Monday, November 12, 2012

Review Three The Oxford Murders

Trying to decipher The Oxford Murders is like Helen Keller trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube with her face.

 If I was the miracle worker, I would have just drowned that retarded banshee in the fucking water well she had her grand revelation in, before her wailing, face-clawing ass, could turn Socialist. Now how’s that for irony Hollywood!?  I think I just pitched an award winning script. Obama probably has a picture of Helen Keller on his wall…ZING! The secret service is on the way to my house right now.

“But Mandrew, Helen Keller overcame so much adversity…she’s a hero...”

The adversity part I won’t dispute, but if you say Helen Keller, or anyone else that overcame adversity is a hero I’ll go to your house and butt-fuck your whole family…that means rape gang. Not only will I rape your family, I’ll rape you too. Not only that, but I’ll stack all of you on top of each other and fuck your asses all at the same time till we become some grotesque semen-covered monster, internally connected like something out of The Human Centipede (2009), except with my penis instead of an asshole. A human penis…pede…or something…I don’t fucking know, the point is my dick will be in YOUR family!

My least favorite thing about Hollywood is the trillions of movies about people overcoming adversity. I don’t give a fuck about any miracles that might have been worked in The Miracle Worker (1962), because it’s a shitty movie. All the bitch does is scream for 2 hours. I’m legitimately surprised that her parents didn’t just throw her down the sewer to live with penguins like Danny Devito in Batman Returns (1992). Or maybe we could just kill the retarded kid for a change, and save us all some trouble.
I also don’t give a shit that some girl has to surf with one arm in Soul Surfer (2011). The ocean sometimes has fucking sharks in it! Maybe if all you faggots born in 1991 knew what the fuck Jaws (1975) was, you’d be a little more careful in the fucking ocean! And by the way, why would anyone feel bad for someone that has to relearn how to surf? Get a fucking job! You only need one arm to tug a penis!

I don’t care that Rudy (1993) is a short fucking asshole, I don’t care that Radio (2003) is retarded, and I don’t fucking care that Sean Penn is retarded in I Am Sam (2001). I couldn’t give less of a shit about how many kids Erin Brockovich (2000) has, or how many assholes she’s trying to help. Julia Roberts looks like a horse, and I fucking hate horses. I refuse to Remember the Titans (2000), I chuckled when Haley Joel Osment died in Pay It Forward (2000), and I thought it was awesome that Richard Dreyfuss had a deaf son on Mr. Holland’s Opus (1995). And of course who could forget The Pursuit of Happiness (2006). If I had to use my Disney wish, it would be to call down a shit encrusted fireball from outer fucking space to fall directly onto Will Smith. I tried really hard to work Cthulhu in there, but I’m just too mad at inspirational movies.

I don’t like inspirational movies because I’m an asshole. I’m a self-centered manipulator, a womanizer, a drunk, and a quick tempered prick prone to narcissistic rage.  My life will no doubt be a waste, and I’m fine with who I am. So it infuriates me in a way that I guess most people can’t understand, when I see Hollywood spew hundreds of these trite abominations out of their vile monster vagina every fucking year.

Inspirational movies serve two purposes as far as I can see. Number one: MAKE FUCKING MONEY! And a lot of fucking money to boot. Number two: Take advantage of weak minded depressed people who suck at life because they’re lazy and unremarkable, by tricking them into feeling good about how shitty they are when they watch some over exaggerated piece of shit, that could just have easily been written by a four-year-old, that’s drowned in sentimentality and does nothing but hand out fake promises about overcoming adversity and the ability to triumph no matter what if you just believe! Are you fucking serious!? The only thing these movies inspire is a giant fucking circle jerk of sadness. If only our genitals could cry. Really everyone, it’s all a fucking scam, because last time I checked…MOVIES WEREN’T REAL!

“But Mandrew this one is based on a true story…”

 Sweet AIDS monkey fucking Christ! Every story ever told is based on something, but that doesn’t mean it’s fucking real! Odds are if your life sucks it’s going to stay that way, so get used to getting shit on. Just be happy with you who are for fuck’s sake and boycott these snake oil films, and encourage Hollywood to stop exploiting stupid shitty people and just write better stuff! WRITE BETTER STUFF! You’re a hero if you wake up every day and make the best of what you have without complaining too much.

So what does this have to do with this review? Absolutely nothing!

What it boils down to is that The Oxford Murders made me so mad I’d rather let pre-miracle Helen Keller practice oral sex on me with Freddy Krueger claws and Jaws teeth (the Bond villain not the shark, that’s just too scary) then to ever watch this movie again. And the circle is complete. Here we go folks.

Let’s start with the plot of this movie. The plot is fucking terrible! Moving on.

Who directed this film? Well it was some Spanish guy named Álex de la Iglesia. I’ve only seen one other film made by this director and it was The Last Circus (2010). This movie was really fucking weird and violent, and I remember really liking it. Of course I watched it over a Thanksgiving sometime ago. And by Thanksgiving I mean I sat in my trash filled apartment, in my underwear, with two of my friends for four days watching everything there was to watch on Netflix without ever leaving except to buy more whiskey. We drank an entire keg in under 24 hours, did a garbage bag of blow, and at some point I lost track of the whiskey bottles. I do recall watching this circus movie with my mouth wide open (not that it mattered since I ran out of saliva two days before this), in complete awe of how awesomely weird and intense it was. But honestly I was so fucked-up I think I had a Vietnam flashback. And I was born in the 80’s! I might have even seen Scott Bakula pop out of some bright light like in Quantum Leap (TV show). I didn’t walk into the light, however, I know there’s nothing good waiting for me there.

The thing about foreign movies is that they are either really weird and fucking awesome, or really weird and really bad. Or they just have Kung Fu dudes flying on wires and all Americans cheer. I’d like to remind all you fag hating fags out there that Ang Lee made Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000) and then some movie about gay cowboys pumping butts with Heath Ledger who won an Oscar because he died. And because he pumped butt. Man butt.

Now I won’t bore you with my opinions of foreign films in an American market and all that stuff just yet. If any of you feel like suggesting some I’m more than willing to review them and discuss this in greater detail. For now we can settle on the fact that a lot of foreign movies are hit or miss with American audiences. And even though The Oxford Murders is an American film, it’s directed and written by a Spanish guy. The first Spanish director to get any recognition really was Luis Bunuel, and he started in the silent film era. Roger Ebert said his first short film, “Un Chien Andalou” (An Andalusian Dog) was,
 “the most famous short film ever made”.  The important thing to remember about Spain, is that they had that little movement called Surrealism where shit got really weird. Like constant acid trip, melting clocks, and floating eyeballs, lick the toad spirit quest, Salvador Dali weird. That definitely bled into film, and it’s a tradition that has stuck. Trust me on this kids, I watch a lot of shit.
These are the things that go through my head before I watch a movie, and subsequently this is why I’m such nerdy piece of shit. I even took four pages of notes while I watched it (which is common for me), just so I’d be ready to write a thorough review. The movie was so bad however I threw all my notes away. Let’s start with the cast!

The first name we notice on this film is Elijah Wood. Well butter my buns and call me a biscuit! If Frodo is in this fucking movie it MUST be good! PALM TO FACE. In case you all didn’t know, Elijah Wood is one of the world’s greatest magicians. His most famous trick is making the world believe he is a talented actor. That’s way more impressive then when David Copperfield made the Statue of Liberty disappear in 1983 with special guest Morgan Fairchild! In case you were curious, Morgan Fairchild is some of the best spank bank material to ever come out of General Hospital…splooge. Though the trick isn’t as impressive as when he Copperfield walked through the Great Wall of China in 1986. That was just awesome! Don’t believe me? Here’s a link to watch you ungrateful philistines, and have some culture. I’m shitting out my childhood here.

Elijah Wood did not perform his trick with the help of smoke and mirrors, but rather with the Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001-2003). Now obviously it’s hard to find people that don’t like Lord of the Rings, myself included, but if you really look back and think about it, all Elijah Wood does in all three movies is have huge sad doe eyes, and look constipated for 12 hours of movie footage. Meanwhile the talented actors like Viggo Mortensen, Ian McKellen, Sean Bean, Cate Blanchett, and the list goes on and on, do all the work. It’s literally celebrity jizz fest. I’ll even give props to Sean fucking Astin, even though I fucking hate Rudy, as I mentioned earlier. These are the characters that have all the important dialogue and do all the acting. All the Frodo scenes of any worth contain Gollum, played by Andy Serkis, who carries Wood through the last two movies. I mean really think about it and you’ll know I’m right. If you look at Elijah Wood’s filmography, LOTR is the best thing he’s ever done, and we can thank Peter Jackson for that. The only other roles I like Elijah Wood in are Sin City (2005) where he plays Kevin the cannibal, who incidentally has no dialogue, and when he played Le garçon in Paris, je t'aime (2006), which is a collection of shorts about love. The segment Elijah Wood is in has no dialogue. I will admit that I have a soft spot for The Faculty (1998). Even then though he’s carried by the, not great, but better actors like Josh Hartnett, and Robert Patrick. He was the T-1000 for fuck’s sake. The movie is also full of silly movie gore, and young girls with rocking knockers. That’s enough to distract anyone from Wood’s atrocious acting. Some of you might want to argue Green Street Hooligans (2005), but I’d just counter by saying it’s the exact same scenario as I have just listed.

If you somehow decide to watch this film you should see exactly what I mean. Elijah Wood’s line delivery, is cold, monotone, vacuous, and just plain old soul-sucking. I wish you could hear my actual voice in this blog so I could give you a better idea, so here’s the best clip I could find. This is a scene from the beginning of the movie, and believe me, he only gets worse as the movie goes on.

If, for some reason, you didn’t think he wasn’t that bad in that scene then please put down your Harry Potter book, turn off your Justin Bieber album, because you’re probably late for the next showing of Breaking Dawn. Don’t worry though, because as soon as you open your front door I’ll already be waiting for you with a bucket of semen, I’ve been collecting for months, to drown you with. I’ll even make sure to shit in your mouth after you’ve asphyxiated on my dead baby juice.  This shit is terrible!

Martin: I believe in the number pi.
Arthur Seldom: I'm sorry, I didn't understand you. Uh, what was it you said you believed in?

Martin: In the number pi, in the golden section, the Fibonacci series. The essence of nature is mathematical. There is a hidden meaning beneath reality. Things are organized following a model, a scheme, a logical series. Even the tiny snowflake includes a numerical basis in its structure, therefore, if we manage to discover the secret meaning of numbers, we will know the secret meaning of reality.

Arthur Seldom: They are one; the ring and the Dark Lord. Martin, he must never find it.

Martin:  All right. We'll put it away. We'll keep it hidden, we'll never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they?  Do they, Arthur?

You see what I did there? Did you? Come on…

Sweet rosary anal beads! What the fuck is this shit?! In my opinion the only person who is capable of saving this movie is Elijah Wood’s co-star John Hurt. He’s the old guy from the clip. John Hurt, in my opinion, is a very decent actor. He’s also one of those guys that’s been in loads of stuff. His most famous roles include Kane from Alien (1979), where the alien pops out of his chest during dinner. It’s one of the most famous movie scenes of all time, and one of my personal favorites.  The only other stuff that’s easily recognizable is Hellboy (2004), he plays professor Broom, V for Vendetta (2005) as Adam Sutler, and he was recently in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011) as Control. And let us not forget his grounbd breaking performance as Lord Percival Graves in King Ralph (1991). John Goodman become the King of England, in case you were worried. Peter fucking O’Toole is in that movie for some reason…he was Larence of Arabia (1962) for fuck’s sake. So in theory, John Hurt should be able to carry Elijah Wood through this movie. The clip I posted even helps to support this idea, but alas, it is not true. The writers do their best to sabotage this movie with all of their awkward, blunderous dialogue, and the asinine, idiotic, overcomplicated, and circuitous plot that accomplishes nothing but stepping on its own feet and vomiting in its own asshole. And pissing me off of course. This movie made my asshole hurt, come to think of it, which many of my fans might argue is my face. So now, as quickly as I possibly can, the plot to this piece of shit.

Elijah Wood plays a very intelligent young man, who also happens to have an atrociously boring personality, very poor social skills, and obvious latent homosexuality, which thank goodness they acknowledge a few times during the film. Martin moves to England to attend Oxford and work on his thesis or whatever stuff smart people probably work on. He moves there in hopes of working under his idol Arthur Seldom played by John Hurt, who is a famous professor, philosopher, mathematician, and all that stuff that also creates a person with an atrociously boring personality, very poor social skills, and obvious latent homosexuality, except that the Seldom character is also a dirty old man that likes to fuck younger women. I really hope my wiener still works when I’m a hundred. In reality, I’ll be lucky if I live five more years. My liver has about as much pink in it as the La Brea Tar Pits.  

Since Oxford is overseas, Martin has to live somewhere, so he manages to take residence in the home of a Mrs. Eagleton, who is a close friend of Arthur Seldom. Martin does this so he might have an easier time convincing Seldom, his hero, to be his thesis supervisor. Mrs. Eagleton is more or less an invalid, and can’t take care of herself without the help of her daughter Beth. The filmography on these actresses is lame so I won’t bother. Beth and her mother do nothing but fight and it’s apparent they resent the shit out of each other. It’s also very obvious that Beth has awful social skills as well, since she does nothing but freak out all the time, and come on to Martin as awkwardly as possible whenever she can. She’s not that great looking either. A beer-goggle beauty queen at best.  The first scene of the movie is actually pretty cool I thought. It’s a pretty standard war scene, honestly, but amongst the explosions and death there is just some guy sitting outside the trench writing in his journal, with bullets flying past him and bombs going off everywhere, and he seems completely oblivious to the whole thing. As the audience you can’t help but wonder what the fuck this guy is doing. This is another reason why I’m so mad at the movie because it instantly promises something interesting that it does not deliver. Not even a little. This scene eventually segues to the clip I posted earlier. Arthur Seldom is lecturing about a man named Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein (1889-1951). He was an Austrian philosopher that focuses mainly on logic, and most importantly, as Seldom explains, the question of, “can we ever know the truth?”  I actually looked a lot of this shit up. It’s interesting, but very dry boring shit. Arthur Seldom even quotes directly from Wittgenstein’s thesis when he says, “Philosophy, therefore, is dead, because whereof we cannot speak, thereof we must be silent.” This basically denies the idea of absolute truth.

The whole movie revolves around this idea of how can anyone really know the truth, and the consequences of acting before knowing…even though you may never be able to know the truth…so how can we justify any actions if we can’t know the truth…so then should one seek the truth in order to act…seeking the truth may be just as futile since how can one seek something which may not exist…but surely there are times when we must act…so then…we have to…do…stuff…and…and…AND SWEET WRATHFUL BLOWJOB JESUS WITH TWO SIDES OF BACON!

What the fuck is this shit!? After watching the first ten minutes of this fucking movie I knew it had no choice but to fail. Writing a story with a complicated plot is one thing, but having a story with a foundation that is based on an abstract theory of logic and its relationship with the universe and those who attempt to perceive it is not what I would call a murder mystery with a few psychological thrills, as the description of the movie suggests. This is a huge problem with a lot of movies, because people forget that films are usually only 90 to 120 minutes, so if you tackle something like this you’re going to have to trade story or character development for shoving in as much shit about crap that doesn’t matter to prove your point, which is exactly what happens in The Oxford Murders. This topic is more loaded then all the shit filled diapers in a Mexican daycare, or some bloated perverts boxers after a trip to the back room of the porno shop. Oh the glory hole…also reminds me of my childhood. It makes me wonder why the writers ever thought this would work in the first place…oh right…he’s a Spanish director…lord it’s hard being right all the fucking time.

So Seldom gives this long lecture about this stuff and Martin tries to impress him with his awful dialogue delivery…err I mean by saying he has faith in numbers and shit. Seldom shuts Martin down in front of the entire lecture hall, and for a second you think John Hurt can carry Elijah Wood through the next 80 minutes of this fucking disaster. Alas. So then there’s a murder. Now, before we get to that there’s a couple things to address. The first, is a scene where Martin is playing squash (British racket ball) by himself. He’s even scribbled calculations all over the walls so he can predict exactly where the ball will go after it makes contact with the wall. What a fucking asshole faggot! No wonder he has zero friends. Not to mention, have anyone of you seen a movie where someone who wasn’t completely shit-eating crazy write math stuff all over the walls? The Number 23 (2007) comes to mind. That story worked out well…oh wait. So as he’s playing the audience is introduced to ultra hot Lorna played by the ultra hot Leonor Watling. She’s been a bunch of Spanish, and Indie films, so don’t worry about it, what you should worry about it is that she enters the scene super sweaty with her gargantuan knockers bounding all over the place like hippopotami galloping gracefully through the savannah. This chick is so hot I would suck the diarrhea out of her asshole like frozen yogurt, if there was a chance she would even look at my penis. Lorna becomes Martin’s love interest in the film. Not I know what you’re thinking, why the fuck would this chick want the obviously gay, atrociously boring Martin? AS it turns out she gets a huge girl-boner for really smart dudes. It’s later revealed that Lorna also had a sexual relationship with Arthur Seldom. This upsets Martin a lot later on in the film, which doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Martin absolutely worships Arthur, so you’d think he would be stoked that not only do they have the same taste in women, but they’re Eskimo brothers. When two penises have frothed in the same vagina, a very special relationship can build. It’s like docking, but with more potential for porno. Martin is still really upset about it, and for a second you think it’s because he loves Lorna, but then we remember Martin probably just wants to punch Arthur’s donut.

After this Lorna drives Martin home, where Beth, who is staring creepily out the window like Norman Bates in drag, sees them and is insanely jealous. She runs outside immediately to confront martin. That’s not crazy at all. This is where the audience really gets an idea of how unhappy Beth is. She’s been stuck wiping her dying mother’s ass for the last five years with no life of her own. The audience is supposed to feel bad for her, since something like that is really hard for someone in their early twenties, but we don’t because she’s insane and a shitty boring person like all the other characters. Martin gives her some long winded, and still poorly delivered, speech about living free and pursuing your dreams and shit. This is extra stupid because it’s not hard to see that Martin has had zero life experience outside of his face in a book, especially since moments before we get to watch some outrageously gorgeous woman throw herself at him, to which he can only respond, herp da derp derp I’m a fag derp. Honestly all of Elijah Wood’s dialogue would be better delivered by Jim Carrey’s ass from Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (1994). This is all important for later, so I’ll speed up the plot summary.

After Arthur embarrasses Martin at the lecture hall, Martin throws a huge tantrum and decides to pack up and leave Oxford. What a fucking crybaby right? Arthur shows up at his house, presumably to see Mrs. Eagleton, and they both discovered that she has been murdered. I almost turned the movie off at this point because the two characters turn into Sherlock Holmes and Watson, except way more pretentious and gay then Sir Arthur Conan Doyle ever intended. They start speculating at each other as to what happened with such blatant arrogant temerity, and overall apathy for the situation, I couldn’t help but wonder how both of these men weren’t just killed at birth. I mean honestly! This fucking movie is written like a junior high short story straight out of creative writing class with that really hip and adorable 22-year-old teacher fresh off the bachelor’s degree. Arthur claims that he came to see Mrs. Eagleton because he received a note with a symbol on it that implied her life might be in danger. Martin and Arthur arrive at a theory that this must be the first of a soon to come series of murders that are designed to test Arthur Seldom’s intelligence, since he received the note, and that the killer is targeting people who are already at risk of death, implying that the murders are “imperceptible”, which supposedly backs up the idea of testing their intelligence. So if the killer targets people that are already dying then maybe the police won’t really notice and the intricate game of wits and intrigue can begin! WAIT WHAT!? Who wrote this fucking shit!? Oh yeah…the Spanish guy…right…

Martin and Arthur literally arrive at this theory after less than five minutes of dialogue and initial impression of the crime scene, for which they have had no formal training. They're fucking egg-heads not detectives for fuck’s sake. Then that’s it, they just roll with it for the rest of the movie, and that’s it. Wait what!? WHY!? But what about…wait what…WHY!? PALM TO FACE.

So Arthur and martin go to the cops, just to be safe, and then nothing happens. The cops in this movie are maybe the most useless movie cops I’ve ever seen. Cops always do something in movies, even if it affects the characters and the plot in a negative way. These cops do absolutely nothing except listen to Arthur and Martin, who actually do all the investigating, and by investigating I mean talking to each other, while everyone else just sits around and waits for an update from the fucking wonder twins, who really spend the whole movie arguing with each other about who is smarter and fighting over Lorna’s astronomically huge boobs. I could stop right now and that would be enough, but I’m too mad so let’s keep going. What the fuck else happens you ask! Ass to mouth! That’s what happens!

In the middle of all this, Martin goes to visit Lorna, who is a nurse at the hospital. Hot nurse…at least they did something right, Jesus! While he waits for Lorna, Martin meets Frank, a really strange religious conspiracy fanatic type guy who yells at him about nothing. Frank is played by Dominique Pinon, who I guarantee you’d all recognize even if you don’t already know who he is. He’s been in a lot of hilarious foreign films like Amelie (2001), Delicatessen (1991), and maybe you remember him as hysterical wheelchair guy from Alien: Resurrection (1997). Frank is there because his daughter is dying of cancer. Who cares! This movie is awful! Except Frank has some old medical book that I guess does something later. Martin runs into Arthur visiting an old friend who went insane and lobotomized himself. I’m surprised more people didn’t receive self-inflicted lobotomies after watching this piece of shit. After that another murder. The old dying guy in the hospital bed next to Arthur’s friend. Maybe he just fucking died! He was a thousand years old and breathing out of machines! Oh wait, they found a needle prick in the guys arm…surely that never happens to sick people in hospitals…the dance of wits and intrigue continues! PALM TO FACE.

Another symbol is found to go along with the first one, to reaffirm the idea that the killer is testing them. Fucking rule sauce. Lorna fixes this plot hole with some bullshit theory from the toxicologist that makes no sense, but they use big words so I guess the audience should just take their word for it…SIGH…don’t worry guys she’s fucking the toxicologist too it’s fine. They blame it on some fucking obscure as all hell fungus that no one knows about except the secret guild of toxicologists…wait what? Don’t worry they don’t tell the cops though, who are still just sitting around licking each other’s assholes waiting for Arthur to tell them what to do.

So later everyone goes to this Guy Fawkes celebration. Guy Fawkes is a guy that did stuff in England once and is famous. The plot from V for Vendetta (2005) has a lot to do with Guy Fawkes. Arthur Seldom is also dressed up like Guy Fawkes. Remember that time that Arthur Seldom was played by John Hurt who was the fucking bad guy from V for Vendetta…and…and I don’t even know why I bother getting out of bed everyday…fuck balls.

So at this party there is live music. The triangle player, I wish I was joking, drops dead. Another murder! OH MY GURD! Arthur finds another symbol, it’s a triangle…seriously? Fucking seriously? Ok so at this point the audience knows the first symbol was circle, the second was something that looks like a fish, and the third is a triangle…awesome. Arthur and Martin spend 2/3 of the movie arguing about what this means. They last 1/3 is spent sucking each other’s underdeveloped dicks. In case you were concerned, the cops still have nothing to add. The police chief does suggest to Arthur that he publish his theory about the next symbol in the series in the newspaper, with hopes that it will stop the killer. This game of intrigue is so intriguing! PALM TO FACE.

Martin goes off with Lorna for a hilariously bad sex scene, mostly because I still don’t believe Martin likes girls, and also at this point at least three characters have made comments implying that they don’t either(including Lorna), and because I’m convinced that Elijah Wood is a robot, who was created to remind us of what bad acting is. If I really needed reminding I would just continue watching movies. So intriguing! I’m also convinced that this scene is our reward for sitting through this abortion of film making, since we finally get to see her boobs unleashed from their lacey bra-barred prison. Though you only get to see one, from the side. Side-boob is better than no boob, and it’s still glorious. I heard angelic choir music. I wonder how many times in history that three second scene was watched, rewound, and rewatched again and again for masturbating purposes? Ok, maybe it was just me. In which case it was only twice. This is no easy task however, because as you behold the glorious areola, you are also, and simultaneously, forced to behold Elijah Wood’s coitus face. Try and imagine one of the green pig guys from Return of the Jedi (1983) having an orgasm.  They’re called Gamorreans by the way, and anyone of them is still a better actor than Elijah Wood.  They were played by plastic suits.

So after this Martin figures out the next symbol in the series. As it turns out it was a very simple mathematical sequence that the Pythagoreans came up with at some point. Pythagorean might sound more like an STD than Gamorrean. Good lord. The kicker to this astounding revelation is that Martin finds this sequence in the same medical book that Frank was holding earlier in the movie! Oh man it was Frank the whole time! Wait who the fuck is Frank? Oh yeah, the guy with the cancer daughter! The game of wits and intrigue is so complicated and…there’s shit…just shit everywhere…being stuffed into our mouths as we watch this movie. Frank literally had like 30 seconds of screen time and I’m supposed to be impressed when it turns out he’s the bad guy? It’s like some twist from an M. Night Shamalamllamalongadingdong movie. The Sixth Sense (1999) was ok I guess. Martin and Lorna read a bit more in this book determine that the killer probably hates retards because the Pythagoreans used to do weird medical experiments on retarded people back in the day. Yes friends this conversation actually happens! But this makes sense because Frank’s daughter is dying of cancer. Wait what?! Right because why should Frank just stand by and let his daughter die of cancer when there are plenty of harmless, never hurt anyone, minding their own business, retarded kids walking around? WAIT WHAT? Oh, because Frank drives a bus full of retarded kids. He can just kill them I suppose, which obviously is his next move. WHAT THE FUCK!? How do we know any of this? We don’t, because none of this makes any sense because the director is Spanish! SWEET ACID FLASHBACK SCOOBY-DOO SODOMOITE JESUS! Let’s go get the fucking bad guy already!

So Martin tells the cops of Frank’s plan to murder the bus load of adorable retards and they rush into action with road blocks and shit. Except that they stop the wrong bus, which conveniently has Arthur on it, I suppose we have to get his character out their somehow, meanwhile Frank drives the bus into a rock wall down the street and everyone, including Frank, explodes and dies a fiery horrendous death!

That’ll teach you retarded faggots to have an extra 23rd chromosome and to break my ribs in fucking gym class when all I want to do is hit on the class slut! Play dodge ball with that bitches! I really hope Helen Keller was on that bus.

Seriously after everything I’ve just described they choose to end the movie by blowing up a bus of retarded kids. I’m not sure whether I should stand up and applaud or go drink Drano. Well, since I’ve always wanted to blow up a bus full of retards, I’ll applaud and suggest the director/writer of this film go drink the Drano. So then everyone is sad and the police chief tells Arthur it’s all his fault for publishing his stupid theory, even though he told Arthur to do it, and did absolutely no police work the entire movie. Finally Martin makes the best decision of his life when he decides fuck this shit, I’m going to get on a plane with Lorna and go somewhere awesome and far away and fuck her brains out. Brilliant! I would have done after meeting her in the gym in the first place. Instead he spent the whole movie inventing reasons not to fuck her, so he could poorly solve a murder mystery that makes no sense and isn’t even a little interesting. Even when she fucks his brains out, makes him pasta wearing nothing but an apron, lets him eat it off her, he still more or less tells her she’s stupid and runs off to be by Arthur’s side at all times. We have a word that describes guys like Martin, and it’s FAG.

This is one of the worst parts about this film, is that it tricks you into thinking it’s over. Instead the movie gives you the M. Night Shamalamllamalongadingdong movie ending. SIGH. So earlier Arthur gives Martin a note, with what Arthur believes is the last symbol written on it. This is of course before we find out anything about Frank. Arthur tells Martin he can look at it if he wants to, but he’d prefer Martin figure it out on his own. Obviously Martin doesn’t do the smart thing and just look at the note, because if he figure it out then Maybe Arthur will rest his dusty old man balls on Martin’s face. I bet Arthur ejaculates moths, which I’d also be willing to bet get’s Martin’s Mangina all wet. Right before Martin gets on the plane with Lorna, he finds the note and realizes there is nothing written on it. The note says nothing, much like this movie. At that moment it occurs to Martin that it was Arthur the whole time! Oh god it was my idol, I better run off and put my pee pee in his butthole! That’ll fix this movie. And that’s what he does. He leaves Lorna at the airport by herself, thank the fuck Christ she gets on the plane and never looks back, and finds Arthur in some crusty old museum. Arthur confesses that he made up all the murders and that everyone that dies just died of natural unrelated to each other causes. He did so in order to protect Beth, who actually did murder her mother Mrs. Eagleton, because she hated her and blamed her mother for her shitty uneventful life. The idea of a murderer was meant to distract everyone from a very obvious case of pissed-off daughter. An outraged Martin yells at Arthur calling him a liar and a hypocrite, and blames him for the deaths of the retarded kids because Frank got the idea from reading Arthur’s theory in the paper…I guess. Arthur agrees with Martin about all this but then points out that Beth got the idea to kill her mother when Martin gave Beth the “take your life by the reins” speech at the beginning of the movie, that martin had no right to give anyone. Arthur calls Martin the butterfly that flaps its wings and starts a hurricane that they argued about in the clip I posted. Martin replies by saying, “OH”. THE END.

So what we have here is a movie that was destined to fail even before it was written. The idea of,” how can anyone ever know the truth” is far too lofty for a 90 minute movie to tackle. Literally nothing happens in this movie, except for an outrageous amount of scenes where Arthur and Martin argue about math and philosophy. They bitch at each other about logical series, Wittgenstein's rule-following paradox, and his truth tables, Gödel's Theorem, the butterfly effect (which thankfully has nothing to do with Ashton Kutcher this time), Heisenberg's Principle of Uncertainty, Fermat's Last Theorem, how a perfect crime is possible when it is solved with the incorrect culprit, and a bunch of shit about the Pythagoreans, the Taniyama Conjecture, and the Tetraktys. Whatever the fuck all that means. I actually looked up a bunch of this shit to try and figure out what was going on, and like I said, interesting but dry boring shit. Especially in a movie.

All of this stuff comes out in the dialogue, which is an overly convenient plot device, and it comes out as fact regurgitation which completely negates all character development. And that’s true. Martin and Arthur are awful fucking people and the audience has no reason to give a shit about them or anything they do. They’re awkward, boring, pretentious, arrogant shitty people. They never even get a chance to be good because they spend the whole movie spewing facts at each other in some overly elaborate pissing contest, just laced with homosexuality that isn’t groundbreaking or thought provoking. It’s boring. Not to mention the average movie watcher probably has no idea what the fuck the fuck they’re talking about. But they used big words…so…so shit fuck ass!

They’re relationship seemed like it was modeled after a relationship someone like Aristotle might have had with one of his students, which we know from left over Greek literature, except with much less maturity and far less butt fucking, which probably would have lightened them both up a bit. The terrible dialogue also keeps the story at a standstill. Good stories have their plots driven by dynamic characters that make decisions that influence the world around them. These characters are so flat the story just moves itself along when it’s convenient for the story to do so. Which is also very fucking boring. The only good character is Lorna. Not only is she pretty but she’s very reasonable. She encourages Martin and Arthur to calm down and work together and fight less with each other, and to not overcomplicate things because the answer is probably right in front of them. And it was the whole time. Instead they just tell her to shut up because she isn’t as smart as them since she likes to read mystery novels. This fucking movie is a shitty grocery store mystery novel anyway. Personally I want the girl that reads a lot of mystery novels on my side, because she might notice something I didn’t or just plain can’t. But instead they have interactions like this:

Lorna: You're like two kids fighting over a ball.
Arthur Seldom: And you're the ball?

Then Martin cries about how pissed he is at her that he didn’t fuck her first. Good one. At the end they lose the only woman, a really good looking one as well, that can stand either of them. They’re left with each other and a bus of dead retards. Great fucking job guys. The only good thing about this movie was some of the cinematography. The movie does contain several very well executed and artfully done shots. My favorite is when the camera follows a man out of the auditorium who walks down the street to a bookstore, where we switch to another character who then walks out of the book store down the street and doges Arthur by hiding. We switch to Arthur who walks down the street in the opposite direction until we focus on Martin who appears riding his bike back to the auditorium. There’s loads of background shit happening as well, and it’s done all in one take. Shit like this is not only hard to visualize, but very hard to plan and execute. So thank you to the director of cinematography Kiko de la Rica for doing something right.

I believe in three things: Eating. Shitting. Fucking. These things give my life meaning, and I have found contentment in this. I was born. I’ll die. But while I’m here I’m going to eat, shit and fuck as much as possible. If god is real I’ll shake his fucking hand, because that’s all I need. For the rest of you folks who get a boner from all this philosophical contemplation, that’s tough cookies for you I guess. Spending your whole life wondering why you’re alive sounds like a miserable recipe for disaster. So take your overeducated asses out of the stupid fucking waterfall you were mediating under and punch yourselves in the genitals till reproduction is no longer an option, because nature didn’t intend on having so many crybabies complaining all the time about “why am I here?” You’re here to be food for people like me, who want to live and are happy to be living. So run bitches because I’m coming to eat you! Unless you do me the courtesy of drowning yourselves in the nearest public toilet after you’re done punching yourselves in the genitals. Don’t bother flushing, you’re not worth it.

Well whatever you do, don’t watch this fucking movie. The characters suck, and the story goes nowhere because all the artistic energy is funneled into vomiting up stuff that smart people read a time or two. The actors don’t even get a chance to do anything because they’re frozen in the middle of this mind-numbing task. I guess that’s what happens when you adapt a novel, that probably had more time to explain develop all this shit. It’s called Crímenes imperceptibles, by the Argentinian Guillermo Martínez, published in 2003. So way to go Spain for this fucking gem. Hitler was our last chance to get rid of you I guess. For that I would gladly take one for the team and shove my head in the nearest oven. Fuck balls, who's next!?

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