it is myself. Still, if you're looking for a disturbing piece of crap with sick sexual zombie undertones, this might be the picture for you.

Jarret's Frank Film Forum (FFF) -- A Review of "Chicago"

September 28, 2009: I've long known I'd make an excellent film reviewer, but since no one has asked me -- and heretofore my voluminous opinions have been squandered on a polite but distracted general public I tend to find cornered in video stores -- I thought it perfect to bring my cinematic wisdom to this Blah-ugh! forum and start setting the record straight about some of mankind's more noteworthy movies.

I thought I'd begin with "Chicago" (2002) -- a saucy but over-produced musical that relies heavily on the ghosts of Bob Fosse (and even Ben Vereen, who may or may not be dead) to carry what often felt like an excuse to get Catherine Zeta-Jones on film in her black stockings before she blew up like a balloon from child-bearing. Don't get me wrong -- I kind of liked it (even though I watched the better part of it on fast-forward). In particular, I found the "They Both Reached for the Gun" number mesmerizing, with Renee Zellwigger (or whatever the hell her name is) proving a perfect dummy, and Richard Gere demonstrating quite impressively that his fine singing is a far better feature to his persona than that gruesome genitalia he's forever displaying on film. (Of course, I could never really bash someone who works so hard on humanitarian causes as he does, and that fact alone makes his genitals that much bigger in my eyes!)

Zellwigger, meanwhile, (or someone close to her) must answer for what has happened to her once-cute face. She looks like she was stung repetitively by bees. It's very disconcerting, and I only hope that whatever she's allergic to, she'll stop eating it immediately.

Still, despite her strangely squished face, she carried herself admirably through this picture. In particular, the last number where she dances with Zeta-Jones, she inadvertently steals the show, making the Welsh beauty's jerky, haphazard efforts seem like she's the senior member of a mother-daughter act. Please understand, I think Zeta-Jones is a particularly great actress, but this vaguely self-serving effort was a slight embarassment, and her time might have been better spent staying in and spoon-feeding her increasingly decrepit senior husband. I was reminded of the awful dance moves put on by Natalie Wood in "West Side Story," and how the hype of Hollywood sews the Emperor's New Clothes and erroneously convinces us who's "good." (Fosse would have slapped his forehead good and hard over her performance.)

Lastly, simply by virtue of her awful name, "Queen Latifah" shouldn't be allowed on a marquee, and while her voice is considerable and strong, her acting is so wooden I had a hard time differentiating between her and a desk in the same scene.

All told, it's okay, but mostly I'm glad I watched it so that I won't have to watch it again.