Thursday, February 27, 2020

Double Review: Birds of Prey / Sonic The Hedgehog

By popular demand, I give it to you straight about two Hollywood wannabe-blockbusters that have the internet in a tizzy!

By: Jimbo X

Can somebody please explain to me why the supposed “far right” is vehemently against pornography all of a sudden? 

I mean, these are the same people always droning on and on about the need for less government intrusion in our daily lives, right? So how come they now want the big, bad federal monolith to start cracking down on free expression and the capitalistic system?

We went through this same shit in the 1980s with the Moral Majority and Ed Meese and Donald Wildmon — all of these arch-conservatives who tried their god-damndest to empower the federal government to control, dictate and if need be, eliminate all the forms of commercial media they didn’t like. They spent an entire decade yammering on and on about the need to stamp out degeneracy, to the point they ran out of legitimate targets to attack and started accusing Mighty Mouse of promoting cocaine usage. Yeah, they may have had some valid points with all of the Robert Mapplethorpe exhibits, but that’s only because the gubberment was using taxpayers dollars to commission black and white photographs of buttholes to hang up in a gallery somewhere in the Greater Akron, Ohio area. 

Such lamentable squandrances of publicly-usurped funds, I get. But these self-righteous pricks were also trying to boycott private enterprises like 7-Eleven for selling titty magazines and Blockbuster for carrying NC-17 movies. Which, naturally, raises the question: who do those fuckos, past and present, think they are telling other adults they shouldn’t be allowed to whack their wang-doodles or stir their skunk-pots to movies of people sucking, fucking and occasionally sticking mass-manufactured objects into their ani? 

It’s amazing how so many supposed “conservatives” and self-professed “classical liberals” are going on jihads against sites like Pornhub and SpankBang and my personal favorite, AShemaleTube, as if such websites were literal social pathologies that posed an immense public health risk.

What you end up getting is a buncha’ gobbledygook about all that smut burning out kids’ dopamine receptors, which to the best of my knowledge, has never been verified by any legitimate scientific study from any organization worth a hoot. But even if it did, so what? If a guy or gal wants to spend six hours a day making knuckle babies while watching Sarina Valentina and Larkin Love videos, how’s it hurting you in your own personal life? After all, it’s a voluntary choice, and if these porno junkies wanted to do something more productive with their lives like learn how to yodel and build birdhouses out of discarded popsicle sticks, there’s nothing stopping them. 

Lemme hash something out for all of you 4Channers out there. They problem ain’t that porno is biologically or psychologically addictive. The problem is that you have serious impulse control issues and just don’t have the social commodities desired in the contemporary sexual marketplace. So instead of developing some goddamn willpower and making yourself more presentable-looking to whatever sex or gender you’d prefer to fuck, you simply wallow in self-pity and low-T semen all day blaming “E-THOTS” for the fact you’re 40, 380 pounds, autistic and still live in your parents’ basement. 

It don’t take a Jung or a Freud to figure this one out. These woeful dregs of society spend so much time churning out love butter that they never make a conscious attempt to engage in consensual sexual activity in the real world. In fact, they’re usually so socially-retarded that they couldn’t even carry a conversation with a basic bitch at Starbucks, let alone connilingus her into rapture. So they develop this antagonistic symbiotic relationship with the camwhores, on one level worshipping them as the fetish objects of their non-existent sexuality but, at the same time, resenting them for being the sexual beings they themselves will never become. 

It’s an odd, ever-twisting candy cane of revulsion, libido and at least partially repressed homosexuality, I’d diagnose it. I actually think that the whole transgenderism boom is a direct response to so many sexless young men striking out with ladies and never getting that gamer girlfriend of their dreams. So knowing that they will never possess that object of sexual desire, they come up with the next best thing — they literally transform themselves into that idealized object of sexual desire, no matter how grotesque the end-result actually is. 

Seriously, just go onto Chaturbate and click on the “trans” tab. There are THOUSANDS of people on the Web right now wanking their wing wongs in front of a live audience — usually, wearing a wig and a lot of lipstick — just hoping and praying that some other sexless dude will come online and tell them how hot they look. 

That’s the secret psychology of the porno addiction, folks. The guys that are always tuggin’ their knobs to Lelu Love and Tara Tainton don’t want to be the alphas and Chads that pummel their pussies mercilessly, they subconsciously WANT to be the camwhores and E-THOTS themselves, these hyper-sexualized made-for-the-Web cult of personalities celebrated for their inherent sexuality. Now, whether or not that means they’re secretly craving some of that ding dong unironically is a matter of debate — what is glaringly apparent, though, is that these perpetual pecker polishers are desperately, direly in pursuit of sexual acknowledgement, of someone or something viewing them as fuckable objects, even if that means shanking off their own Johnson and pumping themselves full of hormones.

I don’t know if that’s a misogynistic viewpoint or not, but what I do know is that this neo-neo-conservative perspective on pronorgraphy is astonishingly similar to the viewpoint on pornography embraced by so many Second Wave feminists. Like the modern day anti-porn /pol/ pundit, these tragically unfuckable hell-beasts of the 1970s and 1980s also said that pornography was inherently devoid of any serious scentific, literary, artistic or political substance and promoted disenchantment (if not outright violence) against a marginalized class. They too thought that exposure to such media would turn men into slobbering horndog serial killers and transform wayward young women into schlong-hungry prostitutes. And they also happened to believe that commercialized eroticism, in any manifestation, was a slippery slope to outright depravity. Today, it’s grown men using their own money to watch topless dancing, they all clamored — ten years down the road, and there will be roving packs of professional rapists prowling every street corner in America, just champing at the bite to run a train on the first thing coming down the alleyway with the biological capability to menstruate. 

There’s no denying that the proliferation of the Internet has led to a mass increase the volume of pornography available — essentially, for free — to anybody with reliable-enough access to WiFi. But there isn’t a corresponding uptick in degeneracy or debauchery, either. In fact, there almost seems to be a correlation between the explosion of internet porn and the substantial downtick in reported rapes and sexual assaults in the United States. Indeed, if the latest facts and figures are to be believed, the proliferation of porn has actually been a boon for abstinence, with fewer and fewer young people today reporting sexual activity than they did during the heyday of The Playboy Channel and the VCR

Irony of ironies — all of these religious right and man-hating feminists wilderbeats all claimed pornography was going to turn our young uns into sexual deviants. Instead, it turned them asexual — perhaps voluntarily, perhaps involuntarily.

But me? You know what, I’m gonna’ keep on defending pornography and the right for adult consumers to spank their shafts and vibrate their vulvas to whatever the hell they want to, pending it don’t involve Chris Hanson inevitably showing up at their doorstep and asking them to take a seat right over there. And when you’ve been in a 10-year-long relationship with the same person like I have, you quickly learn that pornography is a potential marriage saver: instead of going next door and knocking boots with the 24-year-old liberal arts major who works at Provino’s, I can wait ‘til the missus is out shopping and drain my diddly to videos of Japanese women slobber-kissin’ all over one another. 

Remember — if you hate porn, you don’t hate degeneracy. What you really hate is liberty and personal autonomy.

Well, on the plus side, when the movie drops on Blu-Ray, they can describe the entire feature as “never before seen” footage.

Speaking of things that has the involuntary celibate community stirred up in a frenzy, our first flick in today’s double review feature is Birds of Prey, the sorta-but-not-really-kinda-sequel to Suicide Squad that’s proving to be one of the biggest Bat-related box office disasters since the Aurora shooting — which, in sharp contrast to this movie, actually managed to draw a full house. 

Right off the bat, you can tell it's going to be a hard one to sit through, since the opening is not only animated, but a brazen ripoff of the premise of Problem Child to boot. Then we watch Harley Quinn and her fake Jew voice chopping her hair off and buying hyenas and tattooing shit on her thighs while she cries and Joan Jett plays in the background. Cue a subplot about Harley becoming a roller derby girl (fuck, how cliche CAN you get?) and drinking a lot and she keeps talking about having a PhD while wearing black lipstick and somebody brings up The Joker and it triggers her and then everybody raves in super-speed and she barfs in her purse.

Then she drunk drives a tanker into the Ace Chemicals factory (which I thought was supposed to be Axis Chemicals, but apparently that was just something Tim Burton changed for the first Keaton movie back in ‘89) and Harley starts giving a VO intro for Officer Renee Montoya, who get screwed over for a promotion by an EVIL BLACK MALE  and then we watch this one skank in all black kill four Italians with a crossbow. Hey, it's The Huntress. Who'd thunk it. Then this guy in a white suit orders a buncha' goons to murder an entire family, with this one guy carving off a whole buncha' motherfuckers' faces. So the white suit guy is named Black Mask, and he's a bad dude, even though he’s played by Ewan McGregor, who is easily THE least intimidating actor this side of Emmanuel Lewis. Then Harley soaks her panties watching an egg sandwich being made. Then Renee starts chasing after her and a guy in a wheelchair with a gun makes her drop her biscuit and she runs afoul of a guy whose face she tattooed like a clown a couple of years back and the Huntress (played by Mary Elizabeth Winstead of Scott Pilgrim fame, and holy shit has she hit The Wall(™) HARD over the last ten years) shoots him in the throat with an arrow.

Then Renee wears a shirt reading "I shaved my balls for this" and we get another flashback of a buncha' people getting machine gunned by Italians and then Harley walks into a police station and shoots a cop with a bean bag gun and quite realistically, she overpowers like 20 men armed with real guns in the process. Then there's another flashback showing the Black Canary singing at a nightclub, and they LITERALLY made her a black Black Canary with a black actress and everything. Then this Asian guy turns down Black Mask's offer for "protection," so that's how he got his entire family's face shaved off. Oh, and The Black Canary is singing "It's a Man's Man’s Man’s World," because women LITERALLY have no idea what "subtlety" means.

Then Harley kvetches about the single life for a little bit and then these white guys try to sex traffick her and she's still able to karate fight them off even though she just ingested enough GHB to kill a water buffalo. Oh, the Black Canary knows karate, too, because in this world, all women are martial arts virtuosos who are also perpetually oppressed by the patriarchy, somehow. So Black Mask gives Black Canary a job as his personal driver and he talks about how much he likes crossbows then this fat Chinese pickpocket takes time out of her busy schedule of being a disproportionately represented carrier of the coronavirus to talk about conning white men out of their belongings, then she gets picked up by the popo and eats a diamond she stole from Black Mask.

Then there's this scene where Black Mask interrogates Harley and she LITERALLY breaks the fourth wall and asks the audience to vote for Bernie Sanders. No, for real, they ACTUALLY put that in the movie. And just when you think this shit can't get any more annoying, who's ready for a scene-by-scene parody of the "Material Girl" music video by Madonna? Well, too bad, because they're gonna' give it to us anyway. Then we cut back to Harley shooting up the police station with her confetti gun (who does she think she is, WCW midcarder Johnny B. Badd?) and she can't make this one machine work because that's just how women are with technology, naturally. Then Harley breaks the fat Chinese pickpocket out of jail and she 1cc's AN ENTIRE prison population in a flooded jail cell because fuck it, the HUBRIS on those people. Then there's another shitty karate fight, this time set to the tune of Ram Jam's "Black Betty." Just ... sigh.

Then Harley kidnaps the fat Asian kid and steals a van with two mattresses on top of it and she blows up some woman trying to shoot her with a stick of dynamite. Then Harley buys a buncha Ex-Lax. Then she robs a grocery store because she thinks she’s being charged too much for cucumber water. 

Then there's WAY too much exposition on The Huntress, then the Black Mask makes a random hoochie dance for him because he's an EVIL WHITE MALE and the Black Canary just can't take it. I mean, she's OK with her boss LITERALLY slicing the faces off of children, but this, this shit right here, is crossing the line. Then Renee loses her badge for stealing files and this one guy throws a fireball into Harley’s apartment and kills her pet hyenas and a slowed down, dramatic version of Pat Benatar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" plays and yep, it's every bit as corny as it sounds.

Then Harley and Renee karate fight in an abandoned amusement park, because such malarkey is WAY easier than coming up with an ACTUAL story. Hell, if you took the slow-motion kung fu shit out of this movie, the thing would be, like, only 35 minutes long. Then Black Mask's goon shoots Harley with a tranq, then the Huntress shoots HIM with a tranq and then the fat Asian grabs a gun and threatens to shoot everybody and then Black Mask and all of his MALE goons invade the compound and the EMPOWERED STRONG WOMEN are outnumbered, like 30-to-one.  So, of course, the #GirlSquad put their differences aside and single-handedly take down the 200-man strong army while totally unarmed ... and on roller skates. And after all of that ass-kicking, naturally, they go out for margaritas and Harley commits grand theft auto and the rest of the girls officially form the Birds of Prey and no one is brought to justice, because women have no grasp or reverence of such things to begin with.

So yeah, needless to say, this one DESERVES all of the hate it’s getting on the web, and hopefully it’s dismal box office numbers mean the next time Warner Bros. tries to prostitute out the Harley Quinn cash cow, they’ll actually stick her in a movie that has a plot more nuanced than “Hey, how else can we say white men are bad and have our 120-pound lead characters quip-fu their way through 300 gun-toting mercenaries without breaking a sweat?”

We’ve got 58 dead bodies. No breasts, because that’s something people would actually pay to see on the big screen. One exploding factory. One exploding car. One exploding motorcycle. One exploding misogynist. One untrusty Asian shop-owner. Two motor vehicle chases. Multiple arrows to the throat. Faces roll. Gratuitous vomiting. Gratuitous hyper-speed dancing. Gratuitous slow-motion karate. Gratuitous “Barracuda.” Gratuitous egg biscuit references. Kung fu. Hand grenade fu. Baseball fu. Confetti fu. And the thing more or less responsible for this movie existing in the first place, some of the worst gyno-identity politicking fu at the box office since Black Christmas … alas, don’t expect Hollywood to give up on the shameless vagina-baiting, no matter how much money such audience-less appeals to vulva-vulgarity is costing these film studios in the long haul. 

Starring Margot Robbie as Harley Quinn, who looks a lot less attractive than she did in Suicide Squad, especially when she’s forced to meep out such crigney dialogue as “You killed my sandwich”; Rosie Perez as Renee Montoya, the hard-boiled Hispanic cop who says “She just publicly updated her relationship status” when Harley blows up the chemical plant that created The Joker; Ewan McGregor as Black Mask, who says “go show those little bitches you don’t fuck with Roman Sionis”; Mary Elizabeth Winstead as The Huntress, who has aged approximatley four decades since Scott Pilgrim; and Jurnee Smollett-Bell as The Black Canary, who, unlike her sibling, did not engage in any hate crime hoaxes during the filming of the movie — that we’re aware of. 

Written by Christina Hodson and directed by Cathy Yan, who I am sure will blame “misogyny” and “the patriarchy” on the fact nobody wants to watch a movie about a buncha’ psychopathic, murderous career criminals who make jokes about Thai food in between robbing innocent merchants and killing police officers.

If anything, this movie is even worse than the alt-right forum-o-sphere would have you believe. Indeed, dollar-for-dollar and shot-for-shot, this might just be the worst live-action D.C. movie since … well, whatever the last one was, probably. The best I can give this one is a rotten ONE AND HALF STARS OUT OF FOUR rating — do yourself a kindness and just rub one out to some HQ fan movies on the ‘Tubes instead

Thankfully, it’s WAY better than the Sonic movie that ALMOST got made back in the ‘90s. You know, the one with Kneau Reeves playing Sonic the Mech Pilot and Steve Buscemi cast as a parapaelgic Tails.

think it’s safe, however, to call the long, long, LONG-awaited live-action Sonic the Hedgehog movie the inverse of whatever Birds of Prey was supposed to be. Not only is it a virtually apolitical, family-friendly action comedic with a surprising amount of emotional depth, it may very well be the most awe-inspiring miracle job to come out of Hollywood in eons. By all accounts, this movie should have been an irredeemable shithouse fire, but the folks at Paramount actually did the nigh-impossible and not only gave us a remarkably entertaining cinematic debut for the beloved Sega mascot, but unfucked up along the way to, perhaps accidentally, give us what is far and away the greatest video game adaptation movie to date. Yeah, I don’t know how they managed to pull this shit off, either, but the important thing is that they simply did

For starters, the movie begins with an AWESOME Sega banner emblem a'la the MCU flagship intro, complete with scenes of Virtua Racing and Space Channel 5. Please Jesus let there be a LEGIT Sega Cinematic Universe. That's all I really want out of life anymore.

So we watch Baby Sonic blazing around a CGI recreation of the Green Hill Zone, where there's this owl that mentors Sonic and shit. Of course, she gets hit by spear-chunking natives, and she makes him travel through an interdimensional portal to the other side of the universe to avoid being eaten by savages. Then we cut to planet earth, where there's a REAL place called Green Hills and this one goofy ass cop playing around with a radar gun. Of course, it ain't long before he clocks Sonic going 300 miles per hour around his patrol car. Then Sonic saves a turtle from being run over and runs really fast with it while Queen plays in the background, and that turtle is LITERALLY shook. Then Sonic retreats to his hidden cavern bunker, where he reads Flash comics, runs inside a dryer and practices nunchuck swings. Also, there's a road sign for "Hill Top Road," which is something only REAL Sonic fans would get. Oh, there's also some plot point about Sonic having one magic ring that will magically transport a nigga to this interdimensional portal with nothing but stinky mushrooms in it, which I think is a sly dig at Super Mario Bros

So Sonic likes to hang out in the city sometime, where he watches the cop from earlier eats doughnuts and there's this one guy named "Crazy Carl" that tries to catch him with bear traps. Oh, and the cop fucks the shit out of this one black girl who does yoga and watches Speed a lot. Then we get some subplottage about how lonely Sonic is, because he has to watch other people watch the first Naked Gun movie instead of actually interacting with society. And that makes me feel sad, too.

Then the cop learns he's been accepted to the police force in San Francisco, possibly because he likes the gay sex on the downlow. Then there's some brazen product placement for Zillow and the cop jokes about stealing the neighbor's WiFi and then he practices doing his farewell speech to a doughnut and Sonic watches a buncha' Little Leaguers play baseball and that reminds him of how lonely he is and oh fuck, is this movie ACTUALLY making a poignant yet non-forced message about the rigors of social alienation? Well fuck me in the ass and call me Roberta, it is, and it's actually making me feel the FEELZ.

Then Sonic accidentally causes a major power outage by running around the baseball diamond really, really fast. Then the cop picks up one of Sonic's quills and it's glowing bright blue and shit the Department of Homeland Security wonders if the power outage is the result of an EMP terrorist attack. So the DOD calls in DR. ROBOTNIK to investigate the happening. Of course, instead of being a fat dude in a giant egg who looks like Teddy Roosevelt, it's Jim Carrey with a goofy mustache and an alt-right haircut. Oh, and instead of trapping animals inside robotic death machines, he has an armada of drones at his command, which yeah, STILL kinda' fits in line with the canonical video game series way more than it probably should've.

So Robotnik does some sleuthing and finds one of Sonic's footprint and says it's certainly not of this earth. Then the cop talks about having an Olive Garden app pre-installed in his phone, then he thinks he hears some raccoons rummaging through his garbage so he grabs a tranq gun and he finds Sonic in his garage and he pops a needle in that ass. But not before opening a portal to San Francisco, where he drops his bag of magical transportation rings. So the cop puts a passed out Sonic in a cage and then some army tanks roll up in his driveway and he agrees to hide Sonic until the military exits stage left. Then a drone flies into his house and Dr. Robotnik makes a buncha' ethnic jokes about playing in a jug band and adopting Labradoodles. Then Robotnik finds one of Sonic's quills, and yep, it's time for "Doughnut Lord" and Sonic to make a break for it. "Can you believe Amazon is going to deliver packages with these things?" Sonic quips while riding one of Robotnik's machine-gun fire spitting drones. Well, that quip won't sound dated or anything in, like, 30 years.

So Sonic tells the cop to take him to San Fran so he can get his magic rings back, but he's a little reluctant. He makes a quip about waking up from a colonoscopy and Sonic runs into the Pacific Ocean and a fish falls off his head and the cop finally agrees to go along with his cockamamie plan. Then Sonic eyes a biker bar with fuckin' monster trucks racing in the parking lot. So naturally, Sonic sneaks in wearing a cowboy hat and he orders nachos and buffalo wings and nobody realizes he's a fucking interdimensional hedgehog. Then Sonic steals a dude's notepad and makes a bucket list, then he cheats at that one basketball arcade game and rides a mechanical bull and a buncha' ruffians call Sonic "a hipster," so he tries to conk a beer bottle over one their heads, and this leads to an all out country and western donnybrook. Cue the requisite slow-motion running sequence, with Sonic giving miscelleanrous motherfuckers wedgies and wrapping up one nigga' in toilet paper like a mummy. Then Sonic and the cop have to hole up in a seedy motel room and lick their wounds for a little bit. And then Sonic lets out a chili dog fart, and the audience at my screening LITERALLY cheered when it happened, and that was the moment I knew America was once and for all on the right track as a collective society. Then the cop finds one last thing left unchecked on Sonic's bucket list — "make a real friend." Fuck, this movie is hitting me WAY harder than I expeced it to.

Then Robotnik starts chasing down the cop's truck in a giant tank-like contraption that shoots harpoons and shit. OH FUCK, SONIC JUST SPIN DASHED THROUGH THAT FUCKER AND I'M LITERALLY MARKING OUT FOR REAL, UNIRONICALLY. Naturally, Sonic celebrates by "flossing," the dance, not the dental hygiene activity. Although to be fair, there are a lot of jokes about dentists in this movie, for some reason. So then Robotnik starts shooting futuristic landmines at the truck and Sonic skates on them and blows up *most* of Robotnik's ride, but there's still the one mech part that's still chasing after them. Robotnik's mech tries to pop the tires, but the cop manages to immobilize it with a baseball bat. Then a mosquito-sized drone lasers off the roof of the truck and they have to pull off-road. Then Robotnik tries to lick Sonic's quill and it electro-shocks him. Well, why shouldn't it?

Then the cop's black girlfriend's sassy black sister threatens to turn him into the feds and accuses him of trafficking plutonium. Then Dr. Robotnik has this weird dance scene for literally no reason whatsoever and then his Moslem-looking subordinate offers him a latte made out of osprey milk. Meanwhile, the vet girlfriend tends to a severely injured Sonic. Also, the sassy black sister looks and sounds WAY too much like Stacey Abrams for it to be a coincidence. Just saying. Then the vet brings Sonic back to consciousness with smelling salts and he springs to his feet and asks if The Rock is president yet. Then the sassy black woman's cutesy-pie mixed-race child gives Sonic a pair of VERY familiar red shoes and the cop explains to her why he needs to take Sonic to the TransAmerica Building to get the magical rings and whatnot.

So the cop sneaks Sonic into the building in a duffle bag and there's a buncha jokes about implied child abuse and Sonic accuses him of keeping "a jar of pickled farts" in there. Oh shit, but before Sonic can throw the magic teleportation ring, like, a thousand drones surround him, and here comes Dr. Robotnik in a triangular flying vehicle, and we ALL cheer when Sonic calls him "Mr. Eggman." Then Sonic pushes the cop and his girlfriend of color off the roof, and that's our cue for slow-motion sequence No. 2. Of course, right before the couple splatters, he safely ring-teleports them back to their rinky dink hometown in Montana. That leaves Sonic and Robotnik alone to duke it out one-on-one, and holy shit, this is LITERALLY turning into the "Escape the City" level from Sonic Adventure 2. Seriously, ya'll I'm about to weep tears of joy seeing this play out in a REAL movie, and I don't even give a fuck about what you think about it, either.

So this leads to a GREAT sequence where Sonic keeps throwing teleportation rings while Robotnik pursues him through the Great Wall of China and Egypt, among other locales. The interdimensional chase, of course, ends in Green Hill, where the cop karate fights Dr. Robotnik, then the rest of the townsfolk show up with chainsaws to back him up. Then the cop calls Sonic one of his friends and that LITERALLY makes Sonic go SUPERSONIC and he dodges a million-billion rockets and he spin dashes the fuck out of Robotnik's ride and the cop zaps him all the way to that stinking, lifeless, ahem, mushroom kingdom. Then the cop decides "fuck, it let's stay in Green Hill" while a classy rendition of the Green Hill Zone theme from the first Sonic game plays in the background. Then a colonel from the U.S. military shows up and gives the cop a gift card to Olive Garden, making sure to tell him how great the never-ending pasta bowl is. "It's never-ending," he reminds our hero ... and the viewing audience. Then they show Sonic the attic of their house, which has been refurbished to look like his previous cave home, complete with a fuckin' set of SAMBA DE AMIGO maracas. Oh sweet fuck, PLEASE let the post-credit stinger involve a nod to Jet Grind Radio, please! 

Then we toss it to the mushroom world, where Dr. Robotnik has shaved his head and made best friends with a rock with a shockingly human-like face. Then the end credits begin proper, and it's that one admittedly awesome Wiz Khalifa song playing over a 16-bit recreation of the entire movie. And then we get our REAL mid-credits spoiler. Out in the majestic woodlands of Montana, ANOTHER giant ring opens, and out jumps fuckin' TAILS, who apparently is on a rescue mission to retrieve Sonic! And if you don't think that's something to mark out about, I think these audience reaction clips on YouTube tell you no, it is very much true that YOU are the one who is wrong here.

Folks, there is no logical explanation for how this movie turned out as good as it did. And if it doesn’t pave the way for a Streets of Rage and Toejam and Earl movie by 2023, we might just have coast-to-coast riots on our hand. 

As for the finer plot points, we’ve got no dead bodies. No breasts (and if you’re looking for ‘em in a Sonic movie, you need more help than we here at TIIIA can give you.) One dead CGI owl. 453 dead drones. One massive blackout. One barroom brawl. One motor vehicle chase. Multiple exploding robots. Gratuitous slow-motion “Quicksilver” effects. Gratuitous chili dog farts. Laser fu. Spindash fu. And the thing more or less responsible for this movie existing in the first place (and, ultimately, succeeding beyond our wildest imaginations), some heavy duty respect and appreciation of the source material fu.

Starring Jim Carrey as Dr. Robotnik, the scenery-chewing baddie who says lines like “you just be you - sless”; James Marsden as Tom Wachowski, the small-town cop who ends up becoming Sonic’s guardian ad litem; Tika Sumpter as Maddie Washcowski, the fine-ass mocha female lead whose yoga prowess earns her the nickname “Pretzel Lady”; and Ben Schwartz as the voice of Sonic, who gets to drop such (Chaos) gems of lines as “I’m wet, I’m cold, there’s a fish on my head and clearly, I’m not gonna’ be able to do this on my own” and “look at this, I took 9 million steps today!”

Written by the dynamic duo of Josh Miller and Patrick Casey — amazingly, the same guys who gave us not only 2009’s Transylmania, but BOTH National Lampoon Presents Dorm Daze AND its sequel — and directed by first-time filmmaker Jeff Fowler, who I think it’s safe to say knocked this one outta’ the park.

Yes, I am an unabashed Sega fanboy, but even *I* was surprised at how much this seemingly obvious cash-grab didn’t suck. Indeed, this is the most fun I’ve had watching a stupid-ass popcorn movie at the local cinemaplex in a long, long time — and since it gets us that much closer to a live-action Shinobi movie being a real thing, for once, I didn’t even mind paying the extra $4.50 for popcorn butter. Against all odds, I’d feel content labeling Sonic the Hedgehog as an unironic THREE AND A HALF STARS OUT OF FOUR caliber-picture — now, how long are you guys gonna’ make me wait on that live-action, $200 million Vectorman adaptation?


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