I forgot about it but I was interested in seeing it.
Anyway... I FINALLY saw Her It was incredible, just like I expected. Joaquin was oustanding, the cinematography, soundtrack, tone, everything was just so well-made and beautiful. I said it to myself 10 minutes into the movie.. "Spike Jonze knows how to make a movie". The screenplay was great as well... and his ability to tell this kind of story in such a unique way was impressive. I almost had to pause the movie on several occasions just to contemplate the issues they were bringing up about relationships, love, life.. it almost took me out of the movie
Can't say enough positive things about it. Everyone was great in their roles too.. I loved the flashbacks to the marriage that didn't need words or dialogue.. just Mara and Phoenix and you could pick up on everything with fleeting images and snapshots. Amy Adams was good, as usual.. Chris Pratt was hilarious
So yeah.. I loved it.
Not even snitching, way past that. That betrayal. Sheeet. I knew he was a **** up but he improved. ****** up way to write a ***** out a story.
@ Brother Mouzzone's man servant up in that gay bar.
It Gets Even Better..Damn S3 of The Wire
Stringer out here snitching on himself. I would've never told anybody the treacherous as **** he done and then he does it and thinks it won't come back and bite him? I mean **** I would've at least jumped out the window, it was only like the 2nd floor; at best a broken leg and that's way better than death.
Just the way Avon and String turned on each otherNot even snitching, way past that. That betrayal.
PryzSheeet. I knew he was a **** up but he improved. ****** up way to write a ***** out a story.
@ Brother Mouzzone's man servant up in that gay bar.
Major Colvin had the right idea with those freezones. War on drugs is and always will be bull ****.
I forgot about it but I was interested in seeing it.
Anyway... I FINALLY saw Her It was incredible, just like I expected. Joaquin was oustanding, the cinematography, soundtrack, tone, everything was just so well-made and beautiful. I said it to myself 10 minutes into the movie.. "Spike Jonze knows how to make a movie". The screenplay was great as well... and his ability to tell this kind of story in such a unique way was impressive. I almost had to pause the movie on several occasions just to contemplate the issues they were bringing up about relationships, love, life.. it almost took me out of the movie
Can't say enough positive things about it. Everyone was great in their roles too.. I loved the flashbacks to the marriage that didn't need words or dialogue.. just Mara and Phoenix and you could pick up on everything with fleeting images and snapshots. Amy Adams was good, as usual.. Chris Pratt was hilarious
So yeah.. I loved it.
Still my favorite movie I've seen in a LONG time, just everything about it is perfect.
Neighbors is at 89% on Rotten Tomatoes right now
I'm pretty surprised because the premise sounded okay but it seemed like it could be an uninspired, bland Rogen movie or basic gross-out R-rated comedy.
I'm really interested in checking it out.
. 1st ep which was a day in the life was finn but the 2nd one Son knocked out shorty from Chuck and now 24 cuz he don't like being tickled I was dying. Seinfeld's disappointment 
I didn't know Hartnett was gonna be in this. He was okay. Little interested in where the Dr. Frankenstein storyline goes. Can't call it yet on this show. I'll give it like 3-5 eps.
[h2]Things crashing into other things: or, my superhero movie problem[/h2]Specifically, the problem is the visual and rhythmic sameness of the films' execution.
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Generous critics and viewers point to fleeting moments of personality, such as the flirtation scenes in the recent "Amazing Spider-Man" movies, and the improv-flavored conversations in the "Iron Man" films, and Joss Whedon's very Whedon-y quips in "The Avengers" ("You really have got a lid on it, haven't you? What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"). But these defenses sound desperate when you look at the films as whole objects. Despite their fleeting moments of specialness, "The Avengers," the "Iron Man" and "Thor" and "Captain America" films, the new "Spider-Man" series and "Man of Steel" treat viewers not to variations of the same situations (which is fine and dandy; every zombie film has zombies, and ninety percent of all westerns end in gunfights) but to variations of the same situations that feel as though they were designed, choreographed, shot, edited and composited by the same second units and special effects houses, using the same software, under the same conditions. As long as people are talking, there's a chance the movies will be good. When the action starts, the films become less special.
Shots of people fighting inside and atop collapsing and burning structures all feel basically the same, though if you're lucky the filmmakers toss in an emotionally resonant moment, such as the hand-to-hand climax of "Captain America: The Winter Soldier." Sometimes the camera shakes a little, sometimes a lot. Giant creatures roar and stomp in more or less the same way, across CGI'd landscapes rendered in more or less the same way, unless the threat is Earth-made, as in the two "Captain America" films, in which case it's helicarriers rather than alien starships that catch fire and crash into buildings. At some point somebody straps on power armor or climbs inside a robot. Machines bash other machines for a while. The bashing is choreographed and shot and edited pretty much as you expect, with few aesthetic surprises. You hear metal groaning and rubble crashing to earth. Walls crumble, craters open, bridges collapse. Spider-Man skydives into the Manhattan grid, Thor whooshes hither and yon, Iron Man plummets from in the ionosophere and is saved by The Hulk, and somehow none of it has the visceral or dramatic weight that it should. The smaller an action scene is, the better the chance that it'll be genuinely exciting (the elevator dustup in the new "Captain America" is the best recent example). The bigger the canvas, the more boringly typical the action becomes. Boring action makes hash of any character beats that the filmmakers and actors went to the trouble of setting up.
Even if you generally enjoy these movies, you know you can visit the concession stand during the scenes of heroes being heroic and villains being villainous and not miss anything. If there's burning/exploding/punching/collapsing/roaring/stomping in a scene, you're free to get popcorn or call home. The good stuff is CGI-lite, or CGI free. Think of Cap just-friends-flirting with Black Widow or visiting a meeting for traumatized veterans in the second "Captain America," or Andrew Garfield, one of the great screen criers, tearing up as Peter Parker contemplates his late parents or remembers a line from his sweetheart's valedictory address or tells his Aunt May "I'm your boy, you're my everything." As a friend observed, the gap in artistic quality between the intimate human interactions and the large-scale action sequences in recent superhero flicks is so immense that they seem to have been made at different studios by different directors obeying different marching orders. The "ground rules" scene between Peter and Gwen in the new "Spider-Man" feels so sweetly alive—so much like a conversation that actual young lovers might have—that when you get to the end of this overstuffed and overlong blockbuster and have to suffer through yet another tediously unoriginal confrontation between Spidey and two, count 'em two, supervillains, then a climax that extorts cathartic tears instead of earning them, the effect is disorienting in the worst way.
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The fat bottom lines guarantee that neither studios nor producers nor writers nor directors will feel much pressure to make superhero films great, as opposed to better than expected. The movies are are "different" from each other in the way that burgers sold by global fast food chains are "different". It's the Big Mac vs. the Whopper vs. the Dave's Hot 'N Juicy from Wendy's. As cold as this strategy is, it works. The audience seems to have no interest in demanding better films, much less excellent ones. It settles for OK and better-than-OK. As long as the films aren't unbearably bad or unnnervingly personal, they're content.
That's great news for the studios and their accounting departments but terrible news for popular art. As long as viewers ask little of superhero films, there's no impetus for studios to encourage an auteurist vision. That's how they like it. Real artistry terrifies them. It's too volatile and uncertain. They'd rather have a mediocre sure thing than encourage filmmakers to try something truly new. Personal expression on this scale is high-stakes gambling with someone else's fortune. That's why, thirty-six years after "Superman, the Movie," we still haven't seen a range of big budget superhero films as tonally different as post-"Night of the Living Dead" zombie pictures, or Hollywood westerns released after Vietnam, when the genre was allegedly dead. What do George Romero's ghoul films, "Dead/Alive," the "Rec" series, "Shaun of the Dead," "Zombieland" and the "Days" movies have in common besides a basic situation? Almost nothing. What do "Little Big Man," "The Wild Bunch," "Blazing Saddles," "Silverado," "Unforgiven" and "Open Range" have in common besides horses and ten-gallon hats? Almost nothing. What do modern superhero movies have in common? Entirely too much. Once in a great while you get an outlier like "Hellboy" or "Watchmen" or "Kick-***." There's a reason why anybody seeking to counter gripes of superhero film sameness brings up "Hellboy" or "Watchmen" and "Kick-***": because most superhero movies are not "Hellboy" or "Watchmen" or "Kick-***." They're "Thing Crashing Into Other Thing 3."
edit: I'm sure he meant V for Vendetta, instead of Watchmen.
Studios don't like personal expression—not on this level. Their goal is to minimize financial risk and avoid a scenario in which viewers buy a ticket for the latest Marvel picture and get something substantially different from what they've been conditioned to expect. The studios don't want another Ang Lee "Hulk" (a Freudian psychodrama with split-screen imagery that was truly strange and special but didn't really work). They want "The Avengers." If that's not possible, they'll settle for "Iron Man 2," a mostly terrible and trashy film that's intermittently funny and asks almost nothing of the viewer and that fits into a much larger puzzle made entirely of square pieces.
Advance excitement for "Guardians of the Galaxy" seems weirdly averse to lessons learned from prior Marvel films. If we've learned anything from giving money to this franchise, it's that we'll love the wiseass banter as long as nobody's running, jumping or punching anything. Once the CGI robots and shootouts and explosions kick in, it's like a set of ankle weights dragging wit to the floor of a murky digital sea. This genre is where imagination goes to drown itself. We forget that. We're supposed to forget that. The forgetting is a part of the experience of going to superhero movies. Ritualized amnesia is Hollywood's best friend. We forget the good and bad superhero films alike because these days it's all about what's next. Where's the new teaser? Where's the new trailer? Have you seen pictures of Iron Man's new costume? The buzz for the next one begins within days of the latest film's opening. The modern superhero movie leaves impressions as light as footprints in beach sand. Where were we? Who knows? Who cares? The sand's all smooth now. Flat. So we keep walking in the same direction.
Even nearly great superhero movies suffer from the curse of aesthetic same-old same-old. The second "Captain America" is easily the best superhero film produced since Christopher Nolan stopped directing them. It's warmhearted and intelligent, and plugged into a version of political reality—a parable about the United States' recent response to terrorism, with the Battle of New York representing the attacks of 9/11, and S.H.I.E.L.D's terrifying surveill-and-destroy plan standing as this franchise's version of The War on Terror. The moment in which the helicarriers crash into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters is basically an inverted 9/11, with Cap and his allies becoming homegrown terrorists in order to prevent a corrupt national security state headed by the unwitting ideological descendants of World War II fascists from carrying out millions of extrajudicial assassinations. But the almost radical nature of this message is obscured (maybe intentionally) by the choppy, whip-pan crazy action sequences, the familiar "Star Wars"-derived cross cutting, and the enervating sight of huge things crashing into other huge things, just as innumerable huge things have crashed into other huge things in three to six superhero films a year over the past decade.
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Maybe y'all were using the wrong word cuz the tone of those films was exactly what I expected from any Batman film and have seen in the past good one(s).
