Roar!
 -Shark

Instead of doing a review I will just point out the crap that inhabits this film.

- The shark roars like a lion.
- Mario Van Peebles does a Jamaican accent
- The shark swims from New York to the Bahamas in less then 3 days.
- This is the sequel that popularized the tagline “This time it’s personal!
- African Americans feet apparently look Caucasian under water
- The god damn shark is hunting one family, even members that weren’t born yet during the last attack.
- The film tries to suggest that there’s some sort of psychic link between Ellen Brody (Lorraine Gray) and the shark
- Roy Scheider was hospitalized because he busted a gut laughing when offered a cameo in this film.
- In the 4 years since the last film the character of Mike Brody changed professions from engineer to marine biologist, got married and now has a 5 year old daughter.
- The shark is apparently a cyborg as you clearly see mechanical parts coming in and out of him throughout the film.
- The bottom of the ocean in the Bahamas looks incredibly like a swimming pool on occasion.
Ellen Brody continuously has flashbacks to events she never witnessed.
Mike Brody is not nearly alarmed enough when his mother’s prediction that a Great White Shark will show up in the Bahamas to attempt to kill him actually happens a few days later.
- Having sex with Michael Caine will make you forget that you were depressed about your son being killed by a shark 3 days ago.
- The shark is so scary that it can make blood appear in the water when it hasn’t attacked anyone yet.
-Michael Caine is so hot that his clothes instantly dry when drenched.
- Sailboats and sharks can bend space and time in the Bahamas (see ending)
- This shark is apparently not cold blooded, but has nitroglycerin pumping through it’s veins causing it to EXPLODE violently if punctured with ANYTHING taking out any large nearby structures with it.
- The fucking shark roars like a fucking lion.

via Letterboxd [x]

"

This movie.

This fucking movie, man.

This fucking movie is literally just 12 dudes arguing in a room for an hour and a half, and somehow it manages to be one of the very best things I have ever seen. It’s more exhilarating, more exciting, and more riveting than just about anything I’ve ever had the pleasure of viewing, and, as I said, it’s nothing more than a bunch of guys arguing for an hour and a half.

What the fucking fuck.

Want to know why this anomalous creation exists? Want to know why it’s so fantastic? Its script and its characters. We don’t even know the names of these characters, and yet the writing is so sharp and the characters so well-formed that every single one of them feels wholly unique and entirely genuine. Every single one of them from the white-wearing Henry Fonda (gee, wonder what that wardrobe might symbolize?) to that one boisterous bastard who’s more than a little overtly racist to the nasal-sounding fella whose testicles seem to drop a bit by the film’s end – in the span of ninety minutes, every single one of these characters is endowed with their own personalities, strengths, weaknesses, and character arcs that all come full circle by the time of the film’s end.

And that leads me into my next point. 12 Angry Men is a miracle of time management. All the exposition, character development, and plot development that takes place in this film is really quite staggering – and yet all of it is handled in the span of ninety minutes, and never once does it feel like it’s skimping on something or cutting something out. It’s perfectly paced, perfectly edited, and perfectly directed by Sidney Lumet, who, as evidenced later in his career with Network, has quite the knack for making very compelling and talkative films.

Oh, and never mind that on top of that Lumet also manages to work in messages about the imperfection of the legal system, the dichotomy of justice and law, the fragile nature of truth, the unreliability of perception, and even a little bit of racial commentary to go with it.

Seriously, man. This fucking film.

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- A Review of 12 Angry Men on Letterboxd [x]

Source: IMDb

Ah, the Usual Suspects. My personal favorite movie of all time. Don’t let my bias be a fool. Perhaps it’s not THE best movie ever, but it’s one that I never get tired of.

If you like flash and bikinis and breath-taking camera angles, you won’t find them here. Usual Suspects is not an “epic,” and it doesn’t pretend to be. It’s a modestly-budgeted piece by a fresh director (who later went on to do the X-Men movies, a FAR departure).

A great, gritty script, beautifully-acted characters, and what many have called the greatest movie ending of all time, are some of the shining qualities that make the Usual Suspects an object worthy of praise above its humble-looking shell.

The casting is very unusual but somehow fits perfectly. Gabriel Byrne is convincing as the ex-con trying to build a new life when he gets drawn back into his old life. Stephen Baldwin has the role of his career as the smart-mouthed and cocky professional. Kevin Pollak takes a big departure from his usual good comedy self to take a more dramatic role. Benicio del Toro literally takes a one-dimensional character with absolutely nothing in the script to give him character, and he fleshes it out with brilliant mannerisms and memorable mumbling to show incredible acting creativity. Kevin Spacey as we know him was born from this movie. His manners and fast-talking yet shy gimp nature are a treat to listen to throughout the flick.

Without giving away the plot, the best and most genius parts of the movie are the subtleties. After you see the ending, and the truth hits you like a ton of bricks, you have to watch it again. On the second time through, you’ll jump up and point at the screen whenever you spot a clue you missed the first time. It’s even possible to watch the movie multiple times and see something new with every viewing. It’s that attention to detail that make the deceptively innocent-looking Usual Suspects one of the greatest movies of all time.

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The first time I saw The Godfather I was dumbstruck.

And I say “saw,” but I didn’t really “see” anything. The t.v. at my place only had a handful of channels. The rest were scrambled - the color palette flipped into its negative, and the screen distorted by crackles of snow. But late, late at night, when the regular channels would default to test patterns and skeevy infomercials, I would flip through the ghost-channels, looking for something that sounded interesting.

Because that was just it: For all its visual distortion, the sound would come through crystal clear. And the first bit I heard, and I still remember this, was Bonasera’s speech about his daughter. […]

That was enough for me. I spent the next three-odd hours crouched against the screen, ear pressed to the speakers so as not to wake my family, and just listened.

I’m not that scrawny, dumbstruck kid anymore. I don’t have to sniff around for bits and pieces. It’s on Netflix, and all over the internet. It’s DVD, remastered with commentaries and special features.

But you know? Give me a scrambled old TV and a couple hours in the dead of night, and I’d do it again.

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- Review on The Escapist forums [x]