Colorful, garish, lot’s of cool puppets but beyond dumb. A couple sketch comedy dudes try to salvage it and it’s visually pretty creative but the script is such a stinker. Lot’s of gags about how bad the gags are, unsettling comfort with fillicide and uxoricide. I could write better dick and fart jokes on no sleep. This wannabe Meet the Feebles turkey (if I was Thankskilling 3 I’d say, “see what I did there?”) The peice de resistance is an Evil Dead 2 parody. The turkey muppet loses his phallus and replaces it with a chainsaw, he looks at the camera and says, “gravy”. It’s a texturally arresting little piece of hate. Honestly I don’t recall the 1st Thankskilling being much better though.
Reflections in the river, giant ships coursing to new land. A wonderous, arty Pocahontas movie. More sci-fi in it’s lyricism than that other Pocahontas movie Avatar.
1st nations indie comedy. A sobering testament to alcoholism. Great buddy road trip movie.
Mental illness handled as quirk, it’s unbelievable & sappy yet relatable. Will she get the guy? Will the old days be remembered? Downey Jr. straddles the line of charming and obnoxious. It’s probably worth revisiting for those looking for an autumnal holiday feature
First saw it at the Pompidou, Paris; abreast one of those dippy basketball fishtanks of Koon’s, my first lover by my side, drunk on my early 20’s and travel.
Later on, I “owned” it, as a file in a folder or deep in the folds of an internet I never bothered to comprehend, some proto-icloud; already two laptops back.
Most recently I identified it in a bar, San Fransisco, while a home-girl’s new guy bought more rounds and told tales of incalcuable violence.
I always liked it. A bear and a rat climb the alps and look down at stewing banks of nimbus. I am totes the bear. Or maybe, the rat.
Super dark Who Framed Roger Rabbit cgi. Weird child molestation undercurrents. Colin Farrell meet-ups in seedy alleyways with abused boys. Cute echindas & naked mole rats. Lotsa wizards shouting, “Evaporota!” Hollywood A-listers transform into other A-listers.
Cuddly, neo-noir, racism parable. The mouse has still got it. The other night I dreamt I met Jenny Slate who voices the sheep secretary. We were on the freeways soft shoulder, it was insect buzzing dusk. I asked her out for coffee and was honored she agreed. I confessed I knew her over creamer, “from comedy” I said as women in mumus milled about sugar caddies. She told me I was over-compensatingly macho in my compliments. I’m sure that’s good advice. Thanks Jenny!