'Rediculous' Customer & Critic Reviews

[fiddlesticks]

[...] the first colour film was The Wizard of Oz [...]

I grew up believing that particular non-truth. Rediculous, I know.

[Matt]

A lot of the comments are actually pretty interesting, but I think I am mostly amazed that there are actual complete sentences in your YouTube comments and not just "HAHAHUAUHAHUAHUAAHU LOL!!! i LOVEDD THIIIIIIISS" (an actual comment on this video).

The series of Wizard of Oz comments in particularly astounding in that one person is corrected by the next (and so on), yet they are all wrong:

martyn580
how in the world did they have color back then??????
the wizard of oz is the first color film

DeathBringer125
i think it's a lot of color pictures put together like an animation...
won't bother to figuring out when color film was invented... for photography...

bigboxbobby2
I think the wizard of Oz was the 'first colour feature film'

alexander1485
no its not... its just the first color movie.

And then there's this brilliant insight:

power10girl
all the boats looks like titanic

[jesus the mexican boi]

And then there's this brilliant insight:

power10girl
all the boats looks like titanic

That has real catchphrase, T-shirt potential.

[Mr Sausage]

And then there's this brilliant insight:

power10girl
all the boats looks like titanic

That has real catchphrase, T-shirt potential.

Ask Chris to make it the title under your forum handle.

[MichaelB]

From the IMDB, no comment necessary:

Of freaks and men is definitely an interesting film. However, it is predictable and repetitive. I guess, the only really interesting thing about it is cinematography. Repetitiveness, meanwhile, shouldn't surprise anyone familiar with the works of Balabanov, undoubtedly the most repetitive director of today.

[knives]

1.0 out of 5 stars VERY, VERY, VERY BAD, September 13, 2008
By Talal Hilal "Tal"
I really tried to enjoy these movies. I tried to get scared in scary moments or laugh in funny moments, or vise versa. Everyone says that they watch Ed Wood's movies because they are so bad to the point where they're funny, but I really can't seem to find anything funny about them. THEY ARE JUST BAD!!!! I really feel sorry for all the hours of my life that have gone to waste, and all the brain cells that i have killed. So, i guess the only thing that i can do about that is warn people. PLEASE, I BEG YOU DON'T WATCH MORE THAN ONE OF THESE MOVIES. YOU'LL KNOW WHY AFTER WATCHING THAT SINGLE ONE.

He even knows the reputation. ](*,)

[HerrSchreck]

this video).

Good god, Matt.. I'll never forgive you for linking that video on.

[Binker]

James Berardinelli. Anyone even cursorily familiar with his work should know how utterly useless the man is as a film critic. Of course he's a terrible writer, but that's beside the point. In pages upon pages upon pages of reviews, I don't think he has once even attempted to interact with a film beyond the most simplistic "good cinematography, good script, medium directing, good performance, bad performance, possible plot hole, 3 stars" terms. He universalized the paragraph order and structure of his reviews specifically towards this purpose, addressing directing in one paragraph, story in the next, performance in the next, etc. Beyond all of this, he's one of the most spectacularly bland people I've ever come across. Which should render him easily ignorable (and for most he probably is). But Berardinelli combines this blandness with a sort of quiet arrogance and an utterly delusional world view, rendering him, for me, one of the most vexing voices on the internet.

Take it easy, lady, I know.

For just one example, let's have a look at this sentence from his review of Henry Fool. "All of the characters have arcs, there are a couple of diverting subplots, and the secondary theme -- about the value and importance of friendship -- provides for a satisfying, if over-the-top, conclusion." I mean, jesus fucking christ, these are the terms with which the man approaches film. He's certainly not the only reviewer guilty of this, but I can't think of one that even approaches his level of terrible prose, useless seperation, and utter devotion to formula. Straight out of The fucking Player. Staying with the Henry Fool review, he actually wrote, "Hartley's view of the Internet is particularly naïve." Literally he wrote that. How a human being could watch that film and make that observation is utterly beyond me.

Let me come to the point. Browsing the blog section of his website, I made a miraculous discovery. Berardinelli Autobiographical Nonfiction. Although the only thing this is a review of is the pathetic life of James Berardinelli, I couldn't let it go unposted. At this point, I'm convinced the man THINKS in cliches. I'll let the work speak for itself.

The first time I met Tracie was at a party following the last round of fall semester finals. I was a sophomore at the University of Pennsylvania, slowly gathering steam in the electrical engineering curriculum I had chosen, and my last exam in a basic circuits course had finished at six o'clock in the evening. Too late to walk to the train station. A twenty-block stroll through Philadelphia at night can be a harrowing experience and is not to be undertaken lightly. So I stayed in the dorm, intending to make the sojourn the next morning.

I lived in a three-bedroom quad - that's four people to three rooms: two singles and one double. I was unlucky enough to be stuck with a roommate, and Rich was not the most considerate of people to live with. Most of the time he was okay on Mondays and Tuesdays, but later in the week he had an annoying tendency to come in around two in the morning, usually not on tiptoes. Once, he stumbled and collapsed into my closet, tearing the doors off their hinges. The next morning, he was his usual expressive self, observing his handiwork and saying, "Wow."

By December 22, however, Rich was already gone for the holidays, so I had the room to myself. Another of my suite-mates, Alan, was also gone, but Scott was still here. In fact, I doubt Scott had a home to go to. He lived a bohemian life and if he had any family, he never mentioned them. I'd constructed this image of him as an eccentric, independently-wealthy English major. After all, to afford the university's tuition and lodging fees, he had to have some money.

Scott was my antithesis. I was an engineer; he was an English major. I had no girlfriends; he had at least a dozen. I was quiet and sedate; he was larger-than-life. I didn't drink; he consumed alcohol like water. Despite our differences, or perhaps because of them, we got along pretty well. We'd spend some nights talking until the wee hours, Scott taking drags on a joint while I sat across the room from him near an open window.

It didn't surprise me that Scott had discovered a party and it was apparent from the noise level on the floor that this soiree was two doors down the hall in Tina and Lisa's room. If I was going to get any sleep tonight, it was going to require ear plugs. Even then, the vibration might be enough to keep me awake. That, and wondering whether I had answered question five on the final correctly.

At seven-fifteen, I was curled up on my bed, with the heater cranked up to seventy-six, turning the pages of David Eddings' "Magician's Castle." My mood didn't warrant anything more substantive. I didn't bother to turn on a radio; the noise from the party would have drowned out anything I tried to listen to. Reading wasn't a problem, though. I'd long since mastered the tactic of tuning out distractions.

"Yo, James," said Scott, cutting into my concentration as he stuck his head through the open doorway to my room. "Come with me to the party."

"No thanks," I told Scott. "I've got plans." It wasn't a lie. I fully expected to get eight or nine chapters read before turning out the lights.

"Bullshit," said Scott. "Get up. You're coming with me even if I have to drag you by your hair."

I knew Scott well enough to realize he was probably serious. Over the past couple of weeks, he'd gotten it into his head that his mission during the final days of the semester would be to expand my cultural horizons. To that end, he had introduced me to three of his girlfriends, tried to get me to accompany him to a bar, and nearly succeeded in forcing a shot-glass of whiskey down my throat. According to him, I was hopeless. He was probably right.

So I got up, reluctantly put the book down, and threw on a sweater.

The noise was a lot louder in the hall and almost deafening once Scott had opened the door to Tina and Lisa's small three-room suite. The pungent aroma of sweat, booze, and grass wafted into the hall, accompanied by the blare of the Rolling Stones and the shouting of at least fifteen people, all trying to be heard over the din. I resisted the urge to plug my ears as Scott and I slipped inside.

Boy, was this place crowded. The living room, which was probably twelve feet by twelve feet, was wall-to-wall people. The same was true for the double bedroom. Even the bathroom appeared to be filled. My best guess put the total number of people present at close to thirty. I wondered how many fire laws were being broken.

Scott disappeared into the press around me, presumably looking for something to drink. It's amazing how hard it can be to locate someone in such a small space. I considered leaving immediately now that my escort had abandoned me, but trying to make it to the door would have been like swimming upstream. The prevalent current of bodies was going deeper into the suite, pulling me along with it.

I felt someone grab my arm and turned to see Lisa, one of the two girls who lived here. She was a short, petite brunette with ample cleavage that the gaping neckline of her oversized sweatshirt wasn't doing anything to hide. Her hair, normally worn loose, was pulled back into a simple, utilitarian ponytail. She flashed me a slightly drunk smile and shouted in my ear that it was a surprise to see me. My response was a rather unenthusiastic nod.

Whatever song had been playing came to an end and there was a momentary lessening of noise. Into this breach, Lisa said, "Look, there's someone here I want you to meet. She's staying with us for a few days to, like, get to know the university. She's transferring from UCLA."

Taking me by the hand, Lisa forced her way through a knot of people over to a girl who was lounging up against a half-open window. It was twenty-five degrees outside, but the frigid breeze was welcome in the heat of the room.

"Tracie, this is James. James, Tracie," said Lisa, perfunctorily introducing us before melting out of sight. The music started up again: Steve Winwood's "Take It as It Comes."

Tracie was about two inches shorter than I was with curly fair hair that hung to her shoulders and bright blue eyes. Her skin had the healthy color of someone who'd spent a lot of time out in the sun, the typical Southern California look. She was wearing a tight-fitting black tee-shirt and a skirt that ended well above her knees. It was pretty clear she kept herself in excellent physical condition and wasn't shy about showing it off.

"Hi," she mouthed, the noise level again having risen to where conversation was impossible.

Tracie moved away from the window and, beckoning for me to join her, started to gyrate to the music. It wasn't actually dancing - there wasn't really enough room for dancing - but she was undoubtedly letting the pounding rhythm of the song carry her along. Hips swayed and arms moved, alternately lifted above her head then sliding down the side of her body. Hair whipped from left to right, frequently obscuring at least part of her features.

I could feel a flush of heat and, despite the frigid blast of air from behind me, a trickle of sweat made its way between my shoulder blades and down my back. Tracie took my hand and pulled me more toward the center of the room where the crush of bodies was nearly unbearable.

When the music ended, we broke apart, she to get something to drink and me to make my way to the exit. I pushed and shoved until I got outside, where I heaved a sigh of relief. I went back to my room where I took a quick shower, then collapsed on the bed. I didn't try to do any reading. Instead, I lay there in the dark listening to the sounds from down the hall: music, shouting, and laughter. I didn't get a wink of sleep all night.

50 to 1 none of those people exist.

[domino harvey]

Congratulations on being able to stomach that whole thing, I couldn't make it past the first paragraph

[MichaelB]

Even that's bad enough - just look at the last sentence:

So I stayed in the dorm, intending to make the sojourn the next morning.

I think the word he was groping for is "journey".

[Mr Sausage]

So this is the story of the time he survived his first dance with a girl? Yeah dude, close call.

[Binker]

I must encourage you all to read on, lest you miss him describe a setting by providing the exact square footage.

[Binker]

A twenty-block stroll through Philadelphia at night can be a harrowing experience and is not to be undertaken lightly.



Indeed.

[carax09]

Utilitarian ponytail?

You're right, this man must be stopped.

[Binker]

In fact, I doubt Scott had a home to go to. He lived a bohemian life and if he had any family, he never mentioned them. I'd constructed this image of him as an eccentric, independently-wealthy English major. After all, to afford the university's tuition and lodging fees, he had to have some money.

Sure, that's logical. 19 years-old, UPenn dorms, studying English. Probably independently wealthy.

[domino harvey]

Is that his way of revealing he wasn't an English major? MAJOR SHOCKER

[Binker]

So this is the story of the time he survived his first dance with a girl? Yeah dude, close call.

He left out the part where he stabbed her in the stomach.

[domino harvey]

Okay, so I read that whole thing. Has he never heard of LiveJournal?

[Magic Hate Ball]

The worst part of his reviews is that he says nothing new or original. They're just wastes of space.

[Jeff]

There is an entertaining dialog about "those indie movies" and film critics in this thread about the upcoming Blu-ray release of Brokeback Mountain at High-Def Digest.

Call me crazy but I didn't get it and I think it was one of those movies that critics were afraid to hate because it would make them look close minded. It's like all those indy films that get great reviews that are painful to watch. I Call it the "emporer's new clothes" of film reviewing. It's hard to understand the plot so it must be good. Watching the movie it was impossibe to see how they became romantically attracted to each other. It was out of nowhere. Two quiet types that all of a sudden explode into passion.

Then again I didn't get "There will be blood". The movie with very little dialogue and a soundtrack right out of "The Shining". Loved the whole Milkshake dialogue however. Maybe all the critics are right and I'm a poor judge of movies, but I couldn't get through the whole movie.

In response,

I agree. It wasnt at all harboring chemistry like in CROUCHING TIGER and LUST, CAUTION.. and I also agree with your take on "THERE WILL BE BLOOD"

Then,

I refused to see this movie when it first came out and my gf at the time forced me to, i remember walking out of the theater she asked me if I liked it, and I said that it was great whereas she was totally disappointed. Seeing two cute guys going at each other sorta grossed her out I thought it was a wonderful movie and it displayed connection and love between two characters regardless of their sex.

I however, completely agree with you guys on "There will be blood", I never got the movie and found it to be incredibly boring. I know I am going to get bashed for this one but to me it was little better than "No Country for Old Men" which is probably the worst movie I saw last year.

And,

LOL. Don't feel bad. My wife and I went to see "No Country..." and while I enjoyed some of it the first part that killed me was when Llewelyn was on the phone talking about how he was coming to F everyone up and 15 minutes later he's killed randomly. Yeah yeah I know real life and all that. At the end of the movie my wife and I just sat there staring at the screen and suddenly from one of the front rows someone yelled "What the F#$K!!!" and everyone started laughing. I think that statement summed it up for most of the people there. So you're definitely not alone.

But this is the best part:

These types of movies seem to be all the rage now.. movies that "end" without full explanation:

NO COUNTRY did it.. THE WRESTLER did it..

Do movie makers think their film is an underground, 3 minute NINE INCH NAILS song?!!!! Its cool for a SONG to get cut off at the end instead of fading out like a cheesy pop-song.. But this is cinema folks.. There's RULES to telling stories, morons:

Intro. Beginning. Character development. Plot. Plot Twist. Climax. Wrap-up. Ending.. Credits

Its not : Beginning. Character development. Plot. Plot Twist. Climax. Wra..Credits

100% accurate. I mean... I wont even watch the film because I have ZERO interest in the subject material, but I have heard from many people that it was just bleh. It reeks of propoganda and I freegin hate that crap.

Great call on all those "Indy" films getting strong reviews. People need to feel smart so they convince themselves that they like boring, pointless art films which we all know pretty much all suck.

Okay, all of you aspiring filmmakers who post here, don't forget the formula: Intro. Beginning. Character development. Plot. Plot Twist. Climax. Wrap-up. Ending.. Credits.

And I fully expect your films to "harbor chemistry."

[domino harvey]

Where did anti-intllectuals congregate before the internet? I mean, I know where they weren't:

[Binker]

Okay, all of you aspiring filmmakers who post here, don't forget the formula: Intro. Beginning. Character development. Plot. Plot Twist. Climax. Wrap-up. Ending.. Credits.

You can stuff that babble right now. Imma go all Nine Inch Nails on the motherfucker.

[piano player]

I thought it would be appropriate to share a interesting review of Lars von Trier's Dogville with you. The title of this excellent socio-historical analysis is "Nazi Movie (I'm Serious),"

This movie is despicable. It's full of National Socialist ideology and I AM NOT KIDDING. Lars "von" Trier didn't get the nickname "von" from building model planes. The guy's buddies in college just couldn't get over his resemblance to certain bad-guys from old World War II movies.

What's horrifying about this monstrosity is how few people understand that this is pure, unrefined hate. Apparently, most folks just believe that Nazi's were about antisemitism and jazzy uniforms. Well, no. Adolf Hitler could have written this. "Mein Kampf" and "Dogville" have the same plot. A young person is ruthlessly exploited, but then turns on her(his) exploiters and has revenge.

I don't believe in censorship, but this movie should be required, by law, to have a warning label. The label should explain, in detail, what a National Socialist is and what it means to exploit revenge and hatred and rage. This movie should be shown to a wide audience, but only to educate them about the nature of the enemy, and how easy it is to be pulled-in by the appeal to raw emotion.

Make no mistake-- this film is propaganda. The sequel (Manderlay) is just as bad (but emphasizes the racism that always a part of Nazi ideology). See them both for an education in evil.

So... if you're wondering why this film hasn't been despised for what it is... just read the newspapers and watch FOX News and think for moment. As the man said, "What we have here is failure to communicate." Our society has failed to teach our children what Adolf Hitler and his pals sold to the German people. Now, when it's trotted out with a fresh coat of paint, nobody recognizes it--and that makes it dangerous.

Sorry if this has been mentioned before in this thread. Emphasis on certain sentences highlighted by me. No further comments. http://www.amazon.com/review/product/B0 ... 3E66MK1B47" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

[Antoine Doinel]

Okay, all of you aspiring filmmakers who post here, don't forget the formula: Intro. Beginning. Character development. Plot. Plot Twist. Climax. Wrap-up. Ending.. Credits.

So, M. Night Shyamalan writes over at HTF now?

[arsonfilms]

Three minute Nine Inch Nails songs are underground? No Country For Old Men is hard to understand?

Did these people even make it through High School?