Every once in awhile a movie comes along that’s so adequate, so pretty good, so epically, insanely, moderately entertaining that your hair blows, er, ruffles in the hurricane, er, mild breeze of the cinematic thunderdome of fairly good flicks. Prepare to be WHELMED, motherfuckers. And no, sadly, that is NOT an as-yet-unheard-of sexual position.
Ender’s Game is an adaptation of Orson Scott Card’s 1985 novel of the same name, and follows Andrew “Ender” Wiggin on his journey through a militaristic future society hell-bent on eradicating any alien threat to Earth by any means possible. Ender is recruited and groomed to be the best and last hope of humanity, set to command the final fight in the shadow of overwhelming odds against enemies both obvious and those less so. Will he find the strength to be true to his selfiest self? Will he defeat the evil within and without? Will Keanu Reeves ever master that impossible dream of a second facial expression?
Considering the source material, I’ve given Ender’s Game my better-than-the-book badge of honor that few movie adaptations ever achieve. The same flaws in the book translate to the screen, yes, but the film manages to temper the worst of them and come out on top with an engaging, entertaining, relatively spot-on Sci-Fi flick. And if bitches love anything, gentlemen, it’s a good flick.
The beauty in the beast of this lies with the casting. It was damn near flawless, with a mix of big name talent and relative unknowns rounding out the picture with pinpoint precision of purpose. Harrison Ford was an intense, focused laser beam of terse hotness, making my daddy issues stand at full attention the entire time. What? You guys don’t name your nipples? Lame.
But the real gem here was Asa Butterfield as Ender Wiggin. Relatable, engaging and able to take from page-to-screen a character, frankly when I read the novel, I didn’t particularly like or give two Taco Bell shits about, and turn it into something watchable… When you can go toe-to-toe with Harrison-motherfucking-Ford in a knock-down-drag-out verbal rodeo and ride that bull the full eight seconds? Keep an eye on this kid, Boozers, he’s gonna be a contender.
And speaking of flaws from page-to-screen, they were about as obvious as Calista Flockhart asking for a side of air with her anorexia. The pacing in the film reflected that of the book, trying to pack way too much into way too short of a running time; making the film feel rushed and glossing over a lot of detail and depth, leaving Ender’s Game a shallow, superficial dip into the Sci-Fi pond.
The changes that made Ender’s Game so relatable were also the changes that fucked over any potential it had to be an impactful look into the psychology of child warfare (instead of the bland, one-note ode to consumerism it turned out to be). Much like that bitch who gets white-girl-wasted at a circus and rubs cotton candy on her tits before getting lifetime-banned from Ringling Brothers (whatever, motherfuckers, clowns are creepy ANYWAY), this was an entertaining, diverting, piece of fluff that won’t be making the trip into your long-term memory anytime soon.
Part of the bone I have to pick with book-to-film adaptations is editing. Yeah, Ender’s Game, in a masterful stroke of genius, got rid of extraneous plot details and even an entire, cumbersome, subplot involving Ender’s siblings and yet STILL managed to try and cram way too much into the movie… Leaving little-to-no room for creative expl(wh)or(e)ation, making this a paint-by-numbers, follow-the-bouncing ball exercise in tedium. Events happened in the sequence they needed to for almost no reason other than they had to. Friends, enemies and more fell into place easily and with nothing other than the minimum effort required. And Sir Ben Kingsley was magnificent in his role as Ender’s mentor, though absolutely WASTED upon this film. And not even the fun kind of wasted. Ultimately the “twists” in Ender’s Game weren’t all that twisty and the “shockers” weren’t all that shocky.
I’ve been more electrified the time I plugged my hairdryer into the wrong European outlet. And, sadly, again no, this is not a euphemism for my vagina. I knew I was in trouble twenty minutes into this bitch when my most exciting thought was “Blah blah blah… What’s it like to masturbate in space?!?”. Not to mention the dialogue got a little heavy-handed at times, illustrated beautifully by the last line of the film:
“I’ll travel the universe with a precious cargo… Because I have a promise to keep.”- Ender Wiggin
Unless that cargo was cocaine and his promise was to shove it up his nose, cunt, I mean count, me out.
Ender’s Game… Good enough for a fuck. Pass on the cuddle.
Take a Drink: anytime bitches get their zero-gravity swerve on.
Take a Drink: whenever you hear “Ender Wiggin”, “Ender”, “Graff” or “Anderson”.
Take a Shot: for every space launch. Bonus shot: when motherfuckers blow space chunks.
Take a Drink: every time you hear an army’s name, ex. “Dragon” and “Salamander”.
Shotgun a Beer: When Ender blows his load. You’ll know when.