Pretty Good

Rating: Null/10 (26 November 2006)

Kevin Spacey Every once in a while a film comes along that is so wretched, so spine-crushingly terrible that it makes us question our will to live, and indeed our will to let anyone else live.
I'm talking about a work of the dark arts, an atrocity to be counted among the most horrific ever brought forth from the rotting lower crust of the human race. A holocaust; a black plague. An experience that chews at the thin fabric of sanity like a sanity-eating rat until we're left wrapped into a fetal position on the theater floor, hugging the cool concrete for comfort in a pool of our blood and vomit, our skin bathed in cold sweat; our muscles twitching. We clamp our hands over our ears as we try to block it out; to not believe it's real, our grease-stained popcorn bags jammed over our heads like a radiation hood.
But still the evil pours forth from that silver screen, radiating it's hellish energy over all in its path. Each frame scars, each scene scratches life from your soul like an IRS wage deduction. Every line of dialogue devours the will to live, like a swarm of locusts feasting on a helpless goat, running through the burning sands of Iraq's Goat Valley. The two hours stretch into an eternity of suffering, a neverending torture not contemplated in the deepest, darkest corners of Dante's imagination.
And then you have "American Beauty," which is pretty good. I give it two stars.
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