With Romney taking on America’s no-good, tax-dodgin’, health-care expectin’ 47%, Mrs Michelle doing the majority of the sweet talking and everyone trying to figure out just what a ‘legitimate rape’ actually is, there’s never been a more perfect time for a slicing satire of the USA’s governmental boxing ring. The Campaign isn’t it, sadly. But who needs game-changing home truths when the dog from The Artist is being punched in the face?
BARBRA STREISAND *does dance*
Spicoli tries his hand at directing again. How fancy!
After Little Fockers it’s gonna take A LOT for us to trust him again.
As a rule, sellout films usually contain a colon and/or a number. We’re looking at you, Speed 2: Cruise Control. Yet, the definition of a ‘sellout’ is tricky, because producers are very good at making shit smell like roses, and before you know it you’re on the set of National Treasure: Book of Secrets. When you see a film and think, ‘what the devil is Globey McOscar doing in this?!’ we’ve got the three reasons behind their decision to sell their soul.
And where was Season of the Witch? Nowhere you’d like to take your mum, certainly.
Like watching a rhino bathe in pure, unadulterated Jack Daniels, it’s heartbreaking to see such delicious potential go to waste. Little Fockers attempts to shake the final dregs of comedy from its dried-up franchise, but its brief moments of light only serve to make us long for the days when its actors had material worth their while.
Snipe London
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