Spoilers May Exist, Here.
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Snakes on a Plane. There could have been forgiveness for this movie if it wasn’t so terrible to begin with. We all came in with expectations of Samuel L. Jackson tossing off one-liners as easily as he tossed snakes off a plane. We did not get that movie. Instead we got some long story about some FBI witness who saw something he shouldn’t have and now I’m asleep long before a plane appears, never mind snakes. It felt like a spiritual sequel to the Brandon Lee/Ernest Borgnine vehicle Laser Mission. In the end it was an object lesson in how marketers summon audiences for a strong opening week.
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Repo! The Genetic Opera. Some people enjoyed this movie. They liked that its music was so lousy it was instantly forgettable. They liked how its redundant storytelling snuffed out any possible life from its ridiculous scenarios. They liked its good actors and their phoned-in performances, and its rather more numerous terrible actors and their hamfisted performances. Some people enjoyed this movie. I emphatically did not.
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Riding in Cars with Boys. Oh sweet Jesus, I don’t even want to remember why I hate this movie so much. Wait, I remember a scene where Drew Barrymore is trying to get her boyfriend off heroin in what was supposed to be a whimsical, even hilarious montage. Oh, he pukes on the bed before she could bring the bucket over to him, how precious! And at the end, when she realizes that she’s riding in a car, with a boy (like the title!) except the boy is her father, and that her father is the boy who will always care about her, forever. Nice sentiment, horribly sentimental.