Oh, yeah, I can smell this one a mile away.

One look at the cast photos gives this one away. Maybe it’s the smirks on the actor’s faces, or the surprisingly fake looking costumes–perhaps the clothing catalog poses.

As long as we have the director of The Mummy, The Mummy Returns, Van Helsing (and don’t foget Revenge of the Mummy: The Ride) onboard, there should be nothing to fear, right?

The only thing that would make this movie good is if it was supposed to be stupid.

G.I. Joe:

Have you ever left a movie and said to yourself, “There’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back”? That’s how I felt leaving the theater after sitting through this stupid movie. First off I’m not a huge M. Night Shyamalan fan. I liked The Sixth Sense but I didn’t love it nor did I think it deserved any Oscar nominations. I was not a fan of Unbreakable at all, I liked Signs but it was nothing to rave about. So I went into this movie with very small expectations and I was still let down.

Let’s start with a quick overview. What seems like 19 century villagers won’t leave their small village because there are creatures out to get them. They can’t wear, see, or have any red around because that attracts the creatures. Okay, I can buy that. I like creatures just as much as the next person. But then through a series of events, a blind girl has to leave the village to go get medicine for the man she loves. It’s a great set up. She’s going to brave the woods and maybe fight some creatures. I like it.

Here’s where you lose me. Her Dad ends up telling her the truth, that there are no creatures and nothing to fear. NO creatures?!?! That sucks. Why are the older villagers telling everyone that there are creatures? What are they hiding? What’s the twist?

The twist is that at it’s actually modern day and not the 19th century like we were lead to believe. What?! What does this mean? Why are these people living like this? It turns out that a group of the older villagers were sick of the big bad world and decided to make their own perfect world.

Really? I mean really? This is the big twist? The big reveal? You must be kidding me. A bunch of friends lost loved ones and decided to live simpler lives. Are you kidding me?! And to keep people from going to explore the world, they tell them there are creatures out to get them. Can this get any worse? It’s too stupid to believe.

What makes it worse is that M. Night decided to give himself a cameo right at the pivotal part of the movie! It just makes me mad. The best part of the movie was the credits and now I know to never go see another M. Night movie ever again.

The Village:

Christ…I had the misfortune of watching this film. In the theater. Some children were present.

If they were my kids, I would have ushered them away immediately to spare their innocent souls.

Instead I stayed through the whole 82 minutes—I was captivated by the shittiness. It was like watching someone riding a bull. You know they’re falling off, you just don’t know how many times they’re getting their nuts stomped on before the rodeo clowns drag their carcass out of the ring. The only trouble is, when you watch this movie, you’re the bull rider.

How many sex jokes could they cram into this “children’s movie?” Why was Paris Hilton in this movie? How the fuck was this movie ever made?

All these questions and more—never to be answered.

The Cat in the Hat:

Feeling he hadn’t screwed these movies up enough, George Lucas decided to take a machete to Return of the Jedi back in 1997. The band in Jabba’s palace was enhanced digitally (R.I.P. puppet Sy Snootles) and they are made to play a new song. Jedi Rocks I believe it is called… Are you shitting me?! Why? Why did he feel compelled? The old song was cool. It’s what a bunch of scummy-looking puppets should be playing. Not to mention, the original song sounded alien and different. The new one sounds like some retarded top 40 trash.

Not to be out done by the first attempt, the second Death Star’s explosion is even ‘ringier.’ Well, goddamn. Ever since the early 90’s with Star Trek VI, I don’t think I would accept it as an explosion unless it was accompanied by some nonsensical shockwave ring.

The end becomes an abomination worse than the original release. I always thought the Ewoks were a cutesie cop-out and their musical number at the end of the movie made me shutter. However, a way was found to make all of this more ridiculous. At least the original song made sense and however stupid it was, it was well produced. The replacement sounds like they picked a track from some “World Music” sampler CD in the dollar bin at Sam Goody.

And after all is said and done, I can easily imagine a day when all the original Star Wars films are remade to the point when they are no longer recognizable. There will be nothing left but the hyper-chromatic orgy of cartoon-like animated pixels dancing across the screen—but this time in 3D!

Return of the Jedi (Special Edition):

This anti-movie has already been thoroughly lambasted here. So I will save you the gory details.

Now let us never speak of it again.

Meet the Spartans:

Though I’ve bagged on Brian Singer before, he did create a very watchable and grown-up version of a super hero movie with X-Men—and a great sequel too. Maybe they were a tad bit soap opera-ish, but the relationship between Wolverine and Rogue in the first film was an interesting one. The same with Professor X and Magneto. There was great character development for what could have been a set of brainless action films.

Sadly this third installment, helmed by none other than Brett Ratner, shits all over the great characters, introduces seemingly hundreds more and, just for good measure, spins a multitude of plotlines—all at the same time. It truly is astounding how accomplished this film is at being shitty. I think it takes a lot of hard work and the consensus of many people to make something suck so bad.

As much as I’d like to blame it all on Brett, I have to say that this chunk of crap was doomed from day one due to a senseless script. I watched the damn thing and honestly I can’t tell you what the hell it was about. What I do remember is they killed off two of the main characters in the absolute lamest of superhero deaths. They teased us with sentinels, which was probably the most exciting part of the movie, until I found out they were fake. And when I heard the line, “I’m the Juggernaut bitch!!!” it made me want to punch myself in the face.

And to think I was excited about Brian Singer leaving X-Men to make Superman Returns. All we got out of that was two turds.

X-Men: The Last Stand:

What the hell happened? Ghostbusters was one of the biggest movies ever, and they followed it up 5 years later with this crap?

This movie reeks of cheesy sequel pitfalls such as: shameless and unnecessary reference to the original, rehashing, and destruction of character integrity. Now, I have to admit, the first one is a hard act to follow. There was magic there. Ghostbusters II suffers from sibling rivalry and is constantly trying to leap out of the looming shadow of it’s older brother and into the spotlight through imitation. This is less of a sequel and more of a warped parody of the original. Instead of a giant Stay-Puft marshmallow man, we bring the Statue of Liberty to life. Instead of streams of angry ghosts spilling out of the containment system to reek havoc on New York City, we get a subterranean river of hate-slime. (Doesn’t that already really exist in New York?) The Ghostbusters get committed and its up to the mayor to turn them loose. The relationship between Bill Murray and Sigourney Weaver isn’t the same—in fact Bill Murray just isn’t the same. Everything seems to happen in a wooden, rehearsed way and a lot of the real New York we got in the original film seems to have been replaced with obvious sets.

Or maybe I was just disappointed that the main bad guy was a creepy painting. Can’t we do better? There are a lot scarier things than paintings. And when the kooky lawyer from Ally McBeal steals the baby and flies through the air pushing the carriage, doesn’t that cancel out any credibility that might have been earned by the movie up to that point?

I walked out of the theatre as a kid feeling let down by this movie, and that feeling never went away.

Ghostbusters II:

Don’t even ask. Just trust me on this one. What’s sad is that I actually thought this Lynch picture might work for me, since it advertised itself as another creepy Hollywood story (Mulholland Drive, anyone?), but with an even eerier aura about it. Perhaps I was still riding high on my amazement that I actually liked Blue Velvet. Silly me! Granted, the first few scenes I saw containing Jeremy Irons were decent, but when isn’t he the best actor on the screen?? Forget -no – ignore Inland Empire. I promise you’ll still be a cool film geek if you skip this one. Seriously. Instead, I nominate the following Lynch rentals in its place: Blue Velvet and Lost Highway. Conclusion: I am so over David Lynch and his “on purpose” weirdness. No wonder Isabella Rosselini wouldn’t marry him.

Inland Empire:

This flower STUNK. And yet, the conditions for cultivating a prize bloom seemed ideal: Green thumb director from the film school generation attempts a comeback by harvesting an infamous story planted deep within the gritty soil of an unsolved murder mystery, nourished by sunny, So Cal skies. Unlike seemingly similar films of the genre (L.A. Confidential, Hollywoodland), The Black Dahlia fails to pull the viewer into the world of the characters. What a pity…there was so much potential there. While the film was advertised as a gritty expose on the darker side of Hollywood, The Black Dahlia comes across instead as a high school production of Guys and Dolls: After Dark. Ten minutes into the film, it hit me: this movie is going to suck. I just hate when this happens, especially when it’s a film you’ve been looking forward to, as I was about Dahlia. Once this moment occurs, however, you’re met with a dilemma and forced to make a decision: Do I get up and leave, cursing as I step over people that I wasted my hard-earned money (and Friday night!) on this celluloid cellulite — or — do I sit back, grip my armrests, and hope that it doesn’t get any worse?

I guess you can tell which option I chose. Here are my main problems with the film (and let it be known that I have nothing personal against period pieces, De Palma, or Young Hollywood). I do, however, have issues when the three do not mix, and we aren’t supposed to notice. To keep this post as short as it can be, here are the main problems:

Issue I: Miscasting the Leads — It seems De Palma chose his actors more for their resumes than their actual suitability for the roles. A few prime examples:

1.) Scarlett Johansson — she’s sexy, but definitely too young to play an ex-call girl-turned-doting-but-bored policeman’s wife. Perhaps her portrayal of a disillusioned young bride was believable in Lost in Translation (a role she played while still a teenager), but in this effort, I couldn’t help thinking she looked like a disturbing child bride, a la Pretty Baby. Here’s a tip: boozy flaunting doesn’t translate to maturity. On the contrary, she puts the “gin” in ingénue. I kept wondering when her character could have possibly had time to live such a seedy past — middle school, perhaps?!?

2.) Josh Harnett — Portraying a convincing, mature male lead has been a laughable feat for Harnett since Pearl Harbor (yes, I laughed during that movie). Like so many actors of his generation, Harnett graduated from the ’90’s Sullen Teen Heart Throb School of Acting, meaning he mistakes irritating squinting for dramatic emoting. To add insult to injury in this film, the squinting technique usually follows a cloud of blasé, baritone exasperations. In essence, he unevenly stomps around in his suspenders and undershirts like a caricature of a boxer-turned-hard-boiled detective, as if even the role itself knows he’s ill-fitting. Like Johansson — a fellow baritone, he simply seems too young for the role. Last, but not least:

3.) Hilary Swank — Swank is perhaps the most miscast player in this poor excuse for a 40’s noir. Phallic cigarette holder, lesbian watering hole patronage, and navy blue Gilda dress be damned! Regardless of the two Oscars under her belt, La Swank cannot convince me of her seductiveness, even in the 40’s. Maybe it’s her androgynous, centurion demeanor. Maybe because I will forever see her in drag, making out with Chloe Sevigny. Maybe because all she scored using her real life seduction techniques was the Lesser Lowe. Hey, what do I know? Irregardless, the whole vampy, poor-little-rich-girl-obsessed with-the-dead-girl shtick just didn’t work for me. What’s worse, I read somewhere that Eva Green (The Dreamers, Casino Royale) turned down this role of this femme fatale. Knowing this: should I be glad that miz Eva saved her career by avoiding this project…or, should I be angry that because she turned it down, WE all had to suffer…? HOWEVER, there is one glimmer of hope: Mia Kirshner as the Black Dahlia. Like her portrayal of tortured writer Jenny in Showtime’s The L Word, Kirshner brings a raw naiveté and sad sexiness to the role of Elizabeth Short (La Dahlia), a small-town girl caught up in the seedy underworld of Tinseltown. Indeed, Kirshner succeeds in raising the character above a caricature, something that De Palma should have thought to work on with the rest of the cast.

Issue II: Obvious Rip Offs from Better Films — Swank obviously wishes she were Barbara Stanwyck. We are all thankful she failed at this imitation. — De Palma’s decision to tie in a poor man’s Chinatown twist near the end made me want to slice my own nose.

Issue III: Friends in High Places — The fact that this film was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Cinematography lies solely in the reputation of Vilmos Zsigmond, whose body of work is indeed impressive, but let it be known that this film also features a lingering shot on Josh Harnett’s taint, which, to this viewer, should have disqualified the film from the Oscar race.

The Verdict: This film left me frustrated and enraged, mostly because a reputable director of the genre (The Untouchables was decent) managed to poorly explore the most notoriously unsolved murder case in L.A. history. While the final flashbacks and explanations are effectively creepy and pose an interesting interpretation of what might have happened on the night of the murder, it’s simply too little too late. The fact that two-thirds of the movie focuses on a boring love triangle with three miscast actors unfortunately overshadows what could have been an in-depth exploration of a dark corner of Hollywood history. In short, don’t waste your time renting this film. Choose L.A. Confidential or Hollywoodland instead (both films were brilliantly cast and pose intriguing storylines and love stories of all shapes). If you want to really get the story on the Black Dahlia case, go to your nearest book store and flip through a copy of the many books written about the notorious murder. But Beware: the graphic forensic photos from the actual crime scene are both shocking and stay with you. Sadly, The Black Dahlia has the same effect, but worse.

The Black Dahlia:

Completely unnecessary remake.

Psycho: