Of all the myriad concepts concocted by man, time is without a doubt the most fickle. It wears us out, beats us down, steals all that we hold dear, and callously feeds our most precious memories into a commercial ostracizer where they're finely ground into a casserole of contempt and served to the next generation as comedic confections from a bygone era. It ain't personal, of course. After all, your rotten kids are simply laughin' at Ghoulies and Piranha the same way I laughed at Godzilla and Beginning of the End, but like every generation that came before, I'm now older, crankier, and out to prove why mine is so much better than all the others. I mean, at least as far as things like video games and cinema, which are pretty much the finer things in life when you get right down to it. And as time goes by, folks out there are gettin' more and more backwards when it comes to recognizin' and appreciatin' a fine work of art when they see it, which is where I come in.

See, there's a whole lot more to entertainment than which overpaid Hollywood celebrity signed on to make some socially redeemin' tripe that wouldn't pass for entertainment in any establishment that doesn't spell "theater" with the "e" and "r" transposed. And there's sure as heck a whole lot more to an enjoyable cinematic experience than whether or not a buncha curmudgeonly old bores with girdles cinched up tighter'n a leather corset at an S&M bar passed out a buncha gold plated marital aids for it at some phony bologna ceremony. I'll tell ya somethin' else too; in my day, special effects were actually made up of matter. You could touch 'em and everything. Know what's great about effects that actually exist in the real world? They have to adhere to the laws of physics. So even if it looks like crapola, it's still not gonna violate more laws of thermodynamics than an anime character that got whacked out on crack balls. These days, folks don't care if somethin' actually exists, or if it even looks real, cause flash trumps plausibility every time. Everything I see in movies these days is just so cold, clinical, and hollow, that I end up recoilin' like I reached into a sink fulla dishwater and discovered the remains of a misplaced cheese sandwich. That's even before you factor in how lowest common denominator our media has become, with the sole motivation of maximizin' the number of butts in the theater seats.

But all is not lost, because even though greed has virtually destroyed the movie industry, that same greed grants us access to our old favorites via home video. And moreover, the older you get, the less you care about what other people think about your "generational eccentricities." Particularly when said thoughts come from a generation who can't even unglue their faces from their iPhones long enough to realize they're drivin' Mama's car on the sidewalk in front of GameStop. So, what I'm endeavoring to do here is to present celluloid suggestions for the folks out there who're seekin' shelter from the shitstorm of cookie cutter crapola. That said, just because a flick comes from the greatest generation in movie history (the 1970s - 1980s, and I do not wanna hafta tell you this again), there's no free lunch here. If a movie reeks like the restrooms on Five Alarm carne de burro Flatch-in-the-Pants chili night at The Gutter Bowl, I'll tell it like it is. I guess what I'm sayin' is; there's plenty of classic cinema to go around, and I'm not about to besmirch my personal integrity by dignifyin' a modern movie's existence unless it provides a damn compellin' argument for doin' so. Sure, some of the titles I review might not've aged gracefully, and others might even've blown chunks through their noses even on openin' night, but they all have somethin' in common; authenticity. Whether they're classics or schlock, top shelf or bargain basement, each one has a purity that I feel has been lost in the movie-making industry for some years now, and I intend to do my part to rekindle interest in these, even if I gotta resort to dealin' with hipsters.

"The drive-in will never die." - Joe Bob Briggs

On a side note, if it seems like my movie reviews are unbearably long to the point that the Department of Defense might be usin' 'em to interrogate prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba so they'll start spillin' secret terrorist baking recipes, that's only because they are. But there's actually a reason for that. When I first began researching some of these movies tryin' to determine whether or not I'd be interested in watchin' 'em, it seemed like every review I read was just some pseudo-intellectual spendin' an hour talkin' about what *they* thought about it. What they thought about this, that, and why it was immoral for the director to be usin' his first and second assistants for threesomes on the studio's dime.

That, in and of itself, is not a serious problem. Everyone's entitled to their opinion and in the case of particularly prominent critics, people will genuinely want to know what that individual thinks, because they are that individual. Even I'm not immune to that, cause I gotta know what Joe Bob Briggs' Drive-In Totals are when I'm gonna watch something. But that's *all* there was to these reviews. One person's opinion. I, personally, am of the notion that I don't much care what one person's opinion is (Less the aforementioned exception), and conversely, I assume that nobody gives a flyin' fridge what my individual opinion is either. I wanted to know what the movie was ABOUT. How many people get skewered? How ugly's the monster? Should I look away when the nasty chick an the redneck start makin' out? Ya know, stuff that really matters. But nobody wants to talk about that stuff. All they wanna talk about is how the scene in Eraserhead where the little Admiral Ackbar baby gets his hospital garb unwrapped and there's nothin' but cream corn where his organs should be is a metaphor for why kids need to be good to their Mamas. Gimmie somethin' I can work with here, not this avant-garbled nonsense.

So hopefully that explains why the plot descriptions are so intolerably long. I'm tryin' to fill a niche here. One that's so huge and vacant you could fit the cast from every season of The Biggest Loser inside it, three times over. I do include a shorter opinion section towards the end, but I figure that's a good place for it so that people who don't care can just move on to the next one. That said, if you're gonna make reviews excruciatingly long as I do then keeping you, the reader, entertained is critical, hence the unethical, indecent, morally reprehensible, insensitive humor inserted lovingly into in each one. So if at any point I've offended you, it must be working. Anyway, I hope the humor helps make the content easier to digest. But more importantly, I hope you find something you're unfamiliar with to pick up and enjoy, and always remember that "good" is subjective. But the only thing in cinema that is truly bad, is that which bores.

The reviews on this site are provided for use solely on the Nintendementia website and are not to be used by anyone except the author. Besides, if you can't do better than this, you might want to consider some self improvement courses.

The short "Summary" descriptions are taken from the back covers of the movie/video game's respective DVD/VHS/Boxes and are the property of their respective authors/studios/developers and are in no way any work of mine.

Questions? Requests? Comments? Death threats? Contact me at should there be any kind of inquiries.

Copyright 2008-2022, Shane Sturdivant