Sausage fest on the sea

I have a bad track record when it comes to watching critically acclaimed movies. This is probably because films which pique my interest can usually be summed up as being part of the following genres:

- inane action flicks (Starship Troopers, The Transporter, etc.)
- Will Ferrell-type comedies (Zoolander, Anchorman, etc.)
- bitchy girl movies (Mean Girls, Heathers, etc.)

Anything that strays too far from this formula usually makes me want to take a nap or watch “So You Think You Can Dance?” But sometimes, I manage to sit through an entire piece of non-fluff. Like the time our remote ran out of batteries and I had to watch The House of Sand and Fog aka The Most Depressing Movie of All Time: Now with more suicide and death.

On a whim, I decided to Netflix this movie, whose title (as suggested by Lisa) could easily coincide with that of some kinky porno.



So, it’s no Schindler’s List, but it still beats the last movie I saw (D.E.B.S.) in terms of substance. And though the film’s 2+ hour runtime forced my puny, short attention-spanned brain to watch it in 30-minute segments like some primetime miniseries, I still loved it all.

It’s so hearty and glorious like an overripe celebration of heterosexual masculinity that makes you want to sing songs and drink ale and repair ships and bond with other burly men. Kind of like oceanic Gladiator. It also makes you wonder why Russell Crowe isn’t just the default star of every combative historical epic. Perhaps his presence could have benefited past disappointments such as The Patriot or Alexander. I mean, he’s had a pretty good track record so far: