The effects are so realistic, it’s uncanny!

Shark Fin Stupe.

THE LAST SHARKNADO: IT’S ABOUT TIME is about the first sharknado, and how Fin the shark hunter travels back to prehistoric times to stop it, thereby negating all further sharknadoes and saving the planet from having to witness the bombastic mindlessness of any SHARKNADO movies.

He fails. Because obviously this is the sixth SHARKNADO shit sandwich. And whether it’s the first or last, it’s about time they stopped cheapening the human species with SHARKNADO releases, and put a bullet through the head of this exploitative, intelligence-depleting franchise.

Ian Ziering continues the burial of his film career by starring once again as Fin, who jumps across time to fight sharknadoes, while pursuing his lost son Gil through wormholes. I find it precious how Ziering tries to pull out an “acting” performance amongst this stable of rank amateurs, gimps, douches and bushpigs.

Somehow, through unbelievably lazy screenwriting, all Fin’s asinine ‘nado buddies are in the Mesozoic too, while feckless CGI dinosauria stumble around them – Nova (Cassandra Scerbo, so vapid I forgot to look at her tits), Bryan (Judah Friedlander, who can’t out-act the dogshit in his beard) and Fin’s lost wife April (Tara Reid, still undeniably untalented). Bryan explains that the first sharknado caused the others “like a game of dominoes.” Which totally explains nothing.

Tara Reid surprises us by sinking her credibility LOWER than zero, reprising her vacuous role as wife/mother/cyborg/non-actor April. After her cutie-pie turn in AMERICAN PIE (1999), she could have become another America’s Sweetheart, but these days her acting is like a caveman’s idea of what “acting” is. Truly a sight to behold, she is such an expressionless, talentless moron, it’s amazing she knows to keep her hand off the stove.

So Fin’s gang of stupes succeed in stopping that first prehistoric sharknado… Then they continue to jump forward through time to stop other sharknadoes. But didn’t Bryan just say that stopping the first one will stop ALL of them? If you’re looking for logic, you came to the exact opposite place.

Directing – pathetic. Editing – atrocious. Effects – horseshit. It is NOTICEABLY lousy. In each scene, if there is more than one cutaway, we lose all sense of where objects are situated in that scene: they are shooting fireballs into a sharknado way over there, then Fin dives off the Pteranodon he is riding with his gang, and lands – on a shark – one of those sharks that is way over there in that sharknado they are shooting fireballs into. The gang shouts DOWN to him on the shark, then two minutes later, Fin is jumping off the shark DOWNWARDS to land on the Pteranodon again. I mean – what the–? Rookies with cellphones would do a better job than director Anthony C. Ferrante.

Can Tara Reid’s clones be even more expressionless than the real Tara Reid?
Answer: No.

I’m not one of those people fooled into the groupthink that “it’s so bad it’s good.” SHARKNADO 6 – like all its entries – is a joyless, cynical exercise in how far into unwatchable un-quality something can be driven before the mongoons stop buying it.

Desperate to attach itself to anything of quality, there are numerous references to BACK TO THE FUTURE. Doesn’t help. Just annoys.

Scotty Mullen screenplays as an 8-year-old child would write an adventure story, making rules up as he goes along about time travel, history, characters, eventually resolving in a sharknado-free world where so many of the writer’s own rules were broken to get to that point, he might as well have dispensed with all the painful explanatory dialogue and squeezed in 20 more downward-spiraling-career cameos.

Dee Snider is a sheriff, his frosty locks on full stun. He tells Fin, “I think I know who’s twisted, mister!” and “I’m not gonna take this anymore!” I am in such pain. Darrell Hammond does his Clinton impersonation as George Washington. The great James Hong makes an asshat of himself. Vivica A. Fox appears as a fat version of herself– no wait, uh, that’s just herself. And Neil deGrasse Tyson is Merlin – !?!… no… NO!…. NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Fuck you, Sharknado!

To balance the insidious demolition of talented personalities, there are also those people who are a waste of space on planet Earth – Kato Kaelin, La Toya Jackson, Marina Sirtis, Ben Stein, Tori Spelling, all mixed in a big jumbled scrotum of cameos.

So come one, come all, you morons who made the 2013 film debacle SHARKNADO a success; come, all you lowbrow, oleaginous imbeciles who derogate learning and elevate ignorance to the point that America is led by a congenital idiot; come, all you preachers of dogshit and low information voters and low-bar dung-eaters who don’t know or care about quality in this life or in your work, who tear down people of learning and give Flat-Earthers and Moon-Fakers and Astrologers and Psychics equal time. This LAST SHARKNADO is for all of YOU.

Oh, and fuck the human race.

END

Even Kurt Klaus kan’t save kristmas.

If you thought Kurt Russell could save THE CHRISTMAS CHRONICLES idiocy by Being Kurt Russell, well… almost. But it’s getting harder and harder to polish these christmas turds, as screenwriters must deal with children who every year get more and more sophisticated. And trying to explain away magic as science is sounding stupider and stupider to kids who understand genetic evolution and Computer Graphic Imagery.

So cast Kurt Russell as Santa Claus and when the science runs dry his dreamy eyes’ll take over…

Nope.

Now you may think I’m over-scrooging by bringing “science” into the irrational, brainless ritual of christmas, but what do I mean by science? I mean the “scientific method” – that is, EVIDENCE. The one mistake EVERY Santa movie makes, where the plot revolves around people not believing in him, is that Claus still delivers presents – even to the non-believers! Yet that evidence of unsolicited presents is never examined by the dunces who claim they do not believe in him! In CHRISTMAS CHRONICLES, how can the mother of the two kids, and the older boy, cynically claim “Santa doesn’t exist,” when he is delivering presents to them every year? Where do they think those presents – that *they* didn’t buy – come from?

Onward with the irrational, brainless plot…

On christmas eve night, 10-year-old Kate (Darby Camp) and her 17-year-old brother Teddy (Judah Lewis) steal onboard Santa’s sleigh and startle him into crashing it and losing his hat, which provides the magic to fly and bend time and all that hooey. Also lost is his bag of toys. And the reindeer have run off, even though we’d expect them to be trained well enough to stay with their master. Guess that part of the Santa mythos doesn’t fit the plot.

Now Santa needs to fix his sleigh, then find his hat, his bag and his reindeer, in time to deliver all the toys for christmas. As punishment for making him crash, Santa enlists the aid of Kate and Teddy. In other words – say it with me! – the kids have to “HELP SANTA SAVE CHRISTMAS!”

Same plot as every other Santa film. We can stop watching right here to keep our sanity. The only reason some knob producer greenlit this new pile of old dogshit was because Kurt Russell somehow got rufied into signing on.

Kimberly Williams-Paisley is mom (well, we know why she signed on, not having done anything of note since daughter in FATHER OF THE BRIDE). Oliver Hudson is recently-dead dad, and Teddy’s christmas wish to Santa is “to see him again.” (Doesn’t a 17-year-old know you can’t raise the dead? Does he want dad decayed and brainless? Later, dad appears in a tree bauble to speak to Teddy. How very white of him.)

Writers David Guggenheim and Matt Lieberman, and animator-turned-director Clay Kaytis (ANGRY BIRDS) address many of those issues that keep Santa in the realm of myth: how he moves quickly from house to house (as a red blur); how there are limitless toys in his bag (a dimensional space filled with floating toys; also, home to all his CGI elves, who speak a pidgin language and are mechanics who fix the sleigh); how he moves quickly from city to city (some kind of wormhole device). None of Santa’s gags are actually called “dimensional warps” or “wormholes” etc. but the filmmakers know that audiences in 2018 are conversant with these devices from superhero and fantasy movies.

Two cops arrest Santa. In this fracas, at least 8 cops see the reindeer fly, but not one of them makes a report on this. So that’s the world where no one believes in Santa Claus – a world where people don’t do their jobs properly, a world of incompetents.

In jail, Santa (aka Kurt Russell, aka the best Elvis) gets to front a band of jailbirds, led by Steven Van Zandt. It’s Little Steven and the Disciples of Soul! (And wherever Little Steven goes, his untalented wife can’t be far behind. Maureen Van Zandt cameos on tambourine, last seen non-acting in THE SOPRANOS.) In keeping with the bland tenor of the movie, they jam on the most boring basic 12-bar blues you could ever imagine. Middle America goes ape.

Because that’s the demo, no? Extra-terrestrials only abduct rednecks from Middle America, and Santa only delivers his presents there, to the privileged upper classes with houses and chimneys. So he’s always appearing in affluent suburbs, with every kid’s name being Tony Brooks or Timmy Burke or Adam Maple.

CHRONICLES remains painfully cliché throughout, including all those moments that we know are structured to be tear-jerking, inspirational or awe-inspiring: that moment when a character looks down at something precious to their heart and a carol starts in the background (moms go weepy); that moment when the reindeer are fleeing, approaching police cars blocking their path and at the last second, they take flight (kiddies go oowaaah!); that moment when we enter the toybag amidst a sea of floating toys and are led into the Elf Realm (kiddies go whooooa!)… And of course, someone had to say, “Imagine what we could do if we all worked together?” (adults go ooweh!)

But let’s not forget that before they were spirited off in the sleigh, Kate spied Teddy stealing cars with his teen mates. This was not a small white lie about not washing behind his ears – this is Grand Theft Auto. What’s the penance to wipe out those felonies and get back on the Good list? Yet these crimes are never mentioned again, and it is taken for granted Teddy is not on any Bad list simply by being around Santa. Guess it’s Who You Know.

In jail, Santa – who has pined for his magic hat all this time, the lack of which landed him in cuffs and behind bars – nonchalantly pulls out instruments for the whole jail band. From his ass. Wait – so he IS magic?! And then the Elves (all in direct competition with Baby Yoda and Babu Frik for cutie-bo-bo merchandise) create a wormhole in the cell for Santa’s escape! What the fuck?!

The last contradictory nail in the christmas coffin is when Santa gives Teddy his hat, and asks him to drive the sleigh, so that Santa can concentrate on dynamic delivery posedowns. The instructions: “Think about where you wanna go. And go.” It’s that easy? How the fuck did you lose control of it then, old man? And the hat is not magic at all – YOU are. Which means all this “adventure” has been some sort of ploy to dispel your boredom or get jail-raped, or something. You never needed the help of the kids, never needed to get arrested, never needed to locate anything that wasn’t actually “lost” in the first place, because you knew exactly where to retrieve them through your black debbil magick. Is there some sort of Recompense Clause where I can get back these two wasted hours of my life?

Yes, the only redeeming grace in this movie is Kurt Russell as Santa, playing it as a rugged mountain-man type, not at all “fat,” and outraged that the media still depicts him that way. And he’s not too crazy about that catchcry the media invented for him either – “Ho ho ho!” Seems Santa has his own issues with Fake News.

And guess who Mrs. Claus is? Well, Goldie Hawn of course!

END