Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones

For years I’ve told people that if you want to know what the worst thing on television or at the movies is, just ask my ol’ lady what she’s watching. I’m not kidding. It’s amazing. I can walk into the house and I’ll be damned if she’s not watching the made for TV movie about the psychotic soccer mom who blinded her children with bleach in order to save them from their cannibal dad. Sure, that doesn’t make any sense. Neither do the movies she watches.

Today was no different, only I was forced to sit and watch the latest Star Wars ode to computer graphics and flaccid acting. I’ve read the comments on the bulletin board. “…this film kicked major ass…” and “…really entertaining…” Folks, what is it going to take to get you to see that the only difference between daytime tv’s “Days of Our Lives” and “Star Wars, Episode II” is the bitchin’ fight scenes? Frankly, I’d rather see the cat fights on “Days.”

The “Clones” I saw is so vapid, it nearly depleted the theater of oxygen. Maybe that explains the praise emanating from the obviously oxygen-deficient brains of would-be critics. The acting reminded me of something you’d see in the theater…the theater at your local high school. I apologize to all you talented high school actors for that unwarranted attack. Remember “Autumn in New York?” Episode II is worse. Even Shaniqua let off several “Oh my Gods” and “You’ve got to be kidding mes.” If Shaniqua the tv-movie vulture declares it unfit for human consumption, you’ve got full-fledged entertainment biohazard on your hands.

Of course I can’t completely blame the actors. The real criminal here is the propagator of this retch: George Lucas, director and author of the story and screenplay. On at least three occasions I laughed OUT LOUD at the poorly delivered and/or poorly written lines. I’d give them to you right now, but I was trying to dislodge the wad of popcorn from my esophagus and remembering third-rate prose wasn’t foremost on my mind. How hard do you have to try to make my namesake, Samuel L. Jackson look like a bona-fide pussy?

Fan-boys and fan-girls, you should be ashamed of yourselves. You’ve allowed your love of a series you saw when you were still wetting the bed on a regular basis to paralyze your brain and hoover up dead presidents out of your wallet.

“Episode II” gets 31 1/2 Swayzes:
x 31 +

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