Some of you may wonder where the hell I have been for the past year or so, most of you don’t give a shit. Needless to say, this is the first time I have access to a VPN, so this may be my only chance to communicate to the outside world for awhile.
Have you ever listened to someone describe a night of heavy drinking to you? The story usually starts off sensibly: your friend describes his day, the time, the occasion, and so on. He’ll go on to describe the type of beverage that was consumed, the people that were there, maybe even an incident or two.
However, halfway through his rendition, the storyteller becomes a little hazy, struggling to piece together the story. As it transitions towards the end, you find yourself not only puzzled about the logical progression of the story, but also incensed that you spend the past several minutes listening to the person repeating to you, “You should have been there brah” because he doesn’t even know what the fuck happened. As you wait impatiently for the story to conclude, your friend starts apologizing for the lack detail, continually repeating “I was so drunk” like it’s a good excuse for telling a shitty story. Finally the soap opera ends with a generic conclusion like “somehow I made it home” or “I totally passed out.”
Yeah…that can pretty much summarize The Rum Diary.
So I was driving the other day when I was caught behind a rusty Saab with spinning rims. Despite how hilariously disgusting it was, I wasn’t laughing at this Saab, as the driver believed cruising at a steady 10mph on 30mph road was somehow appropriate. I attempted to pass the car several times, but, miraculously, I could not get ahead of the driver. I laid on my horn, screamed myself hoarse, I even threw my Anthony Robbins cassette tapes at the vehicle, yet nothing could move the car along. After driving the entire length of the street, the car finally turned into a garage. I slammed on the accelerator to get a good look at the driver, however the only distinguishable features of the person were bristled white hair, a wrinkled forehead and thick framed glasses. I continued to yell long after leaving the driver behind.
So what does this have to do with Twentieth Century Fox’s Rise of the Plant of the Apes?
Both scenarios involved poorly refurbished versions of the original product, went unnecessarily long, had repeating moments of sheer frustration, predictable endings, and should have laws created to stop this type of situation from reoccurring.
It is my pleasure to introduce our newest contributor, Frank Mayo.
When I asked Frank to describe himself for me, his only response was that he “comes in all shapes and sizes.” Frank is an old timer, despite his actual youth. His experiences in life render him the perfect candidate for the job I gave him, which will mostly be reviewing movies. Frank graduated from Syrit College in 2005.
Frank is dedicated. He is ruthless. He is insane. He has no self-respect whatsoever. Frank doesn’t have time to respect himself, because he’s too busy disrespecting every institution we hold dear. Whether it’s the next movie from Friedberg and Seltzer, or his own sex life, there is no truth Frank is afraid to publically dismantle.