The Rise and Fall of the Ritualistic Cannibals and their Adolescent Zucchini Minions Surely Can’t Be It
by Franklin Barnes, Cantankerous Critic of Caustic Cinema
If I ponder how I might choose to occupy my free evenings, I can surely think of something better than attending The Rise and Fall of the Ritualistic Cannibals and their Adolescent Zucchini Minions. Ok, maybe I can’t, but that doesn’t make this dreadful piece of dreck anymore bearable. First off, the traffic on the way to the theater was just awful. Construction on The Yellow Brick Freeway has been going on for at least a year now. I diligently complete my taxes on an annual basis and I can’t expect even a semblance of well managed maintenance to my basic utilities?! Xenu#, give me strength. With the economy the way it is nowadays, yellow bricks may be in short supply, but come on!
When I finally arrived at the Ed Wood Cinema Complex, I could only anticipate trouble in my future. Am I alone in feeling extremely threatened by the behavior of teenagers these days? Fortunately, the police were nearby. Wow, I am not the man I use to be. Arriving in the theater unscathed was nothing short of a miracle, but my troubles were not over yet. Linda had forgotten to give me the tickets I printed out online, so it was over to the ticket counter to buy tickets I had already paid for. Money down the drain Linda! Money right down the !#*$# tube. I shouldn’t blame her. She’s a good woman, truly, just a little forgetful. And who am I to blame her when she’s in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s disease? To make matters worse, this career doesn’t offer medical insurance. What have I done with my life? I should have listened to Linda when she told me to pursue economics. (sigh), too late now. Let’s get this over with!
I remember in my glory days when I could actually sit down and enjoy a movie in theaters. Nowadays, I just feel totally helpless against all the intimidating characters surrounding me. Frisky teenagers, screaming kids and their underaged, incompetent mothers, muscle heads, bikers. At least I only have to do this 837 more times before I can attend critic screenings.
What is with the seemingly endless quantity of ads we have to view as a prerequisite to watching a likely-terrible movie? Nowadays, they don’t even describe their product to you. It’s just a bunch of stupid slapstick comedy with some irrelevant product arbitrarily tied to it. Why don’t they just start manufacturing bipedal hip hop hamsters if that’s the focal point of their ad? I know there’s the whole, “don’t play god argument,” but come on, they’re only hamsters. Hamsters, nature’s abstract artists. Hah! Umm…sorry! Anyways, then you have to sit through all those trailers. It’s like a glimpse into my dreadful future and all the painfully inept movies I’ll have to watch and review next year.
What can you expect from a movie that features cannibals and zucchinis in the title? Not much, I was soon assured. The plot was extremely predictable, but having to endure that was a walk in the park compared to my bathroom experience. How exactly can one create toliet paper as abrasive as sandpaper, but as brittle as a spider’s web? The paper towel dispensers were entirely empty so I was also forced to use that immensely unproficient toilet paper on my already arthritis-stricken hands.
Back at the theater, my experience did not begin to improve. Is it too much to ask for a multinational cinema to have decent projectors? I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re still using hand cranked ones. That would explain why the screen went black several times throughout the film. To a point, I almost don’t blame the projectionist. Having to crank continuously for almost two hours isn’t exactly easy. Maybe I should write a letter to my congressman on such matters.
Touching on the technical aspects of the film; what is with depictions of sentient zucchinis nowadays? I remember back in my youth, they actually had some character. Not they’re just CGI, ultra realistic, unemotional cucumbers with an afro. Give me a spraypainted banana with googly eyes, clad in baby clothes and a good puppeteer over that crap any day.
What is most depressing about this downfall of American cinema is that these films actually seem to be pleasing modern audiences. All I could hear about exiting the theater is how great this pathetic excuse for a movie was, how it had great morals, an uplifting storyline, realistic animation and blah blah blah. Perhaps I was wrong about feeling intimidated by my fellow movie goers. If they actually enjoyed this cinematic catastrophe, I don’t think I have much to worry about.
Well, as I drove home from yet another terrible movie experience to a likely bad meal and bad T.V., I couldn’t help but hope that my next experience would be better. But looking at the title,(Don Quixote… In Space!) I somehow doubt it.
