Dear Adam Powers:
Hi. It’s Mandey. Last week I sat through Black Snake Moan, which is quite possibly one of the stupidest movies ever, in life. I wasted the last two hours of my bar shift watching Christina Ricci writhe around in sexual frustration, inexplicably chained to a radiator and clad in nothing but a pair of tightie whities and a belly chain while motherfuckin’ Samuel L. Jackson sang asinine motherfuckin’ faux-blues songs on his little pink guitar. The best parts were when a war-torn Justin Timberlake would show up periodically and yell at someone about nothing, wave a gun around at anybody, and/or emit a silent scream in the throes of PTSD while being passed on the highway by a truck full of logs while wearing his Sunday best.
I can’t take Justin Timberlake seriously in any context, and Christina Ricci is a load her mother should’ve swallowed, and while I can’t seem to find anything negative to say about Samuel, I will say that I am proud of him for finally accepting a role in which he does NOT play one of the following:
a. The Semi-Mythical Mysterious Old Black Man Who Saves the Day in the Face of Opposition
b. The Beleaguered Widower who Comes out of The Winter of His Discontent, AKA his Filthy Apartment to which He’s resigned himself until He Finally Happily Leaves This Mortal Coil, in order to Save the Day in the Face of Opposition
c. The Retired-FBI Agent/PoliceCop/Homicide Investigator who is Pulled Out of His Geriatric Country Villa Subdivision since he’s the Last Remaining Man on the Face of the Planet Who is Devoid Enough of Moral Bankruptcy to be the Only Person an Upper-Echelon Branch of Government can Call On in order to Solve “One Last Case” and Save the Day in the Face of Opposition.
Honestly, that was one of the most thinly veiled attempts at cinema-friendly snuff, and I don’t even remember anyone even being killed. Seriously, her tits are great, but even tits get boring after the mouth attached to the body presenting them spews out “This Little Light of Mine” in an affected sing-song one too many times.
Now here I am, waiting for band practice to start, and some Woody Allen movie is playing and I’m watching it out of sheer boredom. Woody Allen is quoting Camus while Jason Biggs delivers some monologue, etc. The jokes seem forced and the insults hurled about with a quickness all have a really contrived feel to them. I continue to watch the movie, slightly amused and little put-off at the same time.
And then she appears. Her boobs, her pout, her adorably gargantuan forehead, the trifecta of doom that is Christina Ricci. For GOD’S SAKE why can I not escape this troll? I feel compelled to share my unprecedented loathing for this dreadful harlot.
But then the best part happens. I find out her name in this movie is Amanda. Of course it is. Well of course. I start to feel embarrassed for her because she’s so terrible at what she does. I can certainly lie better than her and I don’t even get paid for it. And her hair’s greasy and I don’t understand why some professional hasn’t FIXED THAT for her yet.
She makes me want to retire from life. I’m wrapped up completely in my hatred for her. I cannot shake it. Black Snake Moan, now this.
Eh. It’s just like anything else.
Anyway, Adam, if you haven’t seen Black Snake Moan yet, please don’t. It’s completely retarded.
Mandey (NOT AMANDA, not ever AGAIN)