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The protagonists of Dead in Tombstone are gunfighters, killers, desperados, traitors, arsonists, murderers, bank robbers, train robbers, thugs, rustlers, thieves, and swindlers. No word, though, on whether they’re also cutthroats, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits, vipers, snipers, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswogglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, ass-kickers, shit-kickers, or Methodists.

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Did Ritchie use up all of his good nicknames in Snatch? If the script were based on a true story I’d understand being stuck with such asinine names a “Jack ‘Jack Jack’ Jackson;" otherwise, it’s just a stupid fucking choice.
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The whole clusterfuck is hopelessly unconvincing. Everybody plays it deathly straight, but at no point does it ever feel like anything remotely important — let alone the fate of the world — is at stake.

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A tight, muscular screenplay with nigh zero tolerance for clichés and an uncanny knack for bringing out the humanity in its characters.

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The title is most certainly not a reference to the Bon Jovi song of the same name; while the song is a party anthem, this film is oppressively joyless.
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I would describe When the Screaming Starts as gallows humor, but only because I think that the filmmakers ought to be hanged for thinking this is funny.

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Watching The Lost Medallion: The Adventures of Billy Stone, I feel like Dirk Bogarde in Death in Venice. I’m inclined to believe that to elicit such an association from any viewer was not what writer/director Bill Muir had in mind — but then, why did he shoot a scene of a wet, shirtless, Tadzio-like Billy Unger?

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Prepare to Die is the weirdest reimagining of The Wizard of Oz I’ve ever seen. Instead of Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, and the Scarecrow we have a Mexican martial artist, an African American former drug runner, a cowardly Native American, and a knife-throwing white girl. And instead of the Wicked Witch of the West we find Lorenzo Lamas looking like he went to a barbershop and asked for the ‘Frank Grillo.’

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Gods of the Deep is a mixed bag of Cthulhu Mythos. It starts out as yet another movie with a ‘Lovecraft in fabula’ approach; that is to say, if you speak of HPL, HPL will come. It doesn’t work like that, though.

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The filmmakers obviously feel very strongly about such hot-button topics as euthanasia, abortion, and the death penalty, but their convictions could use a little less strength and a lot more clarity.

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A young woman survives a plane crash with burns on “two-thirds of her body;” the fire, however, avoided her face and hair so that she could still be the heroine in a commercially viable feature film.

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Alien 51 is the ufologist version of the Invisible Pink Unicorn. Director Gary Cole IV and his interviewees have faith that there are extraterrestrial spacecraft with extremely advanced stealth capabilities; they logically know that these craft are invisible because they can’t see them.

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Gilded Newport Mysteries: Murder at the Breakers wants to have its cake and eat it too. On the one hand, it makes a big deal about women’s rights (or lack thereof) at the turn of the 20th century; on the other, it does the whole misguided, revisionist colorblind casting thing.

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I Like Movies strives to be the kind of film that makes you feel like it was made just for you. I mean, you do like movies, right? Well, of course you do; after all, you’re not a complete asshole. The problem is that complete assholes also like movies.

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The Beekeper is the closest to a return to form for Jason Statham, a step in the right direction for Jeremy Irons following two aimless decades, director David Ayer’s best work since End of Watch, and orders of magnitude above the worthless crap that screenwriter Kurt Wimmer usually churns out.

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Loitering with Intent is sort of like Withnail and I if Richard E. Grant and Paul McGann had been writers instead of actors. Now, those two didn’t go to a country cottage near Penrith to write a script, and yet they came up with a better movie.
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I’d say that DogMan must be the first movie made exclusively for doggy audiences (not unlike Dethklok’s Dethwater album was intended for fish only) but, ultimately, even dogs are too smart for this nonsense.

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I know Snoop Dogg is all about sipping on that gin and juice (with his mind on his money and his money on his mind), but The Underdoggs is a little too laid back for its own good. No effort was made to break out of the CLIDVIC formula, no thought was given to the negative implications of the movie’s misleading message.

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JP

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