Take a Drink: for every cross-dimensional transport of people, places, and/or things- GET IT THE THING.
Do a Shot: for each agonizingly earnest pep talk by Dr. Franklin Storm.
Take a Sip: anytime you spot Sue Storm’s reshoots wig/Miles Teller’s incongruous facial hair.
Take a Drink: whenever foreshadowing slaps you in the face. Take Two: whenever terrible dialogue does.
Take a Drink: every time you see a quantum hamster ball. Trust me, you’ll know.
Take a Drink: each time a teacher or government agent is a dick.
By: Felix Felicis (Six Pack) –
An Open Letter To Josh Trank In The Form Of A Film Review
Dear Joshua (Josh? J-Dizzle? Destroyer Of Dreams? I don’t know, you pick),
Sometimes being a flash in the pan is okay. Much like one-night-stands or stable, emotionally healthy relationships; not everything is meant to last forever. When I saw the Fantastic Four trailer drop awhile ago my first thought was “Why?” and my second thought was “I should order pizza” because that’s how little I cared about a Fantastic Four reboot (and also how much I actually care about pizza- stay tuned for my Open Love Letter To Pizza, Boozers). Then I heard you were directing it and my thoughts ranged from “Meh” to “Chronicle was decent, this could possibly not blow harder than Charlie Sheen (allegedly *wink*) shoving coke up his nose”. After sitting through the film I have to say, if this wasn’t the most elaborately staged episode of Punk’d ever, then you owe me $8.00 and two hours of my life back, bro.
Fantastic Four is, of course, the story about how a group of four FANTASTIC- (seriously, just give them a chance they’ll tell you) astro-physicist-welding-sciencey teens? Young adults? Cast members clearly in their twenties playing teens?- examples of humanity who Superman up with random powers after an after-hours trip to another dimension where their Lex Luthor gets dipped in evil and tries to destroy the entire world unless they can harness a magical quantum hamster ball and the rest of their ragtag team into some kind of fighting shape to stop him. The only thing Fantastic Four succeeded in destroying, however, were my last remaining functioning brain cells.
The trailers were pretty cool. Hey, have you guys heard of the new R-Rated Deadpool movie with Ryan Reynolds? No? Here, watch the trailer and save yourself time and money better spent on hookers and/or boxed wine for your booze-bra:
Okay, so I saw the PG-13, trailer but this is MovieBoozer so I went ahead and upgraded you to First Class with the RedBand trailer. This, and the fact that I had a delightful meal at Olive Garden (the Denny’s of Italian food but ENDLESS BREADSTICKS so I’m in) pre-flick and didn’t get prison-shanked in line for popcorn at the theater were pretty much the shining examples of this experience plucked from a cinematic turd sandwich.
In retrospect, I went easier than I probably should’ve on Avengers: Age of Ultron due to love of Joss Whedon, but the more I thought about Fantastic Four after leaving the theater, the angrier it made me. I paid money to see something entertaining and what I got in return was a dried out, chopped up, dicey-as-shit, gritty-for-the-sake-of-being-gritty, confused, plotless, joyless negative space where an admittedly goofy but ultimately enjoyable movie should’ve been.
Seriously, finding that red-and-white striped bastard, Waldo, would’ve been easier than trying to decipher the runic symbols on the cinematic map that they kept trying to convince you led to a coherent plot. The characters were shallow and an utter waste of talent (not to mention all the time they probably spent in re-shoots helping this movie to suck even more). I don’t know what you did, Josh (I assume you’re still reading- hang in there, kid, it gets worse) to screw it up so badly that the FINISHED PRODUCT DEEMED WORTHY OF COMMERCIAL CONSUMPTION was more fucked up than 2007 Britney Spears.
If you go into this expecting basic, professional levels of continuity held to the standard of decent cinema you’ll probably come out of Fantastic Four about as confused as the one and only time I went to Super Cuts and asked for a “trim” which resulted in the lady CHOPPING OFF SIX INCHES AND GIVING ME BANGS. I’m still in therapy.
Lack of continuity was so bad it made it into the drinking game with a Spot Sue Storm’s Wig rule. Dear Kate Mara, if you’re reading this letter please know I love you and don’t blame you for falling into this black hole of suck. Keep doing you, girl. That said, Sue Storm (aside from being a bland cookie you couldn’t pay me to swallow) had major, and distractingly bad, cuts between her naturally dyed blonde hair and a wig WITH DIFFERENTLY COLORED LONGER HAIR. I was too busy weeping in the fetal position to notice but a friend later informed me that you can also see a marked difference in-between cuts of Miles Teller’s facial hair. Because I needed another reason to hate this movie?
I’d say that the dialogue in Fantasstic Four is a fucking joke, except jokes are funny and the dialogue in this movie is so earnestly bad you kinda just wanna pat it on the head and take it out behind the shed Old Yeller-style. I transcribed a couple of the worst offenders in this lackluster prison of shattered dreams in-between dated “Yo Mama” and “Borat” jokes whilst groaning out load and banging my head against the wall in the hopes of prematurely ejecting this cinematic syphilis from my long-term memory.
“Victor, don’t do this.”- I can’t remember who said this. Even money on Sue Storm.
“There is no Victor… THERE IS ONLY DOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”- Victor “I Take All My Acting Lessons From Jupiter Ascending’s Eddie Redmayne” Doom
“Aren’t there more of you?”- Lackey watching the Human Torch land at their new digs post finale
“Oh, there is.”- Johnny Storm (“THERE ARE”, IT’S “THERE ARE”- I literally fucking shouted this in the theater)
This movie was pointless. And I’m not saying that in the hipterish “Oh my god life without vinyl and fair-trade alpaca scarves is POINTLESS without my acid-washed skinny jeans MOM HOW COULD YOU LOSE THEM IN THE LAUNDRY?!” way. There was absolutely no reason for a new Fantastic Four movie to be made. No one was overly enthused about the 2005 F4 and subsequent Silver Surfer sequel (but shout-out to my man, Doug Jones, whom I’ve interviewed, for being the Silver Surfer’s motion-capture actor) or clamoring for a reboot. And even those flicks doubled the money grossed in their opening weekends over what 2015’s Fantastic Four has pulled in so far.
– Hipsters, the gift that keeps on giving.
Let’s get real. Fox made this movie purely to pull a dick move and prevent the rights from reverting back to Marvel. There was nothing new or fresh delivered here and I resent the hell out of those asshats for taking a giant Cleveland Steamer on my weekend. You’re lucky I’m taking my adorable 79-year-old father to see Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation tomorrow OR HEADS WOULD ROLL YOU TWATWAFFLES.
Dear Fox, quit pissing away money and wasting our time just because you don’t want another kid to play with a toy you don’t use anymore but still wanna keep anyone else from enjoying you ginormous douchebees.
– Sincerely, – Everyone
The action in this movie is a certified boner-killer. Fantastic Four is so bland, so ponderous, so utterly without tension, or edge, or anything remotely resembling excitement that the film limped along on the same boring plateau from underwhelming beginning to not-as-mercifully-quick-as-you’d-like end. I’ve been more emotionally invested in Katherine Heigl movies. Pick one. Any one. It’s better than this.
The problem with shoving a movie into a blender with assorted re-shoots and lack of coherent vision is you get a narcoleptic black hole of negative space where an action movie should be. The climax was so anti-climactic it ripped a hole in the space-time continuum and the last of my dignity got sucked up into space. R.I.P My Dignity. We’ll all miss you.
Hey Josh, if you’re still reading this, telling people you made a better movie but they’ll never see it is like saying your super hot girlfriend with beer flavored tits lives in Europe. NO SHE’S REAL YOU JUST CAN’T EVER MEET HER.
Fantastic Four was a joyless dry hump against the jeans-clad leg of cinema. I wouldn’t touch this with someone ELSE’S dick if I were you.