Jennifer’s Body (review)
Now I get what everyone was bitching about last year with *Juno,* about how self-conscious screenwriter Diablo Cody’s dialogue was, how desperate it was to sound cool and hip even to the point of distraction.
Now I get what everyone was bitching about last year with *Juno,* about how self-conscious screenwriter Diablo Cody’s dialogue was, how desperate it was to sound cool and hip even to the point of distraction.
It’s as if Jane Austen and Monty Python collaborated on an episode of *The West Wing*…
When Bobcat Goldthwait writes and directs a feature film, we should probably expect something a little… different. And — *whew* — that’s what this pitch-black comedy offers.
Only Quentin Tarantino — cinema’s bad boy, the film geek who’s film-geekier than thou — would have the balls to state, as *Inglourious Basterds* comes to a close, that this could well be his masterpiece.

Even as half my brain was ticking off all those little nods with a geek’s appreciation for fellow geekitude, the other half of my brain was so floored with surprise that this could all still feel so fresh, so original, so like nothing I’d ever seen before.
If it were a 30-minute comic episode of *The Twilight Zone,* this ambitious low-budget flick might not have overstayed its welcome, but dragged out to three times that running time, it cannot help but be more miss than hit.
David Twohy hopes you’re not as smart as he is. In fact, he’s counting on you being kinda dim.
Tons of spoilers! Don’t read unless you’ve seen the episode!
Looks like that pie is almost gone…
How far should we be expected to dumb down movies?