Against my better judgement, I volunteered to toss away my free time(which I need for such exciting activities as staring at the wall and playing videogames until I go blind) out the window to review a movie for my school newspaper. Because of my general procrastination (which is formally recognized as a medical condition at this point) I had to scramble to see the film and write the review on thursday to get the content in.
My choices were threefold: Juno, which I figured had a 50% chance of being a series of repititious pregnacy jokes. Rambo, which appears to have more testosterone than a hybrid of duke nukem and Mike Tyson. And Meet the Spartans, which is the death knell of western culture as a whole.
I chose Juno out of spite, mostly because of the snide "he wouldn't like it, he's a boy" comments I got from the entertainment editors when the film was given to me as an option. It's a bit of an insult to my intelligence to assume that I'd automatically dislike a movie that didn't involve a square-jawed stoic hero triple-wielding pistols and killing men in numbers achilles would blush at just because of my gender. Apparently they believe if you have a penis and walk into certain films, you spontaneously combust.
Overall, I found Juno to be above average. It was sharply written, had witty dialogue, and had a sense of subtlety too many flicks lack.
Narrated by Alpha and Beta.
Don't you mean Beta and Alpha?
Is this really important?
Yes. You see, there's me, who is amazing. And there's you, who is a waste of skin.
Their once was a noble named Archibalde
Who loved both his wife and the sea.
But when he found a mermaid on the shore
His maritial vows went out the door.
After returning to his house
Archibalde was surprised to find
That in the blood of his spouse
Was written a strange sign:
"You said you only loved me."
And though this morbid sign he did see
Archibalde was an amoral man with an IQ of three.
And it didn't take him long to find
A young replacement bride to occupty his mind.
Of course, by mind, I mean libido.
You broke the rhyme scheme!
Rhyming's for commies and small children.
Some days, I think you're trying to drive me mad.
That's interesting. Some days, I use your credit card to buy prostitutes. And by prostitutes, I mean your girlfriend. And by your girlfriend, I mean the person you've stalked for a year.
I hate you with a passion that would shock Mephistopholes.
Who the hell is Mef-fist-opolice?
Close Archibalde, part one.