Panic Room

Reviewer’s note: Many of you have been axin’ me why there ain’t any new reviews appearin’ in the site. It’s real simple. We at moviesthatsuck.com are motivated by cold hard cash. I know this will come as a big-ass surprise to most of you out there, all of whom are motivated by love, peace, understanding and other gum-drop-teddy-bear shit. Bottom line: Rufus = cash, Octavia = cash, Abe = cash, DJ Marc = cash…need I go on? Any of you deep pocket motherfuckers out there want a review every day? Give up the cabbage and I’ll be writin’ my ass off fo ya. Now, on with the slayin’.

For me “Panic Room” describes every theater I know, especially when Jodie Foster is on the big, silvery teat. What movie has she done, save “Taxi Driver,” that any many with a pair of nads bigger than an M&M would want to watch? “Nell?” “Sommersby?” “Little Man Tate?” Uhhhh…no, no, no.. O.K., I’ll give you “Silence of the Hams,” but forchristsake! “Freaky Friday” was better than that wet fart “Panic Room.” For a time, during the movie, I considered the whole Hinkley/Reagan thing and it all made sense. I mean, Hinkley may not understand cinema but he certainly understood that Jodie has a nice set of mid-size cans. Especially when they’re unrestrained…

…which is the ONLY reason Shaniqua was able to get me to go see Jodie cower in a glorified bank vault. Which brings me to another point…why is it that these damn lame thrillers are always so popular wit da hoes? They just love being scared for some reason. White women that is. Black females just don’t dig it. You ain’t gonna see Halle Berry running (or driving, for that matter) from Dwight Yoakam anytime soon unless he starts singin’ at the Oscars next year while she give the Best Actress Oscar to it’s rightful owner. Let’s be honest, would we be givin’ that thing to Della Reese if she’d humped Billy Bob Thornton with equal amounts of fervor and thespianism. Fuck naw. Halle, you got it because we want to keep seein’ that sweet ass of yours.

So, why else would I go see “Panic Room?” Hell, let’s make a list, this review is starting to bother me more than the movie:

1. Forest Whitaker’s lazy eye. Does he have the same eye doctor as Sammy Davis and Left-Eye Lopez? I hope he doesn’t have the same driver as Left-Eye.
2. Jodie Foster’s floppy tits.
3. Dwight Yoakam. I don’t care what anyone says, he’s one of the best actors going. He’s yet to be in a movie in which you don’t hate his retarded ass. He just plays a very good fuck-up.
4. Jodie Foster’s fun-bags.
5. The titles. Everything was downhill from there. Really. The titles rocked.
6. Jodie Foster’s flapjacks.
7. The possibility that Jodie may engage in lesbian sex. Don’t look at me that way, you know you’re thinkin’ that too.
8. Jodie Foster’s headlights.
9. Guest appearance by John Hinkley, Jr. Hey, did you ever think how proud Sr. must be?

Anyway, if you want to go see it, don’t say you weren’t warned: Jodie Foster does not engage in lesbian sex in “Panic Room.”

Panic Room, because of Jodie’s sweater pups, gets only 20 Swayzes:

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