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There is gentle nonstop chaos in the trippy candy-colored assault. Genuinely good-natured, sweet without being sappy, more strange (in a good way) than kids’ movies usually are, and hard to dislike.
I got Ted Lasso’s “Believe,” Homer Simpson’s “Doh!” and the Fonz’s “Ayyyyy!” What others are there?
We’re due for 90s nostalgia… but I have no idea what that should look like. I figured it was just because I’m old enough to remember the 90s as an adult, but other feel the same way…
Plus: Even rightwing bloggers admit Atlas Shrugged sucks; Restrepo director Tim Hetherington killed covering fighting in Libya; Jodie Foster on yet another way Hollywood hates women…
The passings of Mr. C and June Cleaver prompts us to consider beloved TV parents: Mrs. Partridge? Steve Douglas? Claire Huxtable? Tony Micelli? Dan Conner?
There’s something to be said for a movie that’s still making you laugh days after you saw it. It’s probably better if that movie was a comedy, but you can’t dismiss the entertainment value you get out of a good bad horror movie that prompts snorts of derision and head shakes of mystified wonderment at random moments a week later.
It comes as a bit of a shock to be reminded that, after so many years of movies the likes of Daylight and Oscar, that our man Sly got his start not only as the star of this superb movie but also as its screenwriter. This tender movie, on the surface about the most violent of sports, is really a Marty-esque romance about two lonely people reaching out to each other.
