About a year ago, some long-haired street team assassin handed me a flyer. It was for a preview screening; a movie called “Little Big Men”. Free screenings are handed out like candy in LA, but they’re almost always for marginal movies that the studios can’t figure out how to market. But a free movie is a free movie is a movie for free, so I often go. By the time the screen lit up on “Little Big Men” less than a week later, the name had been changed to “Mentors”.
Well, I loved it. The script and performances were top notch, everything about it worked, and it was instantly, to me, a classic. It was the kind of movie you tell people about. The kind of movie you bother people about going to see and then when they do they say, “it was okay,” because your outlandish promises for what this movie could be were impossible to fulfill. Well, I wrote just such an outlandish, fanboyish review right then and there and when I got home, I sat on it, waiting for the film’s official release.
Exactly one million years later, the movie finally did get released (with the name changed again, this time it was “Role Models”). I moved quickly to catch it again… and the final draft was still brilliant; somehow even better than the preview cut. When I got home I knew all I would have to do is hit the publish button on my raving review, but I stopped short.
And I realized several things:
- I hate movie reviews. What good do they do? If you think what I have to say about a movie will help you figure out if you’re gonna like it, you’re probably wrong. You don’t know how crazy I am. I think things that don’t make any sense. By the way, we should really start digging in for the zombie apocalypse. Just in case.
- This review in particular was poorly written, cliche and embarrassing.
So I’m not gonna give you that review. Go see the movie your damn self. Or don’t. I liked it.