Despite the contents of this blog firmly suggesting otherwise, I actually went to prom. With a pretty girl, no less. Hell, years later? I even married one, too. But looking back to each of those majestic evenings, I distinctly remember the complete absence of the requisite limousine. In fact, I don't think I've ever actually been in one.
My only memories of limos come from those times as a kid, when you'd see one drive by, and we would all desperately wonder who could possibly be inside? It had to be someone famous, right? But those damn tinted windows made it all a guessing game that never really made any sense.
Why would only a chosen few ever get the chance to lay eyes upon such greatness?
Maybe it's my unnatural adoration of Patrick Wilson talking, but I f--king loved Stretch. Damn near every frame of it. And as its ridiculous story unfolded great bit after great bit, I kept thinking: why hasn't anyone seen this?
Primarily set over the course of one insane day, Joe Carnahan's latest flick initially starts off lampooning celebrities. Stretch, as Wilson's character is often referred to, makes his money schlepping a variety of a-hole celebrities all over L.A. Stretch is a good guy, but has clearly f--ked up in the past. Often. Gambling debt, he has. A fine-ass girlfriend? Not anymore. As she recently dumped him mid O-face. His, not hers.
The big day starts innocently enough, as Stretch, shortly after getting chewed out by The Hoff, shuttles a rather irritated Ray Liotta to the airport. Easy peasy, no? Well, it was going to be, until eccentric millionaire Roger Karos literally falls out of the sky and into Stretch's life.
Karos, unleashed upon the world by that handsome devil Chris Pine, is a f--king madman. When we first meet him, it's all ass and balls, clearly indicating that he's going to f--k everything up (and over). He has requested/demanded Stretch's services for the rest of the day. In exchange, Karos will lay a gratuity upon Stretch that will cover the six grand he owes his bookie. Needless to say, Stretch is going to have to earn it.
Do you remember Running Scared, the one with Paul Walker? Well, I don't, except for the fact that I recall a seemingly endless parade of f--ked up shit. Stretch is like that (I think), except instead of twisted insanity, it gets funnier and funnier as the night progresses. By the end, I found myself laughing out loud like an idiot, and that's kind of a rare thing around these parts.
Not rare at all, but entirely idiotic, are the Yays and Boos. We're all kind of now remembering a limo ride to the airport once when I was eight, but that doesn't count at all, as it was basically just a long taxi. I mean, neither me nor my dad snorted cocaine (off of a hooker), popped open a bottle of champagne (on a hooker), or bothered to open the sunroof and unleash titties (of a hooker). Yep. According to movies, it's all pretty cut-and-dry: I've never been in a limo.
My only memories of limos come from those times as a kid, when you'd see one drive by, and we would all desperately wonder who could possibly be inside? It had to be someone famous, right? But those damn tinted windows made it all a guessing game that never really made any sense.
Why would only a chosen few ever get the chance to lay eyes upon such greatness?
Primarily set over the course of one insane day, Joe Carnahan's latest flick initially starts off lampooning celebrities. Stretch, as Wilson's character is often referred to, makes his money schlepping a variety of a-hole celebrities all over L.A. Stretch is a good guy, but has clearly f--ked up in the past. Often. Gambling debt, he has. A fine-ass girlfriend? Not anymore. As she recently dumped him mid O-face. His, not hers.
The big day starts innocently enough, as Stretch, shortly after getting chewed out by The Hoff, shuttles a rather irritated Ray Liotta to the airport. Easy peasy, no? Well, it was going to be, until eccentric millionaire Roger Karos literally falls out of the sky and into Stretch's life.
Karos, unleashed upon the world by that handsome devil Chris Pine, is a f--king madman. When we first meet him, it's all ass and balls, clearly indicating that he's going to f--k everything up (and over). He has requested/demanded Stretch's services for the rest of the day. In exchange, Karos will lay a gratuity upon Stretch that will cover the six grand he owes his bookie. Needless to say, Stretch is going to have to earn it.Do you remember Running Scared, the one with Paul Walker? Well, I don't, except for the fact that I recall a seemingly endless parade of f--ked up shit. Stretch is like that (I think), except instead of twisted insanity, it gets funnier and funnier as the night progresses. By the end, I found myself laughing out loud like an idiot, and that's kind of a rare thing around these parts.
Not rare at all, but entirely idiotic, are the Yays and Boos. We're all kind of now remembering a limo ride to the airport once when I was eight, but that doesn't count at all, as it was basically just a long taxi. I mean, neither me nor my dad snorted cocaine (off of a hooker), popped open a bottle of champagne (on a hooker), or bothered to open the sunroof and unleash titties (of a hooker). Yep. According to movies, it's all pretty cut-and-dry: I've never been in a limo.
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| Of the top twenty of things Stretch has to be worried about? That graffiti doesn't even sniff the list. |
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
- The opening scene where he meets his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend (Brooklyn Decker, uhdamn) is fantastic. Perfectly sets the tone.
- Ed Helms, as Karl with a K, initially irritated me. But the more and more he shows up, the better and better it eventually gets.
- Norman Reedus might want to lay low for awhile. Just saying...
- Jessica Alba. Though you can say this about any movie she appears in, here? She's never looked hotter. Loved her character, too.
- Hasselhoff is good, too. Scary good. As in, this motherf--ker terrifies me good.
- It took me a second, but ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Flight's Cancer Guy, James Badge Dale. I love this guy. Need proof? Go here.
- Honestly, most of the little conversations between characters are flat-out brilliant, but I especially loved Stretch's run-in with the Valet Guy. It's been a week and I'm still laughing. Any man that casually mentions to another that he should Eat his own dick, by rule, gets a Yay. Has to.
- Holy shit. Tricking the OnStar lady was the coolest shit ever.
- Stretch picks up this pop-star a-hole whose new album is called Bitches and Tits. I gotta keep my eye out for that one at Target.
- Doorman Guy. I love you, sir. LOVE. YOU. almost as much as Wilson. Almost.
- That selesai song, Let Us All In by Damien Jurado was soooo perfect! Check it out here.
- F--k you, but that was the perfect ending.
- And finally, when you watch something on a whim, knowing absolutely nothing about it, and you f--king love it. As a dickhead movie blogger....there's nothing like it. I would have gladly spent nine bucks on this one (but Netflix will do, too).
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| I don't think Michael Scott would approve of such antics. Or the mustache. |
Boooooo!
- The Jovi's hair. I'm with you Stretch, as it scared the living shit out of me, too.
- Liotta is such a dick (it's actually great, but I'm booing how rotten he was to Stretch).
- Karos' hookers were initially terrifying. I thought The Purge was about to start.
- That party that Karos ends up at was on the wrong side of totally f--ked up. Not only do we have strange Robot Men licking stacks of money, but that cavalcade of freaks later on will likely haunt my dreams for a month.
- Yo, Karos. That was a dick move. Like, record-setting, you know?
- And finally, as I've been lamenting, how the Hell was this not released theatrically? I get it - this movie isn't high art by any stretch (nudge, nudge), but it's better than about 90% of what's been showing in my town for the last six weeks. I can Paul Blart 2 on more than one screen, but something like this goes DTV? The f--k is this?
This weekend, I'll be heading to Philadelphia for a bachelor party with half-dozen other guys. Hopefully, at some point, there'll be a limo involved, and we can do all those things off of hookers I mentioned earlier.
Just kidding, of course.
Who needs a f--king limo?