Mandy Moore was the only redeeming part of this nonstop train to Sucktopia, USA

I recently had the gross misfortune of watching this horrendous production:



I chose what I assume to be the Russian version of the movie poster because it somehow manages to capture the shitfest essence of the entire film and garnish it with an iota of creepiness.

Reasons why I suspect Because I Said So was directed by a man:

1) Overdosing on the subtle spice of a neurotic, critical, overprotective, but-we-love-her-anyway kind of mom.



Diane Keaton plays the requisite “mom” role in this atrocious rom-com and I genuinely wanted to punch her every time she appeared on camera. In fact, I feel that any real mother would probably find the overly cliché, psychotic inclinations of Keaton’s character to be offensive. Her campaign of verbal abuse towards youngest daughter Milly (wtf???), played by Mandy Moore, does not resonate with parental concern but seems to conceal a genuine maliciousness. It was scary and made her daughter’s continuous toleration of such behavior seem to be symptomatic of Stockholm syndrome.


2) Generalizing that all gatherings of the non-male variety are like girl versions of raunchy, whose-dick-is-bigger overshare sessions.

Maybe it is my inner prude talking, but I don’t think mothers and their daughters indulge in show-and-tell sessions of how an orgasm feels or competitively compare their individual performances in the bedroom … or engage in conference calls with each other during sex.


3) Assuming that “finding the right man” is the only priority in any woman’s life.

The moral of Because I Said So: being romantically alone is the worst thing in the world. No matter that Milly has caring friends and family as well as a successful career; the film tacitly labels her a social leper and portrays her as the ultimate loser. The reason? She’s single.


4) All women don’t mind finding out their date secretly has a child as long as she discovers this substantial development via the charming tableau of the man playfully interacting with his child. In fact, this discovery immediately causes the woman to eagerly commit to this man and his unearthed progeny.

Wtf? Snack-sized human beings are not the miracle drug for relationship anxieties. Nor can they completely hypnotize women into quiet submission.



(Yes, the film's wardrobe department did seem to be cruising the effects of a homeless-bag-lady-at-the-Kentucky-Derby bender at all times. And yes, that is a wedding cake, not a psychedelic flesh-eating space plant from the Qvartak hell dimension.)

The movie is a poor cut-and-paste effort hurriedly contrived from what seems to be a crash course in romantic comedy tropes. It’s like a mass-manufactured copy of an already lackluster original made by someone who only believes in stereotypes. The most gimmicky part of all is how they even managed to insert some random plot devices so Mandy Moore could sing.

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:

Oh those young whippersnappers...

Dear World,

Yesterday I braved many odds (freezing weather, freezing weather, freezing weather) to watch the greatest movie of all time and its name was:



Despite being mocked by many friends (haters), who insisted that the You Got Served/Drumline hybrid was mired in foolish predictability, I was still hopeful. And even though buying the ticket was perhaps the most shameful experience of my life, even beating out that time I had to watch the re-release of E.T. in theaters by myself (For a movie review! For a movie review!), I DON’T REGRET IT, OK???

Come to think of it, watching the thing was like being in a middle school minigangsta hoochie showdown movie of my own. As we were hit by repeated volleys of various hard candies every twenty minutes and regaled with a loud ghetto fabulous commentary on every single event that unfolded on screen (as well as an ear-piercing shriek whenever Chris Brown appeared), I felt the atmosphere to be ripe for a break dance fight. Or a real fight.

So here’s a break down:

The Good:
1) My dream of watching/participating in a stroll fight is partially fulfilled.
2) A PURE GOLD soundtrack that I will fiendishly mine for gym-worthy songs.
3) Megan Good (dare I make the pun) looks good.
4) Akon, the suddenly ubiquitous belle of the pop culture ball, is not in this movie.

The Bad:
1) Needs more stepping!
2) Shaky camera technique aimed at “realism” only yields “mild motion sickness.”
3) Use of “hissing” as part of a fraternity’s chant only incited the middle schoolers around me into bouts of intermittent hissing of their own.