Don't be sad, Glenn! The other black character in the movie doesn't even get a name! Which wouldn't be that big a deal, if it weren't set in FUCKING DETROIT.I could complain even more about the script or the acting or the fact the cast and crew didn't partake in a mass guilt-driven suicide -but I won't. Because of course Butterfly Effect 3 isn't trying to be a good movie. It is trying to be a cheaply done, rapidly produced bad movie, in the hopes that enough people will drunkenly stumble into a 7-11 and accidentally grab it instead of Saw 98 for the producers to make a profit. One thing I noticed is that the film makes a lot of hamfisted attempts to court the lowest common denominator with a blatant blanket- appeal approach, trying to grab a bunch of demographics. Let's celebrate us some diversity!
And there you have it. At the peak of the stuttering monologue that acts as the movie's dramatic finale, a character giggles, "Wow, this is so Scooby Doo, isn't it?" Comparing itself to a boring cartoon that uses two-frame animation with plot twists an eight-year-old could figure out is the smartest thing it ever does.
But why am I pointing this out to you? It's the christhumping Butterfly Effect 3, for fuck's sake.
|Music / Sound||-6|
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.
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