6th
35. M. Night Shyamalan
Oh shit! My ad went up, which means I should probably take a break from my self-imposed exile on Fuckass Island and actually, y’know… write something. So if you’re new to the site, welcome- here’s hoping you enjoy swearing and infantile jokes about bodily functions. If not, then I don’t know what you were really expecting with a title like “Shit Randy Hates”. Additionally, weiner fart cocks. LOL!!!
For all my returning readers (who are now already outnumbered by the new folks, all four of you), if I flunk my C programming final I’m blaming you instead of my daily Clorox-and-urine smoothie in the mornings. Clear? All right.
Speaking of things that are made entirely of urine, that poorly-done segue brings us to tonight’s hate- M. Night Shyamalan and his body of “work”. Now, I know that it’s kind of easy to talk about what a fucking hack this guy is, but I’m an American and everybody knows that we love to take the easy road. So here we go. Oh, and I’m totally not a ghost, by the way. Just so you know. Not a ghost. Click the jump to read more about how I’m totally not dead and haunting the shit out of you.
I’M TOTALLY A FUCKING GHOST!!! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!!! I’M STUCK IN MY FORMER LIFE, ETC! And so on. TOTALLY got you on that one. Huh? Pretty good, eh? What? No? Aw, come ON! I had you going big time. You were all, “Oh shit, Randy’s not dead and whatnot! He’s just wandering around his house with the red door under the staircase while his wife sits in the other room and cries, and there’s this creepy kid who hangs out.” Yeah, you got fished in, my friends. The above paragraph is what I imagine each one of M. Night Shamealan’s movies is trying to say to me. And I don’t know about you, but if there’s one thing I find endlessly fucking irritating, it’s people who think they’re being “clever”. If there’s TWO things I find irritating, it’s “clever” people and this fucking rash. Seriously, you’d think they’d have found a cure for canine gonorrhea by now. Chop chop, modern medicine! The fleas make it worse! Anyway- clever movies are obviously a tricky business. And even more obvious is the fact that M. Night has no goddamn idea how to pull them off. His “films” are like that friend you had in high school who looooooooooved playing pranks on people. Remember him? Wasn’t he a grating little shit who’d cry the instant you punched him for being a grating little shit? If you don’t remember anyone like that in high school, one of two things are true: What kind of asshole thinks making movies this way will earn him a place among the likes of Orson Welles and Andy Sidaris? It’s pretty apparent that M. Night wasn’t punched enough in high school. Like most people who saw The Sixth Sense, I actually didn’t see the ending coming. And I was entertained. I thought it was a pretty good movie, overall. I also understand that coming right out of the gate with a movie that good meant his next one would either blow audiences out of the water… or it would be Unbreakable. Sadly, it was Unbreakable. His movies have gotten steadily worse since then, reduced to the point where he’s now making a live-action version of some kid’s anime show off cable. This is roughly analogous to what it must be like being Danny Bonaduce. I think my real problem with M. Night is that The Sixth Sense was good. Like, really good. I thought, “Hey, this guy’s going to make some pretty cool stuff, I should be on the lookout for what he does next.” Now whenever I hear his name and the words “new movie coming out”, I can’t help but wince in pain because I know it’s gonna suck worse than listening to Helen Keller play the drums. The fact that I made a mental note to myself to keep an ear out for this hack years ago only compounds that pain, because it’s a reminder that I’m an easily-led tool who’s addicted to inhaling old men’s socks and masturbating on park benches. What? Honestly, I can’t really decide which is worse- a career of steady and solid mediocrity, or one based off of the ONE great thing you did, that one time. Seeing as how I’m aiming for the bottom third (or as I like to call it, “barely trying”), I’m probably gonna go adopt a couple of kids (maybe twins) and give them both video cameras. Here’s the thing, though- one will be handed movies from the Criterion Collection. The second will be given full access to every movie Tim Allen or Rob Schneider have been in. Yes, I’m not even talking about M. Night Shyamalong anymore. I’ve gone off the rails. Again. Deal with it. I’m out of Adderall and on my fourth Steel Reserve of the night (out of Saturday’s customary eleven- the twelfth is for church tomorrow). So my problems are YOUR problems. Now someone go find me a bottle of Robitussin and a bowling pin- Uncle Squeezy’s gonna show you how to make a “Charles in Charge”. The twist ending is where I get so wasted I take a crap in YOUR bed this time! Dear god, someone help me.
