Sometimes you walk into situations in life that you know, beyond a shadow of a Gwen Stefani, that aren’t going to end well; dry-humping the air behind a cop at the DMV, slip’n’sliding on Crisco down the produce aisle at the market, fucking your boyfriend’s brother in his childhood bed (with the Star Wars sheets as Princess Leia watches you and judges you WITH HER STUPID POINTY BUNS YOU LOOK LIKE A PASTRY, BITCH). But I digress. And even if you know that it’ll end about as well as a soul-suckingly pointless Kardashian marriage, you fucking do it anyway. On an unrelated note, I saw 47 Ronin today.
47 Ronin is based, like a Lohan’s twat (read: loosely), on the true story of 47 samurai who set out to avenge a terrible wrong done to their master, all the while relying on a half-breed, Kai (Keanu Reeves), they once despised to aide them in their quest. Battling supernatural elements and a code of honor so brutal you’d be lucky to make it out alive, the ronin soldier on no matter the consequences. Not unlike that time my sister convinced me “perms were totally trending”… On an unrelated note, my sister is kind of a dick. Will Kai finally be one of the bros? Will he ever get to cuddlefuck his lady love? Will Vanilla Ice ever make a comeback? No, the answer to that last one is no.
Keanu Reeves wasn’t terrible. Yeah. Take that to the goddamn bank and cash it. Then again, much like a perfectly cropped, filtered and airbrushed selfie, the outcome, while not entirely displeasing, was so artificial you could practically HEAR the daddy issues telling that bitch to fuck the next guy who tells her she’s pretty. Allegedly. Writing for a friend.
The stoic style, and period setting, of this samurai flick perfectly matched Reeves’ recent-stroke-victim school of acting; tailor-made for long-suffering, soulful gazes and gritty, monotone deliveries. 47 Ronin was, hands-down, classic Keanu Reeves “acting through an epic case of the Taco Bell shits”.
There was also a curious sort of enthrallment happening within, and because of, the harsh grace and honor codes of the time. It lent the film more weight and gravitas that 47 Ronin otherwise would’ve lacked. But that’s like saying Snookie’s “matured” since Jersey Shore. Please. We all know a spectacular train wreck is lurking juuuuuust under her Oompa Loompa-hued bronzed epidermis.
The pacing of 47 Ronin was slower than a narcoleptic circle jerk set to Enya. Let that visual simmer for a minute. Scarred for life? Good. The film was so tedious and repetitive that when I wasn’t micro-napping or gagging on my neighbor’s Sex Panther cologne (so vile 60% percent of the time you’ll never get laid every time), I was looking around for an ice pick to jam through my eyeholes in-between bouts of dry heaving.
If mind-numbingly pointless travels scenes (I’m all for saving the earth and shit but re-using the same filler shot over and over and over again DOESN’T COUNT AS RECYCLING, DUMBASSES) and repeated googley-eyed bullshit between leads (NO NIPPLES WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS MOVIE… I’m not even sure nipples were on set) are right up your alley, consult your physician because 47 Ronin might be right for you.
Are were there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? If this film were a road trip that would be my dialogue, on repeat, ad infinitum. Which is latin for JUST FUCKING GET TO THE POINT ALREADY. 47 Ronin’s tagline was “This Christmas, seize eternity”, which I may or may not have found when drunk-tweeting at the official twitter account for the film. Ironically enough, eternity is exactly how long it fucking took to wade through this cesspool of mediocrity.
This movie wasn’t terrible; it wasn’t even that bad. 47 Ronin was just so aggressively middle-of-the-road, I’m pretty sure motorboating my own boobs for two hours would’ve been a more productive and rewarding use of my time. Seriously. The plot was predictable, the ending obvious, the special effects serviceable yet uninspiring, the acting so-so with a side of alright, the dialogue mundane and so on and so on that the hamster running my brain overdosed on cocaine halfway through just to get out of the gig.
Here’s a few of the gems I remember in spite of heavy intoxication and intravenous drug use:
“Mika will never be yours in this life.”-Random Evil Fuckface
“Then I will go to my death and hope I find her in the next”- Kai
“I knew you’d come for me”- Mika
“Nothing would ever keep me away from you.”- Kai
“I will search for you in a thousand worlds and ten thousand lifetimes until I find you.”-Kai
“I will wait for you in all of them.”-Mika
I’m sorry. Did I trip and land in Twilight: Breaking Yawn Part 6? Sweet fuck, just cooter punch me and put me out of my misery… May have been what I chanted under my breathe the entire time.
The creativity in this fuckfest of bland was on par with what I imagine any conversation ever with Paris Hilton would be like:
“That’s hot.” – Paris Hilton
“That’s an ice cube.” – Me
“That’s hot.”- Paris Hilton
“That’s literally the opposite of what an ice cube is.” – Me
“…” –Paris Hilton
“…” – Me
“… That’s hot.” –Paris Hilton
This movie has been made before and it’ll be made again, so keep an eye out for that underdog-without-a-ghost-of-a-chance going up against that obviously-evil-villain-with-super-predictable-megalomania fighting over that super-hot-yet-super-helpless-bitch-with-a-heart-of-gold coming soon to a theater near you. Or you could gnaw off your own arm and call it a day. Either one would be about as rewarding.
The editing in 47 Ronin was jerky and threw you between scenes and events like a hooker bouncing around in the back of your trunk on her way to a watery grave in that great uncharted swampland Siri found close by that Chinese place you like. But great job glossing over those transitions with clever devices like the ever-so-subtle “title card”. Smoothes over those pesky requirements like “dialogue” and “plot”; couple that with narration dry enough to blow tumbleweeds out my vagina for days afterward and you’ve got a winner! We’re all in agreement that “winner” means “epic waste of time”, right? Cool.
In addition to the editing, there was something slightly off about the juxtaposition of the supernatural and historical elements composed within the film that sat like a lump of undigested gluten-free bagels, percolating in my lower intestines, just waiting for a spoonful of regret mixed with Colon Blow to clean me right out. The concept, in 47 Ronin’s case, was more interesting than the actual execution and resulting product. Not unlike anything Katherine Heigl’s ever been cast in.
47 Ronin… Getting skullfucked by Charlie Sheen would be more fun. Two samurai nipples way, way down.
Take a Drink: every time you see a fox/supernaturally funky eyes.
Take a Drink: whenever you see sorcery/hear “samurai”, “ronin” or “half-breed”.
Do a Shot: for beheading… It’s the new black!
Take a Sip: each time someone draws, fights, or mentions swords/weapons. Rent an extra liver. Maybe two.
Shotgun a Beer: for group sudoku! Seppuku? It’s definitely one of those.