What the fuck it this? I wanted to review Road House, but this was what I ended up with. I guess it has a hot chick instead of a dude as the lead, but that’s not saying much. I really need to question the lengths of movie-watchings I will go to for the monthly DMR theme here. This one made me feel kind of dead inside. I wanted to view something a little lighter after watching The Day of the Dolphin. I may have over-compensated. I still feel more for that fuckin fish-mammal than I do for any character in this fairy tale.
A Chick goes a whopping 42 miles from Jersey to New York to live her dreams of becoming a songwriter of mediocre radio-friendly songs. Guess what? She doesn’t make it. No spoilers, but the Gasper Noe Irreversible-like rape and killing at the end is kind of a twist ending. Maybe. But this isn’t reality, it’s, like mentioned previously, an unrealistic unobtainable rose-colored glasses look at reality while also learning how to be kinda slutty. So many things are broken here.
The Soundtrack? Def Leppard. Kid Rock. Some other shit. Hot chicks dancing on a bar in leather pants. Not saying this is completely unrealistic, because lead Piper Perabo is attractive in her own alt-hippie way. That counts for getting you somewhere, whether you like it or not. But the rest is such boilerplate scriptwriting for or by frat boys and their wishful-thinking imaginary girlfriends, I don’t blame myself for watching this but the soulless Hollyweird machine that unleashed this on the masses. If we accept this dreck as acceptable, they will make more. And they have for the past 25 years, in increasingly shitty copies of what already is a shitty copy of a shitty copy ad infinitum. Yet I can’t wait for the inevitable sequel and/or reboot. Even after having finished watching, with the shittiness ghosting slowly behind me, I ponder another beer to make it fade away. It still make me feel dead inside. Well done, John Goodman. Well done.
