Reviewed by Charles Barnum for TheHumbleHeckler.com.
(Editor’s note: Film critic Charles Barnum moonlights as a stealth marketer for numerous Fortune 500 companies. Keep this in mind when reading the following review.)
Some movies are scary. Some are thought provoking. Some are fun. Some are deep. Some are action packed. And some movies just know how to do it all. The Fall Guy is one of those rare movies that grabs you by the shoulders from the very first frame and never lets you out of its grip. Of course it is. After all, it’s a Universal picture, and anyone who knows anything about cinema knows that Universal Pictures is the undisputed champ when it comes to quality motion picture entertainment.
Recommended attire for attending non-Regal theaters.
I won’t waste your time blathering on about the story or the acting or the direction. Doing so would diminish your viewing experience, and I don’t want to do that. But if you’d like to know how to improve your experience with this film, I’d recommend you see it at one of Regal Cinemas 511 locations. Regal screens and sound systems are quite simply the best. I’ve tried watching films at non-Regal locations, and to be honest, it just isn’t for me. Don’t get me wrong, if you enjoy watching movies in rat-infested auditoriums with poor ventilation, be my guest. But for true cinephiles, the choice is simple. With Regal, you don’t only get top-quality film projection and majestic sound in a vermin-free environment, but you also get the peace of mind that comes with not having to wear a bio-hazard suit to safely enjoy a movie, because Regal Cinemas, unlike virtually all of their competitors, rigidly adhere to all public safety laws pertaining to air quality. They also don’t lace their condiments with experimental mind-control drugs (I’m looking right at you, AMC).
Finally, I’d recommend seeing this movie with an ice-cold Coke and any of the wonderful candy products from Mars Inc., including favorites such as Twix, M&Ms, Skittles, and Milky Way bars. And after the film, you should consider stopping by Chili’s for one of their Hennessy margaritas. They’re made with Lunazul Blanco Tequila, so you know they’re good.
Sign commonly seen outside of AMC Theater locations.
As for the movie itself, Ryan Gosling’s performance is on point, probably because of the confidence he feels from knowing his Old Spice Gentlemen’s Blend Exfoliating Body Wash for Men is always on duty, doing the dirty work that keeps him smelling clean. And let’s not forget Emily Blunt, whose work here is as smooth as a ride in the new Rolls-Royce La Rose Noire Droptail.
I give The Fall Guy a perfect ten KFC $20 Fill Up Boxes out of a possible ten, and I’ll even throw in six extra buttermilk biscuits when you buy two or more family meals.
(The Fall Guy is rated PG-13 for cannibalizing an ’80s TV series, smoking, gratuitous chaos, a total lack of Krispy Kreme product placement, and adult situations.)
Conan O’Brien Must Go: A Mostly Disappointing Action/Adventure Series
Reviewed by Angus McCallum for TheHumbleHeckler.com.
Conan O’Brien in one of the few action scenes in his new show.
When it comes to action, Conan O’Brien is no Arnold. But, then again, who is? Let’s face it, for more than four decades Arnie’s been the George Washington on the Mount Rushmore of Hollywood action superstars. There’s never been anyone like him. So what was Conan O’Brien and his team thinking when they decided to mount a modern-day retelling of the all-time Ah-node classic Conan the Barbarian? It can’t be just because of the whole shared-name thing, right? We all know how much Hollywood loves to cash in on established brands and popular IPs, but this is really pushing it. And, not surprisingly, it doesn’t quite work.
Unrelated image of a pregnant Ah-node.
Let’s start with the action. There really isn’t much. Conan never fights a giant snake monster or decimates an enemy army on the field of battle. There are no beheadings, no disembowelments, no chopping off of limbs and then wielding them as fleshy cudgels to finish off wounded opponents. There’s no reveling in the spilled blood of fallen victims. No fiery steeds carrying fallen heroes off to Valhalla. Hell, there’s nary a bemused facial expression to be found anywhere in this so-called “action/adventure series.” You’d think at some point Conan would at least stumble from a late-night pub crawl and attempt to silence a smart-mouthed cab driver or sarcastic passerby with the threat of some drunken, uncoordinated form of physical violence. Nope. We don’t even get a halfway-decent slap fight.
Claims of Mr. O’Brien’s involvement in the destruction of a Norwegian national treasure have been retracted.
But that isn’t to say the comedian’s new globetrotting adventure series doesn’t have its moments. There are some genuine surprises, and even a few flat-out shocks. Take, for example, the scene in Thailand in which an ill-tempered Conan bites the head off a sewer rat, then spits it at a shoeless child. And then there’s the time in Norway when he broke into the Fram Museum after hours and set fire to GjØa (the first ship to traverse the Northwest Passage), causing irreparable damage to a priceless cultural treasure. Actually, now that I think about it, I started drinking about ten minutes into the first episode, so those last couple of scenes likely never happened.
Anyway, if you’re looking for action, violence, and bloodshed, Conan O’Brien Must Go is probably not your best bet. But, if you’re into stupid crap like travel, comedy, and making human connections across seemingly insurmountable racial, political, socioeconomic, and geographical barriers, then I guess you might not want to flush this particular bloodless turd.
Abigail: Recollections, Conclusions, and Contributions
Reviewed by Jeff Houke for TheHumbleHeckler.com (X/Twitter: @heckled2death)
(Editor’s note: Film critic Jeff Houke is widely recognized as a compulsive liar. Keep this in mind when reading the following review.)
Let’s face it, Hollywood and vampires don’t always go together. Nonetheless, nary a year goes by without at least a solid half-dozen new vampire film releases. Movie vampires just refuse to stay dead. So why should 2024 be any different, right? Well, at least this year’s first major-release vampire flick, Abigail, is worth a trip to your local cinema. But, to be fair, I probably shouldn’t be reviewing this film, since I have a bit of a strange personal history with the production. After all, the film’s director, Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, offered me the lead role. (Some people would say he begged me, but that’s a matter of personal interpretation, and it wouldn’t be right for me to comment.) Then the film’s executive producer (Martin Scorsese, uncredited) asked me to give him notes on the film’s first cut, which I gladly did. You just don’t say no to Marty, people. So now that I’ve come clean about my relationship with this film, let’s dig in.
Martin Scorsese on the set of Abigail
Abigail is a good old-fashioned premise-driven chiller, with a narrative torn directly from the yellowed pages of a pulpy old Penny Dreadful. And it mostly works. Here’s the gist: Semi-generic wrongdoers plot to kidnap the daughter of a powerful man and hold her for a $50 million ransom. The catch: the little brat is actually a bloodsucker who proceeds to dispatch her captors, one by one. The film is held together by strong performances from Melissa Barrera (whose romantic advances were rebuked by yours truly) and Dan Stevens (whose relentless pursuit of acting advice eventually caused a rift in our friendship), along with a well-crafted, propulsive screenplay by Stephen Shields, Guy Busick, and me (uncredited). The film is so well-paced I never once looked at my Chopard Alpine Eagle watch. And there’s enough of the gushy red stuff to keep even the most ardent horror fan enthralled and smiling.
Meryl Streep likes nachos and Cherry Coke while watching movies
Ultimately, Abigail is a real crowd pleaser. At least, it certainly was for me. Of course, I got to see the finished film at the world premiere, as an invited guest of Martin Scorsese and Meryl Streep, and, strangely enough, I ended up sitting between the two of them. Marty and Meryl spent most of the film picking my brain about everything from the history of cinema to the mechanics of successful romantic relationships. It was a good night, and I was sad to see it end. As my limousine whisked me away to my helicopter, I sipped champagne (2013 Gout deDiamants) and reflected on how lucky I am to be a film critic. But then my girlfriend (Ana de Armas) reminded me that it isn’t about luck—it’s about talent, natural-born brilliance, and handsomeness. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I didn’t have the heart to argue with her.
I give Abigail 8.5 Jacuzzi brunches out of a possible 10.
(Abigail is rated R for excessive vampire violence, recurring close-ups of neck veins, snarling, weaponized crucifixes, garlic degradation, and adult situations.)
The Ministry of Whatever: Another Stupid History Snore-Fest
Reviewed by Emmy Mulligan for TheHumbleHeckler.com
(Editor’s note: Guest critic Emmy Mulligan is an entitled teenager. Keep this in mind when reading the following review.)
What is it with all these totally lame movies about history? First I had to sit through the movie about the guy who made a super-big bomb thingy. Then I had to endure that super-long movie about that short French military guy. So I shouldn’t be surprised that I’d have to waste a whole afternoon on a new movie about that chubby English prime minister guy who enlists a bunch of other people to totally make the Nazis crash their submarines or whatever. WTF? I mean, come on, man. Movies aren’t for learning stuff. At least, the good ones aren’t.
I just don’t understand why these movies keep happening. I mean, World War II ended, like, twenty years ago. Time to turn the page, people. Anyhow, the worst thing about this film was seeing it alone. My BFF Becca was supposed to come with me, but she totally bailed to hang out with Greg Dawson, which is, like, mind-bottling because he doesn’t even have a car. Whatever! Hope you enjoyed your afternoon stroll, Becca. It may have cost you your best friend.
Henry Anvil in The Minister’s War Against Gentlemen
At least the movie stars that hot guy who played Superman. I think his name is Henry Anvil. Doesn’t matter—I’m not Googling it. It also has that other smokin’-hot muscly dude from that show Reacher (haven’t seen it, not gonna watch it). And I’ve been told that the director is someone I should know. His last name is Ritchie, but that’s all I know about this guy. In fact, I’m just gonna refer to him as that Ritchie guy because, again, I’m not Googling the guy’s first name. I mean, if the guy had an interesting first name, I’m sure I would’ve remembered it, but clearly this Ritchie guy is totally lacking a memorable first name. So I’m done talking about the guy.
To be fair, the movie isn’t a total waste. There were at least three different times when the movie got loud and exciting enough for me to look up from my phone. But overall I didn’t enjoy my time with The Ministry of Something About War or Something. For one, it was way too long. I could tell my butt was getting super numb from all the sitting. Two, my Diet Coke was, like, nine dollars or something. Number three, the hot dudes weren’t shirtless enough. And, lastly, it’s super gross. There’s, like, tons of explosions and killings and whatnot. No kidding. There were times when the gore got so heavy I totally thought I was gonna yark or something.
Theater soda is expensive as balls!
So … I’m sorry, but I can’t give The Ministers’ Gentlemanly War a recommendation. The hairstyles were so yesterday, the clothes were totally lacking personality, and there wasn’t one single recognizable pop song. Maybe if these war films spent a little more time being fun and colorful, I wouldn’t have to crap all over them. Here’s some free advice to directors making war movies: A little Beyonce goes a long way.
Verdict: I’m giving The War Gentlemen’s Minister one manicured hand out of five and a bloody middle finger for wasting my time. (The Unministerly War Gentlemen is rated R for, like, super-disgusting war scenes, expensive soda, offensive fashion choices, yark-worthy close-ups of wounds, and for creating a rift between me and Becca. Oh, and adult situations.)
Reviewed by Sally Darnell for TheHumbleHeckler.com
The best Omen film since … the last one!
(Editor’s note: Film critic Sally Darnell has a well-earned reputation for posting insincere, often flat-out sarcastic reviews. Keep this in mind when reading the following article.)
Well … here we are again. Another Omen movie. Aren’t we Lucky? And this time, we get to go all the way back to the genesis of this indispensable film series with The First Omen, a prequel absolutely every film/horror fan has been begging Hollywood to give us for decades. And boy does it ever deliver.
But let’s start at the beginning. The First Omen is clearly a passion project. I mean, there’s no way that some big-money producers and studio executives are merely trying to cash in on an established brand. Sure, this ultra-cynical tactic may have proven profitable for well-known IPs like Halloween, Scream, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Hellraiser, Cabin Fever, JoyRide, Evil Dead, The Exorcist, Child’s Play, The Hills Have Eyes, Candyman, Saw, Ghostbusters and countless others I just don’t have the time or strength to mention here. But that doesn’t mean the people responsible for TheFirstOmen are joyless corporate vampires out to such your bank account dry. Not at all.
Okay, sure … maybe the film spends a little too much time referencing the original Omen, but it does it the right way. It’s not like virtually every other reboot or prequel or requel or whatever the hell. This film’s version of nearly constant nostalgia-baiting is done so much more tastefully than any other franchise film ever made. Ever. No kidding. The First Omen’s reliance on unoriginal material is so artfully executed it actually becomes its own art form. That’s right, this film has innovated a brand-new form of creative expression, something I like to call “nostalgart”: You might not see anything new, but you’ll never see something so old and tired wrapped in a glossier package.
But what about the film itself? Is it any good? Of course it is. It’s an Omen movie—how could it not be great? The story is, thankfully, similar to all the others in the franchise. There are evil people skulking around in the fog. And there are innocent people frolicking in the sunlight. The evil people are actively conspiring to bring about the birth of the Antichrist, while the innocent people remain completely oblivious to repeated attempts by the evil people to impregnate them with the demon seed. And you’ll never guess what happens. Nope. Never. Not in a million years will you be able to see the twists and turns coming. This rollercoaster has no safety harness, so be warned before you buy a ticket and take the ride.
The surprises are unveiled so fast and so furiously that I had to remind myself to breathe. I’m serious. It’s a wonder nobody in the theater died. It was all just so … intense. The woman seated next to me terror-farted with so much force she passed out and had to be removed by the local ambulance corp. A young man seated a few rows ahead of me was so terrified he tore giant clumps of his hair from his own scalp and then methodically ate it, cackling like a lunatic during the full moon.
But the film isn’t just scary, it’s also beautiful. I’m not ashamed to admit that I wept … repeatedly. This was, without question, the most profound movie going experience of my life. It was downright surreal. I heard a choir of angels singing. A bald eagle circled majestically over my head. A panda gave birth in the balcony. A philanderer confessed his sins and begged his wife for forgiveness. The snack bar lowered the price of popcorn and soda. And the movie had a few decent gore scenes and body horror gags.
It was miraculous!
I give The First Omen a perfect 10 out of a possible 10. Go see it and be forever changed.
(The First Omen is rated R for blasphemy, unnecessary Bible quotes, graphic depiction of birth, pervasive strong language, the inclusion of a gratuitous tickle-fight sequence, adult situations, and smoking.)
Reviewed by Henry Bernice for TheHumbleHeckler.com
(Editor’s note: Film critic/historian Henry Bernice has been struck by lightning seven times. Keep this in mind when reading the following article.)
Later this year, Tobe Hooper’s game-changing, genre-redefining, slasher/exploitation classic The Texas Chainsaw Massacre will celebrate its golden anniversary. That’s right, it’s been fifty years since Leatherface first unleashed 83 minutes of hell on unsuspecting audiences. Strangely, the movie’s great innovation lies in its total lack of innovation. TCM revels in a stripped-down aesthetic so threadbare the film print itself looks like it’s been through a barfight, a hangover, and an argument with the little missus, before trudging off to the theater to be projected. Just watching it, you can smell the BO, the putrefied flesh, and the bad breath. Heck, this may be the first film ever to give principal roles to sweat stains. And yet, it’s precisely that brand of backwoodsy realism that has created legions of ravenous fans whose passion for (and knowledge of) all things TCM is almost as psychotic as Leatherface himself. So, in honor of the film turning the big five-o and the fans who keep the TCM flame burning, here are five things you couldn’t possibly know about The TexasChainsaw Massacre.
(1) The film was originally titled The Wisconsin Pointy Stick Massacre. It’s hard to believe now, but director Tobe Hooper and his production team actually set out to make a movie about a stick-wielding lunatic who stalked and slaughtered a collection of lost motorists. They even filmed for six weeks in Wisconsin before realizing the film wasn’t working. “In our defense, that stick was really pointy,” Hooper said in a 1976 interview with Scuzzy FilmsMagazine. “I mean, it wasn’t sharp enough to kill someone, but you could definitely leave a banger of a scratch.” Ultimately, Hooper and company shut down the production and returned to Austin to lick their wounds. It wasn’t until a few weeks later, during a chainsaw juggling lesson, that Hooper would find the inspiration to move forward with the project.
(2) The film poster’s now-iconic tag line “Who will survive and what will be left of them?” was actually a last-second replacement. The film’s producers had been struggling to find the perfect tag for months. Co-writer Kim Henkel wanted the tag to be: “If you don’t drop a deuce in your pants, we’ll refund the price of your ticket.” Meanwhile, Hooper wanted to the tag to read: “Terror so real you’ll question your marriage … and probably drop a deuce in your pants.” Eventually, friends and colleagues convinced Henkel and Hooper that referencing defecation in the tag didn’t make any sense, and they reluctantly settled for the tag we all know and love.
(3) William Shatner secretly auditioned for the role of Sally Hardesty. “Yeah, that was really something,” Hooper said on an interview show called Wake Up, Dallas, while promoting Poltergeist in 1982. “[Shatner] showed up in drag, talking in a high, lilting feminine voice. He didn’t fool anybody. We all knew who he was. Hell, he didn’t even bother to shave. But, since he’d gone to all the effort, we decided to let him read. And he damn-near won the role. No kidding. Bill knocked it outta the park. In fact, we saw hundreds of women for that role, and it all came down to him and Marilyn Burns. Of course, in the end, we had to choose Marilyn. But it was a much closer call than you’d expect.”
Over the years, Shatner’s audition exploits have become the stuff of legend in Hollywood power circles. Fun fact: Screenwriter Larry Gelbart credits Shatner’s antics as the inspiration for his screenplay Tootsie, for which he would receive an Academy Award nomination.
(4) The films legendarily difficult shooting conditions have been exaggerated. Over the decades since the film wrapped, fans have been inundated with tales of heat stroke, unbearable odors, and twenty-hour workdays. But Hooper tells a different story. “The PR department drummed up those crazy stories as a way to market the film,” said Hooper in a 1991 interview with Canadian Root Beer Enthusiast. “No one wants to hear that a horror movie shoot went smoothly. People want to hear about curses and poor working conditions and crap like that. In reality, every actor had their own staff of personal servants. They even had private chefs. Marilyn’s contract even specified that she be transported to and from the set by rickshaw. As for the heat, every single shot of that film was created on a soundstage. If anything, we had to turn down the AC, because some of our precious artists were getting the shivers. You wouldn’t believe how spoiled the cast actually was. Once I saw Gunnar being carried to his trailer on the back of a Sherpa. Talk about lazy. And don’t get me started on John Dugan. That prima donna hired fashion models to coat the ground he walked on in a layer of rose petals.” When asked how he dealt with the pressure of dealing with such an entitled cast, Hooper said, “Whenever it all got to be too much, I’d take a break and go hit a bucket of balls with my instructor on my private driving range.”
(5) The TV version of the film was insane. Believe it or not, the unexpected popularity of TCM was too enticing for network executives to ignore. NBC gave Hooper an additional $3 million to shoot new footage to replace the scenes that were too graphic for TV and to pad the runtime enough to allow the film to fill two hours of network airtime. As a joke, Hooper reimagined the film as a screwball family comedy about the domestic misadventures of newlyweds Sally Hardesty and Leatherface. To everyone’s surprise, the network loved it. In fact, Hooper was hired to oversee the adaptation of the TV version of TCM into a traditional sitcom—and, unbelievably, he did. The pilot episode of That’s My Leatherface! aired on September 13, 1979. Unfortunately, CBS unveiled its latest sitcom, Benson, in the same time slot, leaving That’s MyLeatherface! largely ignored by the public. The series was cancelled after six episodes and a series of scathing reviews by confused TV critics.
So there you have it, lovers of the chainsaw. Happy 50th! And here’s to 50 more years of drippy, sweaty, disgusting fun.
TheHumbleHeckler.com 