I usually start these things by telling you a little bit about the movie. Most of the movies we watch here at the Tomb are movies that few people are familiar with. Even though we’re all here because we love obscure crap, and probably have a somewhat unhealthy knowledge about said crap, the availability of much of this obscure crap varies greatly from town to town and video store to video store. Even in this age of seemingly endless lists of crappy movies entering public domain and turning up on DVD for $1 at every Wal-Mart in the country, there’s a lot of stuff that gets overlooked.
A shockingly large number of movies are made in almost every country, every year, and most of them suck. Tonight’s feature is no different. We’re stretching the international boundaries this time, going outside the usual USA/England/Spain/Japan/China/Italy ring to Venezuela for a god-fucking-awful Karate Kid knockoff. Getting back to my point about giving a synopsis, I honestly could not come up with any jokes that are better than simply typing, verbatim, the description of the movie on the back of the box. Here it is, in all its pigeon-English glory:
“Like Karate Kid, come in to us, the struggle of a American young man in a mythical occidental world, for his ideals, his dreams, his respect…for that he will must be to become in a warrior…!the best! His trainer, a master of martial arts, he will must be teach to him the art of domain his technics, his art, his mystic……if he want maintain this ideals he will must be to win the championship!” (as a side note of a somewhat detrimental nature to the makers of Microsoft Word, the only thing the spell- and grammar-checks caught was the word “technics” - all the rest of that is, according to Bill Gates, grammatically acceptable)
In case that was confusing to you, I’ll sum up what little I actually managed to absorb while I was wrangling my kids. Some young American kid (his name is irrelevant, he’s Ralph fuckin’ Maccio Guy) moves to Venezuela to live with his father. Some badass Venezuelan street punk martial artists, led by the vicious Queeno *snicker*, beat him up and harass his new girlfriend.
He meets a grizzled old Pat Morita-type who teaches him the mystical ways of Venezuelan kung-fu (I’m fairly certain this isn’t actually supposed to happen in Venezuela, considering Venezuela isn’t really considered an occidental country unless I’m much mistaken and holy fuck this is the most I’ve ever typed the word “Venezuela” in my life), the main technique (or technic, according to the box) of which is to laser-punch things. If you don’t know what I mean by laser-punch, go rent The Last Dragon and fast-forward to the final fight between the kid and Sho-Nuff. So Bald Pat Morita Guy teaches Ralph Maccio Guy to laser-punch a cow.
After some crap that I wasn’t really paying attention to, Ralph Maccio Guy enters a tournament in which he must fight Queeno (giggle) to become in a warrior…!the best! (shame on you, Microsoft) Queeno (guffaw) kicks him in both eyes and blinds him, but in the end Ralph Maccio Guy manages to muster up a laser-punch to win the belt of Venezuelan kung-fu glory and live crappily ever after.
I don’t know what it is tonight. Perhaps it’s the fact that my two-year-old son and my two-and-a-half-month-old daughter both have colds and are driving Mal and I crazy. Maybe it’s the argument I had with my dad this afternoon about business ideas. Probably a combination of everything. But seriously, fuck this movie. Where do these goddamn people get off cranking this shit out, and where do the distributors get off giving them the fucking money to do it when there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of talented filmmakers out there desperately trying to get their movie seen by three people and hoping one of them will give them some money so they can have their movie pressed by Video Players International in Venezfuckinguela so the box synopsis is all fucked-up and misprinted and spell-checked by Microsoft Word. Fuck you, David Parker, Jr., fuck you, Larry Ludman, fuck you, Kim Stuart, and fuck you, Jarred Martin.
I’m so goddamn sick of seeing all these shitty, talentless assholes make it while the rest of us struggle our asses off to get a website read by a few hundred people a week for no money while we work on stories and scripts and see our dreams slip away from us because we don’t have enough time to work on them or enough money to realize them. I’m sure I’m just being cynical, and a chance will come blah blah fucking blah, but DAMMIT! Why the fuck should anyone have been given any help making Fist Of Power? Why the fuck should anyone have allowed anyone involved with The Fast and the Furious to even have a fucking career after that, let alone two sequels? Why the fuck do I even bother? Is this going to make one goddamn bit of difference? No. Will more Fist Of Powers and The Islands and The Fast and the Furiouses be made year after fucking year until people are so sick of shitty movies that movies just stop being made altogether because they all suck so fucking much that even the brain-dead stump-fucking crystal meth-smoking date-raping cell phone-toting Britney Spears-downloading late-changing George W. Bush-approving Jesus-loving Taco John’s-eating Hummer-driving cock-sucking deer-hunting metal core-loving fucktards who lapped up the last Michael Bay opus will feel ripped off by the sheer magnitude of the shittyness they pay to sit through? Fuck yes.
Goddammit, suck my fucking balls. Git on outta here, or it’s the hose for you!
The Moral of the Story: Stop going to movies. Seriously, just fucking stop. You’re only making it worse.
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