Trillaphon: Are those...hummingdolphins? Hoverdolphins?
Hydrogen: You'd think the dolphins would use their omnipotent magical powers to cook up a method of flying that didn't involve flapping their little stumpy flippers really hard all the time.
Trillaphon: Late-stage schizophrenic hermits on a three-day ayahuasca binge are less detached from reality than this movie.
Hydrogen: I like that the Brazilian mouse is swarthier than all the other ones and is obsessed with soccer at all times for no goddamn reason. The reason is soccer-racism, which is now officially a word as of me saying it just now. Hilarious, bizarre, soccer-centric racism.
Trillaphon: Those mice don't even register as blips on my mental radar with fucking humming hoverdolphins whooshing around all over the place.
Hydrogen: We really have to mention that her boyfriend, the gypsy pirate king of Hispaniola, also gains the ability to talk to animals later in the film, but he doesn't have to weep into the ocean, he gets it by "truly uniting his soul" with her.
Trillaphon: So if I understand what you're saying here it's that animal telepathy is actually a sexually transmitted disease except everyone wants to have it because instead of making your junk itch it turns you into Dr. Dolittle.
Hydrogen: And then his reaction to discovering his amazing ability is basically to not give a flying fuck. "Oh hey dog, you can talk now, that's cool I guess."
Trillaphon: I suspect the dolphins wouldn't be trying to buddy up with her quite so much if they knew that her dad commanded the whaling rights to pretty much the entire ocean.
One roommate's art-fueled movement goes terribly wrong.
Emma Stone was the most paranoid person I had ever met. In private she wore a full suit of medieval armor at all times, visor down.
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