Elegy: Dustin did not particularly like Elegy, while conceding that it was a decent drama. He nevertheless thought it was very boring. He said as much in his review. He wrote: “Elegy is full of strong performances, a capable script, beautiful cinematography, and it raises some thoughtful issues. It is, undoubtedly, a good film, but it’s so somber, meditative, and so agonizingly full of itself that it’s hard to get excited about it. It’s a great movie to put on your Netflix queue. Just make sure to remove it before they send it to your house.”
Punisher: War Zone: Conversely, Dustin dug Punisher: War Zone while conceding it was nevertheless an awful film. He wrote: “If there is a female equivalent of Jason Statham, I think it must be Punisher: War Zone’s director, Lexi Alexander. No. She doesn’t take off her shirt. And she’s not secretly gay. But by God, she understands the Statham movie appeal, and she seems to know how to distill that magic and spray it back onscreen like a drunk, feral dog that marks its territory in blood and kidney chunks. Seriously: The 2008 edition of The Punisher is awful. It must be worse than the 2004 edition — there’s no way it can’t be. It is a pap smear during your menstrual period on your birthday awful. It is poop-chute streptococci dumped onto celluloid. It is hard-core bad. But it is also hard-core awesome, like getting whipped repeatedly by a guitar axe during a Pantera solo.
Twilight: Another goddamn Dustin review. He didn’t like Twilight either, but why should that be a surprise? He is older than 17 and has a penis (allegedly). He writes, “It’s intoxicating. And I don’t mean that as a compliment. It’s intoxicating like convenience-store malt liquor — you get a hangover before you’re even drunk. It’s addictive. Like crack cocaine, only you don’t get to experience the high, you just skip straight ahead to the blackout and wake up in a stranger’s bed with a matchbox car six inches deep into your rectum. But you can’t turn away. There’s nothing you want more than to get up and walk out, but you’re drawn in — like a moth to an industrial-sized fan — stuck wriggling helplessly in your seat, knowing that your body is slowly being dissected by a crushing tedium. Twilight is train-wreck theater, only the promise of a derailment, carnage, and mass dismemberment never comes to fruition. The train chugs along slowly toward a cliff with no rails, but the cliff never arrives.”