Overview: Two families of dweebs, spazzes, and other assorted degenerates are brought together by their mutual annoyance with a cat who can talk, except it can only talk to any person once, because that's the rule.
Directed By: David DeCoteau (credited as Mary Crawford), 2012
The Case For: Provides the missing evidence you need to finish your angry manifesto about how cats will be responsible for the downfall of human society.
The Case Against: Misleading title - should have been something more like A Mumbling Cat!?! or in Japan Cheese Puff Orgy Hairless Boy Miracle Fashion Team, or even something just a bit more metaphysical like What the Fuck is This!?!.
Trillaphon: A Shitty Talking Animal Movie!?!
Hydrogen: Yes, that's right, A Talking Cat!?!, a movie so bad that its own title is incredulous that such a film could ever exist. Don't be fooled by the sense of wonder and amazement that title is trying desperately to convey, because this movie has neither.
Trillaphon: OK, so which rotten soulless son of a bitch suggested we watch this movie again?
Hydrogen: Forums user Onomarchus, I believe.
Trillaphon: I know who I'm saving my next Jihad for.
Hydrogen: Good, that leaves David DeCoteau for me then.
Trillaphon: That guy is pretty much the Canadian Charlie Band. Speaking of talentless hacks, I wonder who was holding Eric Roberts' voodoo doll's crotch over the fire to get/keep him in on this?
Hydrogen: He probably didn't even know he was in it; he signs movie contracts like blue whales eat krill.
Trillaphon: Noisily and at depths of over 100m?
Hydrogen: Sure, why not. Or maybe he's just the world's greatest multitasker and banged this out between takes on the 12 other movies he was doing that day.
Trillaphon: That would explain why it sounds like he's reading his lines into Batman's armpit.
Hydrogen: It's all so clear now.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
Something Awful reviews the absolute worst movies out there. We focus mostly on horror and science fiction, because all writers here on Something Awful are huge nerds.