This is Why You Can't Get a Date with The Beautiful People
I have made a concerted effort to review as many of the small independent films as humanly possible, which means I sort of have to drift through a lot of cinematic dreck to bring to your attention what films I may. As a critic, we’re often accused of purposely selecting films that are fucking horrid in order to write more luridly cruel reviews. That we tend not to like anything just for the sake of being contrary.
Let me assure you: I want to like every movie. The films that I’ve been reviewing in the name of arthouse attention are films that I see and think, “Hey, that could be pretty good.” I long for the day when I can find a little film that nobody’s heard of and herald it. I want to find an undiscovered gem and give it unto you all.
However, there are some really fucking horrible movies being made. Sometimes, there’s a reason why these independent films are not being promoted to the mainstream. And it usually doesn’t have anything to do with the content or issues being presented. They’re just fucking BAD. But there are varying degrees to bad.
I offer you two trailers that were presented to me before watching a truly puerile piece of dreck that I’m going to savagely abuse later this week for your sick edification. Make no mistake, these are both terrible films. But there are many flavors of fuckery.
Take exhibit A, Stripped Down. It seems to be some sort of tragic black comedy, not just starring but HEADLINING the marquee Ian Ziering. I’m pretty sure this movie knows it’s incredibly cheesy, but I’m not quite sure. So watch this and tell me if this is taking itself seriously:
Wow, right? That was made in 2006, but it’s FINALLY getting its theatrical release, and not a moment too soon, huh? I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be stupid funny.
Then we have the reason why independent films get shit on. The following movie I feel is the heralding of the apocalypse. You might chuckle or think “Awww!” Count the sheer number of dramatic pauses and silent glances in the FUCKING TRAILER. It manages to shoe horn every stereotypical arthouse cliche into a taut couple of minutes. Oh, but I didn’t even tell you the title for this dreadful relationship dramedy: The New Twenty. Tremble, motherfuckers, tremble:
If the actors were ten years younger and standing around a lake, it’d be One Tree Hill. Theeeese prob-lems matter!
I may review some shitty flicks. But goddammit, I’ve got a line.