By: Henry J. Fromage –
The last weekend of the year yields quite a cornucopia of seasonal, bad, and bad seasonal flicks to keep the cold at bay.
Nah, I watched the Jason Momoa version. And just like decades of Aquaman lore have taught us, there’s no way this was going to be anything but some truly silly shit. The genius of Momoa/Justin Lin’s interpretation, though, is leaning into that fact and having more fun with the flick than anybody has with any DC property to date. Was it an objectively good film? Nah. Will my butt be in a seat for the sequel? Yeah. Four Beers.
192. Christmas Vacation
Like many a Christmas classic, I’ve never actually sat down and watched this from start to finish (unlike, say, A Christmas Story, however, I haven’t watched bits and pieces of it on TV so often that I can piece together the entire script despite that fact). So it counts for this feature. Overall verdict- a bit overrated due to nostalgia and what Chevy Chase has become/proven to be. Cousin Eddie can still get it, though. Three Beers.
193. The Night Comes for Us
It’s clear that Gareth Evans protege Timo Tjahjanto learned quite a bit, both very good and slightly bad, from The Raid auteur. His big Netflix breakout (well, the first one at least- I’m already excited about the imminent drop of May the Devil Take You) is both overstuffed with plot and characters (the slightly bad) and full to the gills with inventive, bone-crunching, utterly spectacularly gory action that escalates to a truly, gloriously insane degree by the end. An absolute, no-exceptions requirement for anybody identifying themselves as an action fan. Three Beers.
194. The Christmas Brigade
Thanks to Youtube and the utterly sadistic BabyRuth, I now have a worst film I watched this calendar year. Boy howdy is this lethargically animated and dubbed Christmas turd the endurance test of the century. I’d rather watch Shoah immediately after finishing Shoah than sit through this padded hour of holiday bullshit again. Six Pack.
195. Speed Kills
Unlike the last flick, this is exactly the kind of terrible that I love me some of. Putting the vanity into ‘vanity project’ and then metastasizing it into something grotesque and wonderful, John Travolta tells Nic Cage to suck it in the competition of who’s name above the marquee guarantees the most odiferous cinematic trash. At one point the camera cuts from Travolta’s face to somebody the age of his grandson’s body as he tends to a wound. Best comedy scene of the year. Six Pack.