The Bucket List (2007)

34. To bash your brains right the fuck in!

Everybody knows what a Bucket List is, and a lot of people will know of the movie The Bucket List, even if they haven't seen it. I was one of these until recently, and unfortunately, I could have remained one of these and been no better off for the experience. But how bad could a movie with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman really be? I got to thinking, while watching this movie, whether Nicholson and Freeman even have to audition for movies anymore. They both have their schtick, despite having wider acting ranges within their respective repertoires, and it feels like filmmakers write parts with them in mind. I mean, what kind of movie would it be if Morgan Freeman were not narrating the quasi-wisdom in his sagely drawl?

Freeman opens the movie as a booksmart mechanic, who spends his days fixing cars and demeaning his colleagues by showing off about how much random trivia he knows. Nicholson is a soulless multimillionaire who spends his introduction explaining to a court that the hospitals he owns will not offer any frills; this means, among other things, that there will always be two patients to a room. Oh hai Foreshadowing.

After coughing up blood in their respective 'discovery of illness' scenes, they end up sharing a room at one of Nicholson's hospitals, with Freeman smiling smugly about how omniscient a knowledge he has of cancer, and laughing at Nicholson when he promptly throws up his decadent rich-person food. Their banter brings them to an agreement that they will indulge in the world's hedonism before they die, and Nicholson will pay for it because hey, who doesn't this amazing situation befall following a death sentence?!

If this setup already sounds unrealistic and saccharine, then I have described it accurately. But don't be fooled into thinking that the movie somehow makes the concept of palliative care amusing, or strangely less terrifying. Nobody really likes a Lifetime-style movie that dwells on misery, but this doesn't mean a narrative can't give a perspective that provokes thought or any emotion other than depression. American Beauty managed to be almost comforting on the themes of death and fulfilled life, while The Green Mile gave a highly emotive account of man's shuffle off the mortal coil without overbalancing into melodrama. The Bucket List achieves none of these, and simply plays out in an unsettled and tonally irregular slump.

Like to get my hands on whoever wrote this script.

The men gallivant around the world, miraculously not needing their drips, bed pans and hospital beds for extended periods, and doing things that are unrealistic for such illness. Skydiving, banger racing in disgustingly beautiful vintage cars and clocking up a metric fuck tonne of airmiles, are just a few of their pursuits, and not once do they look or act as if they have terminal cancer. Sure, illness looks different on everyone, but this story just portrays it in such an unlikely manner that the whole cancer plot device seems all but abandoned, and because of this, used in a cynical and uncaring way.

Rob Reiner helms this odd piece, with such gems as Misery and Stand By Me in his portfolio. It baffles me that a director of his calibre can have so poorly judged his material, when he has previously exercised jealousy, terror, naivete, loyalty and rivalry so beautifully. As it stands, the actual story is no more than an outdated morality tale that might have been told to children in centuries past. Two polarised characters are united by a common struggle, only to learn what it really means to live; at least that's what the movie thinks it is doing.

All of our characters are as waffer-theen as the mint that causes the combustion of Mr Creosote. It is as if Nicholson and Freeman were each given a single phrase to describe their character, and they improv-ed it on the spot. Freeman is your good old working class fella, who perpetuates the old 'magical negro' stereotype by having an almost supernatural quality to his constant cheer and sagely diatribes. He regularly drills Nicholson on his atheistic attitudes about life, death and afterlife, and just gives him a knowing smirk in response to a difference of opinion. Meanwhile, Nicholson occasionally digs a little into just why Freeman is so damn sure of himself and his beliefs, only to be met with the same sorts of reactions. None of this babble goes anywhere, develops either of the characters or really pays off.

Yup, seems legit.

Other intriguing points of conversation include fucking much younger women, bowel movements and Marconi radio. Every time it feels like the narrative might just be getting a little bit of traction, it disintegrates back into more of this idle talk, with the two men walking about in front of dreadfully green screened tourist attractions. I guess the movie funnelled all its budget into top bill names, because it seemed beyond them to shoot on location at the Taj Mahal or Pyramids of Giza.


I kept telling myself throughout this movie that I should be laughing, or at least have that dreaded feel-good feeling, but I found myself constantly pissed off and kind of depressed. The ending - which really fancies itself as some poignant tying of loose ends - could not have come soon enough, and when it did, I actually felt worse of for having seen it. There is no serious look at illness or life philosophy, and the movie just feels like one big cheap and unfunny joke. 

The Lion King (2019)

The Lion King may have just scooped the medal for the Disney remake I have hated the most to date. It doesn't seem to have any relation with how much I loved its original, or even the level of effort put in by the many hardworking artists who produced the retread. This movie has undoubtedly achieved something monumental, and that is photorealism, but this is its Achilles heel.

When I first saw the trailer for this movie, the problem that stuck out at me was the impossibility of expressing emotion through the look of the animals. We all remember the original sequence that follows Mufasa's death, in which Scar tells Simba to run away. The traumatised little cub gives one last glimpse of fear, turns on his heels and runs. But all that this situation gives us this time around is a lion cub running, and this is how the entire show plays out. All emotion has to be conveyed either in dialogue or in narrative, and because this is not pulled off, the entire movie lacks any sense of urgency, momentum or feeling. Even the speech feels detached from the animals, often coming off as more of a voiceover than characters talking diegetically.

Simba's excited face

The opening sequence is a shot for shot remake of the original's, and serves splendidly as a showcase of the talent and progress that the Disney company consists of. It looks entirely authentic, with beautiful use of lighting and texture, and oddly for a special effects movie, it consistently peaks during its scenes of bright daylight. The actual look, movement and texture of the picture is second to none, and should be recognised, but every other element is weak and drags the whole product down.

Disney's biggest achievement to date

Despite the narrative being copied and pasted from the '90s, the dough has been slammed down on that countertop and stretched to near transparency. The journey of Simba's fur (not a burst of dust that spells out 'sex' in the night sky) to Rafiki's hands goes on for a couple of minutes, allowing us to witness its progress through the wind, the water, and the digestive tract of a giraffe. Trouble is that we gain nothing from this expansion, and such attempts to fill an extended run time causes the film to drag a lot more than it should. Disney Classics were almost always succinct, neatly crafted narratives that start and end exactly where they should, but the live action counterparts seem to think that it's not a movie if it's less than two hours long.

Casting choices for this picture have drawn some attention, and it has its strengths and weaknesses. Prominently, James Earl Jones becomes possibly the first person ever to play the same role in an original film and its remake by returning to voice Mufasa, which is fun, but too many times I found myself thinking I preferred the way he did it 20 years ago. Donald Glover gives perhaps the best performance as Simba, although his younger singing counterpart surprisingly struggles. Chiwetel Ejiofor is forgettable as Scar, John Oliver's Zazu is nowhere near as entertaining as Rowan Atkinson's, Seth Rogen is amusing as Pumbaa. The choice that really got under my skin was Beyonce, whose participation as Nala was stretched with the addition of lots of pointless lines, and was outstandingly poor. Beyonce is not an actress, and her delivery feels totally without direction and mismatched to the action. What really slaps me in the face, though, is the fact that she sings as Nala in Can You Feel the Love Tonight? (incidentally, I couldn't), and minutes later sings as a regular soundtrack contributor, which is nonsensical and sycophantic. They clearly went out of their way to give Mrs Carter a bigger role than she is capable of.

You may or may not have noticed a pattern emerging. Disney's glaring sense of political correctness is evident in the casting choices. I get the impression that the company was proactive about the inevitable SJW force that would stamp their feet at the prospect of westerners telling a story set in Africa, and decided to cushion that fall by hiring a predominantly black cast. After all, the Disney Store pulled Maui costumes from their stock because crybabies whined that they were appropriating other people's cultures.

Simba's scared face

After the opening number, the action begins to step out periodically in its own direction, but this leads to poorly staged musical numbers. Another strength of the Disney Classic is the arrangement and choreography of musical numbers, which are always so polished in their presentation. This movie all but erases Be Prepared, which certainly contributes to Scar's apparent lack of character and motive, and I Just Can't Wait to Be King consists almost entirely of the lion cubs running. No flair, no backup dancing from the other animals. Also missing, much to my dismay was Timon's hula dance, replaced with a weird meta performance of the first few bars of Be Our Guest. This moment felt so entirely out of left field, and is just one example of Timon and Pumbaa's sometimes odd comic relief.

My feelings are far from original, but I hate what Disney has become - a lazy money machine. All creativity seems to have been drained from the company, which dictates to the  passionate and talented artists who ultimately make the picture. The sequels and remakes have left me wrung down, brung down, hung up and all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly things. Despite its many ups and downs, Disney's origins are full of heart and passion, but its modern self has abandoned all principles. The Lion King remake is a prime example of its debauchery.

Toy Story 4 (2019)

You know how I found out about the passing of veteran entertainer Don Rickles? I saw Toy Story 4 and noticed that Potato Head was present throughout, but only spoke a single line (off screen) the entire time. By the time the credits rolled, I was busy googling whether or not Rickles was still alive, and found my answer way before the brief post-credits dedication to his memory. Rickles died in 2017, by which time voice recording had not yet begun, and it would seem that Pixar decided the most graceful way to deal with this issue was to steal an unused sound byte from a previous instalment and simply tack it on. This move sets the bar for the entire movie, which left me angry in a way unlike any movie in recent (or even more distant) memory.

Having heard from critics I respect that Toy Story 4 held up surprisingly well, I went in with middling expectations and by the 30 minute mark, I was absolutely over this shit. What I was faced with was 90 minutes of live vivisection of a childhood icon. I hope that by the end of this diatribe, I have successfully expressed my disdain for this picture, and haven't been sidetracked by animalistic rage and many four-letter words.

Y'know partner, this used to be a respectable franchise.

Unlike every other chapter, Toy Story 4 does not begin with a fantasy action sequence, but with some incident in Andy's childhood in which RC is somehow getting sucked into a storm drain outside while a Gumtree user rocks up to the house to collect a lamp he has purchased, which is apparently where Bo Peep originates, despite us never having seen her act as part of a lighting appliance. We don't kinow how or why RC ended up outside in torrential rain, but it serves to give Woody and Bo an odd farewell scene. Flash to nine years later, and the toys are in the possession of Bonnie, as the third film left them. The less than likeable kid is about to start kindergarten and Woody tags along to make sure things go well. The kid creates a crude figurine out of a plastic spork, pipecleaners and lolly sticks, the aptly named Forky, and brings it home, where Woody sets about trying to teach the developmentally stunted creature to live as a toy.

Of course, the toys have to have an adventure away from home, so the kid's parents suggest a road trip. The retarded spork acts like someone's senile parent, constantly wandering off, and eventually throws itself from the RV window, prompting Woody to follow, assuring the other toys that he is entirely capable of catching them up at their destination five miles down the road. On foot; on toy foot. Of course this is stupid, but how else are we going to send Woody off on his latest wild goose chase?

The substance of the movie, if it can be called that, is so unforgivably lazy: the previous scores are recycled, with the addition of a single uninspired song by Randy Newman; scenarios veiled as homage directly rip off preceding chapters; the new characters are inconsistent and not at all relatable. Toy Story 3 was a retread of Toy Story 2 in terms of plot, but it still showed creativity, poignancy, humour and thematic strength. Toy Story 4 feels a lot like the family film equivalent of Game of Thrones Season 8: it is entirely disinterested in engaging our minds or emotions, takes half-assed shortcuts, and seems to think that its validity relies on their ability to remind us how good the previous instalments of the same story were. Hey, remember how awesome Randy Newman's music wqas? Here it is, literally all over again. Hey, remember how the toys launched themselves in a conga missile through the catflap of Sid's house in a rescue attempt? Here is pretty much the same thing all over again.

My face throughout this movie

All characters but Woody are resigned to the background. Buzz is occupied with a stupid and nonsensical microplot that hangs on conscience and voicebox being synonymous in the toy world; Jesse and Bullseye have absolutely nothing to do, and favourite bit players such as Potato Head and Rex may as well not even be there. Bo Peep is given an inexplicable makeover, from her voice, to her origins, to her physical makeup. She was previously an entirely porcelain figure, but now her clothes are made of fabric and are removable. Her sheep now have names, and she drives some sort of vehicle disguised as a skunk. She claims she has been living her best life as a free and independent woman for the last nine years, but later laments that she spent years gathering dust on the shelf of an antique store. Everything is so confused and nonsensical, and it made my blood boil to watch.

The villain of this piece is the most underdeveloped and unstable of the series. A Gabby Gabby doll, who purports to date from the '50s, just like Woody - uhh, what?! - has never been loved because her voicebox never worked, and so her evil plan is to get Woody drunk at a bar, seduce him and allow him to wake up in a bathtub full of ice. Well, actually, she just straight up tells Woody that he is about to get organ trafficked, but after hearing her half-hearted spiel, Woody just relents and allows her to take his voicebox, and later wakes up having his back stitched up by a ventriloquist dummy. It was so dark in a way that hasn't fit the Toy Story tone since the very first movie, and struck me as kind of disturbing. Then it is never touched on again. Nothing about how they never needed their voicebox to be loved by a kid or anything. Woody just gets his fucking organs stolen by some mad doll, who then becomes a sympathetic anti-hero for the narrative, and gets a happy ending nothing like that awarded to Stinky Pete or to Lotso. The tone of this movie is up and down like a tart's drawers.

Another questionable addition is that of what I refer to as 'ghetto comedy'. You know, that kind of thing where a black character makes any loud and sarcastic comment, and it is played like it is funny, regardless of whether it actually is. Two stuffed animals from a carnival tag along with Woody for some reason, and serve no purpose other than to yell "Nawwww way, man!" every now and then.

The ending is perhaps one of the most maddening elements of the movie, so *spoiler alert*. When the rest of the toys finally reunite with Woody and Bo at the end of the ordeal, Woody does that weird thing that has become more prevalent as the Toy Storys have gone along, where there are long shots of his furrowed brow as he reflects on something that we cannot interpret. He then murmers a few words to other characters like "Are you sure?" and we just have to wait impatiently to find out exactly what he is referring to. This time, it turns out that Woody has decided that he doesn't need a kid anymore, and is instead going to become the Mickey to Bo's Mallory. That's right, he leaves all of his longtime friends behind in order to enjoy some porcelain pussy. What the actual fuck?!

I'm sure there are one or two other annoyances that have slipped through the cracks of my exhausted bullshit detector, but quite frankly, I feel that I have given this shite movie enough of my precious time for one day and one lifetime. I will never watch this movie again, and I hate to say that it takes twisted glee in slowly picking the stitches that Toy Story 3 had so neatly sewn. Fuck this movie.