Machete (review)
I can’t wait for the right-wing windbags to begin decrying Rodriguez and Machete — oh noes! he’s trying to ignite a class war!
I can’t wait for the right-wing windbags to begin decrying Rodriguez and Machete — oh noes! he’s trying to ignite a class war!
Sam’s little-boy idealism about what it means to be a cop gets a 1973 wakeup call…
This is how you do it. More like this, please.
It’s been almost a quarter of a century since this groundbreaking series graced our screens so briefly, but my memories of it have never faded, so great was the impact it had on my nerdy young brain…
‘Bad Shakespeare,’ one badass notes with a sad shake of his head at a particularly cheesy revelation about the other badass standing in front of him, and that’s the moment when a little bell in my head went off: Bingo.
It’s *Twilight* for boys…

It’s all absurd and overblown and — most importantly — consistently so through to the end.
Sure, the clothes look funny and there’s no cell phones, only giant cackling radios, but that’s a given. It’s all the other unexpectedly different 1973 stuff that’s so disturbing.
At the behest of several readers who appear to believe they know my taste better than I know it, and also in an attempt to figure out just what the hell M. Night Shyamalan was thinking with his The Last Airbender, I watched the entire first season of Nickelodeon’s pseudo-anime series Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Made of spoilers. Don’t read until you’ve seen the episode unless you don’t care to have it spoiled for you.