An endless parade of wanton and no-holes-barred cock-crazed nymphos competing for a bona fide $10,000 cash prize and the starring role in Deep Throat #7. From the jizz-soaked offices of Arrow Films to the gunk-stained mattresses of Slutty Productions, some of the most outrageous characters ever captured on film make the tonsils of these eager oral lassies stretch from sea to shining sea. Win or lose, the consolation prize is always an industrial-strength spooge-facial!
The major flaw of the series is that it’s hosted on Netflix and barely makes malicious comments about it despite being focused on the lives of people directly affected by the Capitalist mentality of the OTT corporation.
The sequel following The Son of Bigfoot explores Adam's conflict of discovering his true identity as he tries to save a wildlife preserve.
Welcome to Ryan Reynold's world. Dwyane Johnson, Gal Gadot and us are just living in it. Is he acting? I think he is, it's just the question of it's believable anymore.
It’s been awhile since I’ve seen a film that is jarring within the first five minutes. Being at the edge of my seat from the very beginning made me feel both excited and frightened for what was to come, and it did not disappoint. Led strongly by Jennifer Lawrence as Grace, a woman trapped in the “American dream”, this film shows that society tells us what should make us happy. Many critics describe Die My Love as being about post-partem depression, but it is so much more. After moving to a secluded home with her husband Jackson, Grace finds herself in the throes of motherhood. Feeling isolated in her physical environment and her romantic relationship, Grace suffers psychologically. Lawrence brings a sense of rawness and humor to the screen that is often uncomfortable. Robert Pattinson adds to the discomfort as her loving, yet lost husband Jackson, who cares about his wife but does not know how to help her. Lynne Ramsay has presented a film that forces us to look at the realness of life, and what happens when the promise of what should make you whole fails.
Him is visually stunning—all concrete cathedrals and bone-rattling impact shots that look like a nightmare highlight reel. Marlon Wayans is magnetic as this legendary quarterback who's basically selling salvation with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. But the story keeps running in circles: more tests, more cryptic pep talks, more ritualistic drills. The sports-as-religion metaphor beats you over the head when subtlety would've been more effective. The middle drags, and that finale chooses spectacle over substance. It's undeniably stylish, but left me cold. Also worth noting: despite the Monkeypaw connection, this isn't actually a Jordan Peele film—he didn't write or direct.
