If you thought the nepotism in Donald Trump’s White House was bad, you haven’t seen Yoga Hosers. Kevin Smith’s daughter met Johnny Depp’s daughter in Hollywood Schoolhouse kindergarten, and now we’re all paying for it.
They play “the Colleens” in Yoga Hosers, two Winnipeg high school sophomores obsessed with Instagram and yoga. After school they work at the “Eh to Zed”, a convenience store they often close to hold band practice with their 35 year old drummer Ichabod (Adam Brody), hanging a sign on the door telling customers “Urinary tract infection – back in 10.”
The two Colleens, reprising roles from Tusk, the first film in Smith’s True North trilogy, played by Harley Quinn Smith and Lily-Rose Depp (their real names, honest to god, as only celebrity parents could name them), are pursued by a couple of cool high school seniors…who turn out to be serial-killing satanists. So we don’t feel too bad when little killer wieners go up their bums and kill them first.
Okay, yes, that sentence was confusing. Everything about this review is confusing 
because the movie makes NO sense. I’m doing my best. So the wieners are called Bratzis because they’re foot-tall Nazis dressed as Mounties (Canada’s Royal Mounted (on horses) Police) made from bratwurst stuffed with sauerkraut. They’re tiny little people-sausages, motion captured by Smith himself because everyone else had the good sense to refuse. It’s the reason we all saw Kevin Smith’s naked face for the first time in…ever?
Anyway. Both of Lily-Rose’s parents appear in the film. Both of Harley Quinn’s parents appear in the film. Some of their siblings as well. Plus some Kevin Smith mainstays like Jason Mewes and Justin Long who literally have nothing better to do. The film is improved by none of these things.
Apparently some Hitler-sympathizer cryo-froze himself 70 years ago and has been asleep underneath the Eh To Zed all this time until accidentally awoken by the Colleens, and now the little Bratzis are on the loose and killing everyone, even though they’re supposed to be targeting only art critics, who hurt this guy’s feelings over half a decade ago. Or something like that.
Yoga Hosers, as you may have guessed, is terrible. I mean: it’s bad even for Kevin Smith, post-2000. He may be trying to revive some Clerks nostalgia, but he’s failing. This is pretty much unwatchable. And, because I must: as a Canadian, this is just annoying. Not a single Canadian I have ever met across this vast country of ours talks like that. The only people I have ever heard say “aboot” are Americans pretending to be Canadian. I can’t even imagine where that stereotype comes from but it’s time to retire it. And while Lily-Rose Depp and her mother Vanessa Paradis speak flawless French, it’s the wrong freaking French! It would be like an Australian passing for a southern American: they’re both technically speaking English but holy mother of god it’s not the same. If this movie had been mocking, say, Japan, the same way it mocks Canada, there would have been an uproar: laughing at our accents, our culture, our history. And “white-washing” us to boot – not a single actual Canadian among the cast. Don’t try to tell me Martin Short wasn’t available! In fact, it’s possible that the lack of uproar was only due to no one seeing this movie. Kevin Smith shot it entirely in California, so it’s possible Canada hasn’t even heard of this monstrosity, and if you have any feeling for Canadians at all, you’ll keep this dirty secret.
Don’t see this. Not even out of morbid curiosity. It’s not so bad it’s good, it’s just SO BAD.
And this might be the first ever case of me agreeing with studio interference, purely because the world needs more Ripleys. We admire her because she was tough and she was smart. I admire her, and Scott, because Ripley cried at work and it didn’t weaken her, didn’t sap her power.
mechanisms. For many women, and many men, it’s just part of being human, part of having emotions, and most of us do not shut those emotions off at the start of our shift. 41% of women and 9% of men said they’d cried at work during the previous year and that it had made no difference in terms of their success (note: women have six times more prolactin – a hormone related to crying – than men).
he’s a teenager, but he’s more interested in drumming and rock and roll. His dad cracks down hard on his “selfish” son; there are 4000 years of tradition to consider, after all. But E.B. has a mind of his own and he takes off for Hollywood, where dreams come true. Except for Fred’s. His are over, especially now that his parents are kicking him out. But Fred and E.B. are united when Fred hits E.B. with his car, and then takes him in to make up for it.
much help since they broke up 3 months (and 9 days, but who’s counting?) ago. Does Mr. Gallo take no for an answer? No he does not.
Was The Boss Baby any good? No, not really. Brady’s favourite part was the preview for Captain Underpants. Jack could quote his favourite part directly from the commercial. But listening to them giggle tops even the best movie, so this was an hour and a half that I wouldn’t change for anything.
to say who their love most angers: her family, his constituents, or the status quo. Interracial marriage wasn’t exactly popular in 1940s England, and her whiteness isn’t even the whole problem: her social status is far beneath that of a prince. But they marry anyway, anticipating disapproval, unprepared for the reality of the diplomatic firestorm and political tumult their marriage would actually entail. His right to the throne is threatened, as is her life. He is threatened with exile, she with ostracism. Still, they persist in their love, not just of each other, but for the people of the new Republic of Botswana.
David Oyelow and Rosamund Pike play the lead roles and you couldn’t ask for a better acted movie. Oyelow is dignified as this humble prince, Pike strong and heart-breaking. They help strike a balance between the passion of their love and the stark reality of apartheid. It would be easy for one of these plot lines to swallow the other, but Asante manages float above it, entangling both, as would have been the case in real life.
successful than you, and you might actually find her vulnerable enough to prey on her heartbreak and win. For a while. But since you’re still nerdy old you she’ll eventually wise up and leave your ass, potentially even for the ex who doesn’t deserve her, and you’ll have to content yourself with second place. If second place always looked like Blake Lively you might thank your lucky stars, but Woody Allen is an idiot, so here we are.
impression, right down to the self-conscious body language and flighty hand gestures. Bobby moves to Hollywood, trying to escape the family business. He goes to his uncle Phil (Steve Carrell), an important guy at a big movie studio, who barely makes time for him, and pawns him off on his secretary, Vonnie (Kristen Stewart). Eisenberg and Stewart have a twitchy chemistry that works well, but it does mean you’ll have to watch the two most high-strung performances in Hollywood today. Simultaneously. In a Woody Allen movie.
Seed follows three teams in particular: one, a couple of high school kids with a bright idea involving sneakers; another, a group from Nairobi who’ve developed a garbage-reporting ap; and the third a couple of guys from Palestine who are using the uber model to provide a parcel delivery service for small businesses.
I love documentaries because they let me understand a slice of the world that was previously closed to me. And when I tell you that I literally had to Google how to get a tab in Chrome to pop out into a new window while watching this movie, you’ll understand how removed I am from this world of hackers who live mysteriously inside my phone (do they?).
Another son, Will (Jason Segel), estranged from his father since the discovery, returns home. On the return journey he meets a woman named Isla (Rooney Mara) who has her own reasons for questioning the afterlife.
Probably). Neither did well commercially or critically. Mission to Mars is set in the distant future – 2020. Oh wait, that’s only a few years away? Fuck me. Well anyway it seemed like the very distant future at the time. A future in which I’d be so improbably old that I might even wear skirts that entirely covered my snatch. Hard to imagine, I know. And in this future, there’s a mission, and it’s to Mars. Don Cheadle goes on this mission along with, you know, other, expendable astronauts, and weirdly enough, Don Cheadle is the only one to survive it when a “freak” storm hits. So then his real buddies, who had stayed back due to grief and whatnot, come to rescue him. And they learn that there’s a “face” on Mars that’s causing some weird shit. So as you can tell from this brief, befuddling synopsis, you really haven’t missed much.
Mission: Space, an attraction that needs several strongly-worded warnings. Just when you get your courage up, Gary Sinise starts talking you out of it. Not that I needed any help from Gary Sinise. I am a chicken shit. I knew damn well this ride wasn’t for me. It simulates an actual spacecraft launch, complete with g-force, and a pretty rough landing. There are barf bags in this ride AND THEY GET USED. Each spacecraft holds 4 “astronauts” and we’re each given a specific role – navigator, pilot, commander, or engineer – and tasks to perform during the mission. This is a hilarious example of misplaced optimism. I don’t think I pushed a single button the entire ride because I was too busy TRYING NOT TO DIE. The thing about simulations is that your brain (not to mention your stomach) doesn’t know the difference. It believes! Lots of props from this movie are in display in the queuing area for this ride. I didn’t really appreciate them because I was busy sweating through my socks. I lived through this ride but I cannot and will not say that I enjoyed it. I bore it. Almost stoically. But you know what’s funny? I didn’t need the barf bag. I didn’t throw up, not even a little, not even just in my mouth, which as we all know, is more than I can say for the movie Mission To Mars.
ASSHOLES WATCHING MOVIES 