A Traitor to my Brain Cells and Eye Balls

In the last year, there have been a stunning number of films with extremely political themes, attacking the United States role in Iraq and in fighting terrorism. While I tend to agree with the political ideology of these movies, it doesn’t change the fact that each one of them brings my spleen one step closer to rupturing. Because movies that take strong stances on the US international agenda tend to be atrocious, director Jeffrey Nachmanoff came up with the brilliant idea of making a politically motivated film that takes absolutely no stance. In fact, it is difficult to tell if anything at all happens in Traitor, or what the film was about, or, more importantly, why anyone could possibly care. Honestly, during this movie I couldn’t tell if I was more confused by what the hell this movie was trying to say about anything or jealous of terror suspects in Guantanamo Bay getting waterboarded.

They agree to read the script first before they sign on to make a movie from now on.

Is it a criticism of the Bush administration? Is it promoting the idea that ignoring the constitution and taking away our personal freedoms is the only way to catch terrorists? Does this movie have any point whatsoever? Who is this black guy and is he good or bad? The only way to distract yourself from these migraine-inducing questions is to rip out your own fingernails. Don Cheadle’s performance in the film gives the impression that he was trying to take a nap all through filming and was distracted by the camera crew following him around making ludicrous demands of him to say his lines and emote. As for Guy Pearce, who gargles through an embarrassing southern accent, tries to pull off intense and intimidating, but is only able to pull off bashful and befuddled. Frankly, the awful performances of these two stars is more than this piece of garbage deserves. Whoever decided to make this movie needs to have their testicles strapped to a battery and electrocuted to make sure that they are never allowed to breed.

Vicky Christina Barcelona Shows that the Spanish Inquisition was a Good Thing

The only reason why Woody Allen makes a movie every year is to remind everyone that he is still alive. Frankly, looking at the dreadful products he’s put out this millennium, we could do without the reminder. Better yet, we could do to aim a machine gun at Woody’s head and unload a few rounds. Unfortunately, Allen’s latest sets out to prove not only that his heart is still beating, but that his penis is similarly in working condition. While this is far more information than anybody other than his daughter wife needs to know, Vicky Christina Barcelona boils down to Woody Allen convincing Scarlet Johansson to prance around in skimpy outfits and make out with Javier Bardem, Penelope Cruz, and, at times, both. While all straight men owe a debt of gratitude to Allen for the chance to see Cruz and Johansson go at it, it is not worth sitting through this awful, pointless film just to experience the momentary glory.

"Do you think Woody will realize that I don't speak English?"

Are we, honestly, supposed to care about the love problems of young, beautiful, wealthy women spending their summer in Barcelona? Does anyone think this could make for a gripping, moving, or, at the very least, watchable film? Packed with dumb and useless narration, Woody Allen has stopped trying to be clever, witty, or relevant, and Vicky Christina Barcelona is proof of that. Worse, he has centered his last crumbs of creativity around Scarlet Johansson, who has in her acting repertoire one facial expression and one tone of voice to accompany one fantastic rack. When you have terrible dialogue, I guess the best strategy is to only hire actors without a modicum of talent who are only known for their looks, but all it means is that Woody Allen, still searching for a place where people don’t think he’s a gross pedophile, has found a new location to make his shitty movies.