By tully | "Boredom at Its Boredest" by Michael Tully February 8, 2005 at 5:03AM
I realize that Super Bowl weekend is a notoriously somber time for movie theatres and that January and February are a well known Port-O-Potty for major studios' biggest logs of turd, but I was nonetheless stunned to learn that this weekend's number one box office draw was none other than:
That is because, at 1:40pm on Saturday afternoon, while the rest of New York City's residents were skipping around in the great outdoors admiring the gloriously spring-like day, I was sitting in a dark theatre on 34th Street watching the aforementioned log of turd.
Please remember, kind reader, that I was getting paid to see this film and review it. Though that doesn't make it all better. It doesn't even make it sort of better. I still wasted ninety minutes of my life watching what was an almost legendarily worthless exercise in bad style. Then I had to go home and waste even more time writing about it.
I really don't want to give this movie any attention--good, bad, or otherwise--but I feel like it needs to be addressed. While the Skeet Ulrich-esque Barry Watson and Zooey Deschanel-esque Emily Deschanel tried their hardest to rise above the material, they were ultimately slide-tackled, body-slammed, bludgeoned, drowned, and suffocated by their director, Stephen "I'm Even Going to Try to Make the Door Jam Seem Menacing!" Kay.
In conclusion, your honor, I vote that we revoke Steve's DGA card.
Honestly, I was raised on horror films and have been known to like some pretty bad movies, but this was fucking shameful. And yet it sits atop the weekend's box office chart like the class asshole jumping up and down on the teacher's desk after he stepped outside the classroom for two minutes.
Or, to put it another way: THE MOVIE "BOOGEYMAN" MADE MORE MONEY THAN ANY OTHER MOVIE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA THIS WEEKEND, EARNING 19.5 MILLION DOLLARS.
America, you should be ashamed of yourself. Once again.
Miraculously, my cinema-going weekend was salvaged on Sunday night, when I headed to the Sunshine at 7pm to see Hirokazu Koreeda's "Nobody Knows." While bars and apartments were flashing the exact same images of advertisements and overgrown boys in helmets, an almost sold-out house was settling in for a 144-minute Japanese drama. We were certainly rewarded for our efforts. "Nobody Knows" is a startling achievement, draining and involving in a way that few films are. Koreeda gets some of the finest child performances that the screen has ever seen.
So, in conclusion, your honor, it's only the first week of February and I'm fully confident that "Boogeyman" might be the worst movie I will see this year. On the other hand, I doubt I will see a better film than "Nobody Knows."
That's the beauty of this game called cinema. It's like craps, or ecstasy, or unprotected sex. You never know what you're gonna get, yet you keep on get-get-getting...