Frankenstein General Hospital Reviews
You see, a few months ago, I reached a personal revelation on a particularly vivid LSD trip whilst camping in the backwoods of West Virginia. I was just lying there, face down in the mud, when a vision came to me. At first I'd thought it was a giant black Sharpie, but after it slapped me around a little bit, I realized that it was, in fact, the ghost of former Chicago Tribune movie critic Gene Siskel.
"What the[i] fuck [/i]do you think you're doing?" the Siskel ghost asked when I finally came to. "You think you can review movies? That's only for the likes of trained professionals! Can you imagine a system in which any moron could just spout off their random opinions about whatever movie they happed to see? It would lead to madness! If people start forming opinions about films based on reviews written by people that are not trained masters in the realm of film criticism, they could start enjoying things that aren't actually good!"
"Weren't you a real estate reporter anyway? And didn't you love [i]Ringmaster[/i]?"
Then he kneed me in the groin, shouting, "I had a brain tumor! Don't make fun of people that had a brain tumor!"
I tried to stand up and say something in a falsetto voice, but he had already gone, and off in the ether, I could hear him making prank phone calls to Betsy Palmer*.
When I came to, my travelling companion, Curtis Armstrong, looked aghast. I had apparently been out of it for three days, and Curtis had spent the last 48 hours desperately trying to wake me up by splashing warm "Flav-Or-Aid" on my face. When asked why he hadn't just taken me to the hospital less than a mile away, he just shrugged. He's like that.
While I was already frightened by the prophecies foretold by America's shittiest movie critic that has a theater named after him, the summer blockbuster season put the final nail into my (albeit temporary) coffin of internet film criticism. The deranged mess of[i] Spider-Man 3 [/i]was thrilling audiences everywhere. Comments online extolled the virtues of the pointless and irritating [i]28 Weeks Later[/i]. And soon, a little movie called [i]Transformers [/i]managed to entertain audiences who felt that a movie called[i] Transformers[/i] didn't need to bother with plot structure, entertaining sub-plots, humor, sense or even much in the way of Transformers. While many critics panned these films, people online were actually talking about how much they liked them and how the critics were wrong.
"What have I done?" I screamed, dropping to my knees, as soon as I put this all together. The clerk at the Hardee's called security, but my lesson had already been learned.
So, for a time, I kept my opinions to myself. Did anyone really need to know that I thought [i]License to Wed[/i] wouldn't have actually been that bad if it weren't for Robin Williams? Or that [i]The Brave One [/i]is meandering, confused and ultimately meaningless? Or that [i]Death Sentence [/i]is one of the best vigilante films I've seen in a long time? I assumed that the answer was "no."
One man changed all that.
His name is Mark Blankfield.
I have to work now, but I will explain soon.
[size=1]* -- This may be a bit obscure. I can explain. But if you understand this, bonus points for you.[/size]