It’s a weekend and an autumn weekend at that so reviews are flying around just like the red and brown leaves dripping from our Virginia trees. On a weekend, the new movies come out and are reviewed. The start of September is the traditional start of the new television season and more reviews are given.
I enjoy reading reviews and especially the bad reviews because to paraphrase Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy and his first line from Anna Karenina, all good reviews are alike; each bad review is pleasurable in its own way.
I feel this way because there are only so many ways that a reviewer can say the item being reviewed is good, fabulous, or worth your time. However, when crafting a bad review, the sky is the limit as the wide universe of metaphor, insult, and random imagery is open to the reviewer to be mined for all of its panning glory.
Recently, my cup has runneth over while reading through The Washington Post.
It tasted familiar, not unlike the grub from my neighborhood Chinese carryout that also sells subs and pizza.
…a noxious mash of bar-band schlock, jam-band haze, freedom rock pomp and whatever it is that make Dave Matthews induce dry heaves.
…even the most self-infatuated 20-somethings do not deserve the punishment of wallowing in ABC’s new faux-documentary…
These are great pans as Sietsema, Richards, and Stuever knock two things with one tomato as not only is the bar, the album, and the television show dismissed as bad, but they also throw rocks at the bar owner (for high prcies), Dave Mathews (for the dry heaves), and 20-somethings (for being self-infatuated). Bad reviews don’t get any better than that, with one exception.
…did for the movies what the Jonestown Kool-Aid did for kids’ drinks.