The Devil All the Time Review

Tom Holland. Riley Keough. Jason Clarke. Bill Skarsgard. Robert Pattinson. Those are just some of the names in Netflix's newest movie "The Devil All the Time." If you don't recognize their names you certainly do their faces- there is a lot of talent onscreen, there's no arguing that. But the film is a disgusting pile of sewage, a messy exploitation of material that works in documentaries and not for entertainment.

The disconnected narrative follows Arvin Russell, played by Holland, who's dad (Skarsgard) killed himself after his mother's cancerous death. Now grownup, raised by his grandma and uncle, his step-sister Lenora (Eliza Scanlen) kills herself after getting pregnant with the creepy local preacher (Pattinson). You don't want to be one of his relatives.

We also follow bent police sheriff Lee Bodecker (Sebastian Stan), who's promiscuous sister (Riley Keough) sleeps with hitchhikers before her husband (Clarke) kills them behind a camera lense. That's a problem for Lee, since he's up for reelection, a timely plot considering November is only two months away, but it never leans far into this political satire, instead settling into being but another way to sensationalize violence for the lusting camera.

These two primary stories are connected to each other not only with characters but with the picture's core concept, which is the corruption of religion. Everyone's motives, in some way or shape, leads back to god, and it's never for the better. Men and women are not only killed, but brutalized, both physically and emotionally. You see as much sex and gore an R rating will allow- even the dog dies!

Thankfully that's off camera, but why? Because people don't like it when an animal dies? Do you think they like it when a woman has a screwdriver shoved in her throat? Because that happens here, shown in its entirety. We see all the blood spill between her fingers as she tries to put pressure on the gash. This is a moral compass as corrupt as the characters it tries to villainize.

Save for Spiderman, every man targets women for their own perverse actions. If you're not comfortable with watching a grown man force fellatio on his wife, after having sex with an underage girl in his car, then please, keep scrolling through the list of recommended films on Netflix. It just leaves a bad taste in your mouth, a rampant exercise in sexism that just doesn't sit well with me. I refuse to accept this as a thriller, not only because the movie fails to thrill but because the material does too. Religion is ripe for mockery, but statutory rape is not.

Don't get me wrong- this is a well-made film. Director and co-writer Antonio Campos is obviously skilled, and there's a heavy layer of polish to the entire production. The cast brings their A-game too, it's just a shame this is what the results are.

IMDB.com tells me that the film's slogan is "Some people are just born to be buried;" some films are too.

The Babysitter: Killer Queen Review

Welcome to this weekend's entry of "So I Logged Onto Netflix." Or, at least that is what cinema has become, save for the occasional drive-in or rental. Here the streaming giant celebrates Halloween early with "The Babysitter: Killer Queen," a strangely awful film that is utterly fascinating to watch. It fumbles at every baby step, from stale references that fail hard to be funny, from awry bursts of gore that shock only in their pure randomness.

Billed as a horror-comedy, this sequel to 2017's minor hit "The Babysitter" has co-writer and director McG returning with pretty much the entire cast. Now I should mention that I've never seen the original, but I don't think it matters. Nothing short of making an entirely different movie could save "The Babysitter: Killer Queen."

The setup this time is simple: Cole (Judah Lewis), haunted by the events of the first movie, tries to clear his mind by going on a boat trip with girl-who's-a-friend-but-not-a-girlfriend Melanie (Emily Alyn Lind). Then a cult gets involved, people aren't who they say they are, sex is had and many people die. Problem is that the wheels have already flown off by the time blood is first spilled.

The humor is the biggest flaw, which extends well beyond just dialogue. Cult members have their own uncomfortable "backstory" segment, wildly inappropriate music plays over pinnacle scenes- there is even a video game-style fight towards the end! Nothing is thrilling, exciting, new, original, fun or even remotely interesting, but it is certainly not intimidated to try something different.

It is all astonishingly deluded, like someone gave a group of really inspired filmmakers, gave them a modest budget and said ... "have it ready by Halloween." Their love shows onscreen, even if it's stupid, nasty, and sometimes mean, and you have to appreciate that. No one moment resembles another, and that's skill, even if it's used for all the wrong reasons.

So you watch with a sort of bemused obsession, in awe at how spectacularly misguided every moment is. For every serious exchange of words there is some lame or vulgar punchline lurking behind everyone's lips, you sit waiting with inexcusable anticipation for the next wrong-headed move. It's a bizarre feeling, a train wreck that just goes on and on but keeps finding new ways to wreck the train, and you just stare at the screen with intrigue. You want to hate it, you should hate it, you might think you hate it, and you probably do truly hate it, but good luck trying to turn it off before the credits roll. 

Like a fat guy at a nude beach, it just lets it all hang out, ugly and all, but it's proud. It might be bad, but it definitely isn't timid.

I'm Thinking of Ending Things Review

To dismiss a film as "weird" is a disservice to the art of filmmaking. To summarize it with a sighing "I don't get it" is ineffective. It offers nothing to you, the hopeful inquiring about the picture, and provides no critique to the people involved in its production.

"I'm Thinking of Ending Things" is one of those movies. Writer-director Charlie Kaufman is sort of known to evoke those sort of harsh generalizations from his works, and no doubt his latest, Netflix-released release, will have its ardent fans and its vocal critics. And for good reason.

If people are looking for some helpful words of advice to the looming question, "should I watch it?" Then let me give you some: it is dumb, tedious, boring, pointless, and all in all, not enjoyable. There is zero reason for people to spend their Labor day weekend, except to make you feel bad, uncomfortable, and sad. You sink with misery into your couch, watching awkward caricatures ramble on with laborious dialogue in nonsense conditions. It's a film open for interpretation, and I had my own, which I found unsatisfying. One could say it's something you should watch twice to fully appreciate it, but then why isn't the runtime twice as long, and the final product better?

It pretends to tackle important issues like sexism, homosexuality, life, death, etc., but it's a lie- characters instead offer textbook analysis of movies, shows, plays, what-have-you, and passes it off as nuanced understanding. Take, for example, when the song "Baby it's Cold Outside" is under the microscope. The male, Jake (Jesse Plemons), of course takes no offense to lyrics like "... what's the sense of hurting my pride?" The woman, played by Jessie Buckley, of course finds them sexist. Is she right, he right, or are they both right? I don't know, but neither does the film. Just asking a question doesn't make it "insightful." They exchange opinions and then nothing happens, no one learns and no one grows. It is shallow and phony wisdom, and it's just irksome.

Hm, the plot. I should mention it, but what's the point? It's a convenient clothesline of circumstances where stupid things happen to stupid people, who react stupidly in stupid situations. A lot of unbelievable things happen in its excruciating 134 minute runtime, like when a character recites an entire poem she just wrote. Line for line, word for word. You're telling me she memorized it?! I'll tell you this, the second I click that 'publish" button on this review, I won't remember a word I typed. Or this movie.

Maybe I just didn't get it. Maybe this film isn't for me. Maybe I need explosions or fisticuffs to hold my attention. Or, maybe, just perhaps, I see through the pretentious dreck that writer-director Charlie Kaufman is selling and see he has nothing for sale?