Saying that he would rather witness a live decapitation than watch two people kiss on screen, twelve-year-old film critic Dustin Huffman lambasted the film industry with an interminable slew of “ew”s.
“I watched Ready Player One and the book was definitely better than the movie, because there were too many kissing scenes in the movie,” he explained. “Ewwwwww.”
In the past few months, Dustin has garnered the attention and respect of scores of cinemaphiles, thus beginning to dominate other venerated critics on Rotten Tomatoes and Roger Ebert. Many accomplished film directors have begun to pay attention to Dustin’s insightful complaints, conceding that any movie that depicts any level of sexual contact between consenting adults is too “ewwwww.”
“I sincerely regret having that beautiful Sicilian woman take her clothes off and kiss Michael Corleone in The Godfather,” lamented Francis Ford Coppola. “It’s been more than forty years since I made that movie, and now all I can think of is ewwwwwwwwww. The film is utterly without redeeming social value because the ew-factor is too high. The Godfather III is even worse because there’s even more kissing, but at least they’re cousins.”
Ironically, however, Dustin’s parent’s found last Monday a massive amount of pornography on Dustin’s computer. “I never thought I’d have to install a firewall or whatever you call that,” said Ariana Huffman, 43. “He was always saying ‘ew’ to everything ranging from broccoli to bestiality, so I thought he’d be naturally repelled by our evolutionary instincts and be voluntarily celibate.”
Reporters attempted to interview Dustin, who declined to comment and explained that he had more important things to do than to deal with our silly questions. He was last seen playing with a fidget toy while blowing someone’s brains out in virtual reality.
Antoine Fuqua, the director of Training Day, has made The Equalizer, an emotional drama based on the life of a depressed bald man. “It’s time for the public to wake up and see just how difficult life can be for the hair-challenged,” said Fuqua. “As a bald man myself, I can relate.”
The movie recounts the life of Tony Delcavoli (Denzel Washington). Lacking confidence due to lack of hair, Delcavoli can’t help but cast furtive glances at people with hair when he takes the subway to work. “Look at that man over there, that smug asshole grooming his beard with a fork,” he complained. “Who does he think he is?”
“Delcavoli is a brave, brave man,” said Fuqua. “You know, hairless men are 40 to 50 times more likely than the average American to be called ‘cue ball’, and I don’t take that as a compliment.”
Critical reception has been sharply divided, with Roger Ebert calling it a “maudlin piece of tearjerking nonsense” and Armond White saying that it “warms both the heart and the head.”
Set in the sleepy Mexican village of Salsipuedes in Baja California Norte, Coco tells the story of a young chihuahua that is abducted by a Mexican cartel. Alonzo, the canine protagonist, is shot with a tranquilizer dart at the beginning of the movie. He wakes up in a dingy and severe room hidden under a rundown bar, handcuffed to a wooden bedpost which he immediately attempts to sever with his sharp little teeth.
The chihuahua chews in vain for days, irking his captors, who tell him to cállate (shut up). “No me fucking importa,” replies the chihuahua, who remains totally fucking cholo despite his present situation. In response to Alonzo’s impudence, one of the captors, Jesús, injects a mysterious psychoactive substance into Alonzo, effectively immobilizing the dog.
When Alonzo finally comes to, he finds himself tied to a stake, bearing witness to unmitigated gang violence: a female member of the notorious El Salvadorian criminal organization MS-13 is using her sandals to beat a mariachi guitarist who sits helplessly before the callous denizens of Salsipuedes. The onlookers chant in unison, “Que muy machín, no? Ah muy machín, no? Marica nena mas bien putín, no? Puto, Puto, Puto, Puto, Puto, Puto, Puto, Puto.” (“Is that very cholo? Is that very cholo? Sissy baby, more likely a whore.”)
Utterly repelled by the untempered homophobia, Alonzo struggles to escape, viciously tearing away like a rabid dog at the ropes that bind him. Much to everyone’s surprise, the chihuahua breaks free. “I kill all you gonorrheas!” he snarls in broken English. He lunges for the face of a shocked spectator. Alonzo begins attacking everyone, chewing their startled visages off one by one. Although thirteen people survived the rampage, only one ruthless rogue remains unscathed. It is Alonzo’s villainous captor, Jesús.
After murdering so many people, Alonzo becomes too exhausted to fight and thus flees. The feared and fearless Jesús, who now has the upper hand, assembles a group of faceless bandits bent on revenge to search for the elusive chihuahua.
Felón, 62, is a retired gangbanger and former methamphetamine manufacturer from Juarez. Flaco, 73, is a rabid left-wing extremist. Dopey, 52, will kill for his next high. Chema, 69, is the grandfather of Jesús. Last but not least, there is El Paragraph, the murderous midget from Medellin. “Don’t fuck with the Paragraph,” says Jesús. “You know why day call ‘im El Paragraph? Cos he shorter than an ese, that’s why.”
After a long search fueled by cocaine, Jesús and his group of colorful individuals are about to give up when, lo and behold, they encounter Alonzo at the bar where he was first held captive. Far from helpless, this time, the dog is accompanied by loose women who are feeding him tequila and pastries. In a matter of seconds, the situation has gone from the tame and quotidian to the unfamiliar and hazardous. In other words, shit got real.
“Fuck you, putos!” declares Alonzo. In a display of pure prestidigitation, the dog yanks out an automatic rifle disguised in the form of a guitar case. He opens fire, destroying everyone and everything in his path. Thousands of rounds later, everyone in the bar is dead. I mean, fucking everyone. The gangstas, the children, the women, the bartender, the bartender’s fucking cat. Not one person is alive. Except Jesús. And Alonzo.
Alonzo walks calmly to his archenemy, Jesús, who is bleeding profusely, half-dead. “No mames,” he says, staring at Alonzo. “Es over, holmes,” Alonzo replies. Without another word, the dog chews his face off. He gets up, his tongue still hanging out and dripping with human blood, and walks off into the sunset while strumming a mariachi guitar like a truly heroic psychopath. The End.