Friday, 10 November 2017

The Boy Movie Review By Steve 'Sandwich' Hanisch

The Boy
Year: 2016
Directed By: William Brent Bell
Written By: Stacey Menear Starring: Lauren Cohan, Rupert Evans, Jim Norton, James Russell and Diana Hardcastle
Tagline: “An American nanny is shocked that her new English family’s boy is actually a life-sized doll. After she violates a list of strict rules, disturbing events make her believe that the doll is really alive.”
Rotten Tomatoes Score: 27%
IMDb Rating: 6.0/10

Well. That was underwhelming. Not that I really expected that much from the movie anyway, but damn. You’d think a premise where a creepy doll in an old British house playing tricks on Maggie from The Walking Dead would have some redeemable moments. The most redeemable part was when Greta (Lauren Cohan) was wearing a pyjama shirt with no bra on underneath. All general perviness aside though, the doll, Brahms, was not creepy, in fact he was polished and shiny all the fucking time and always wore a suit and never did anything crazy. Like at all. He never even did anything to create a fever pitch which forced Greta to follow the rules. Like, he fucking served her dinner and she was like, oh, I better listen to the rules! What? Huh? Slappy from the 2015 rendition of Goosebumps voiced by Jack Black was scarier.
I imagine that the creators of this saw what a success The Conjuring, The Conjuring 2 and both Annabelle movies were and went, “Hmm. We should do a doll movie. And we should cast Maggie from The Walking Dead, people still like that show, right?” Sorry, sirs and madam’s, wrong on both accounts. It was a sloppy delve into Greta’s backstory, doesn’t even really explain how she got in touch and out to Britain in the first place to baby-sit a doll to escape her murderous-rage-filled boyfriend. Somehow wanted to throw in that plot point so Lauren could actually show acting chops in it maybe? Also, plot twist, turns out Brahms is human and alive! Got a Freddy Krueger thing going on, but he’s there. No idea how the fuck he ran around the entire fucking house that easily during the rest of the film and for a guy who lives in dust and walls and skinny as an AIDS patient, he’s got a Jason strength going on when he kills the boyfriend and knocks the other British fucker right out. How? No explanation? Alllllrighty then.
It’s also never explained why Brahms stopped mentally aging past an eight-year-old and why his parents were fine with the fact that he was like straight up living in the walls instead of, you know, in the living room and shit. Like one day after the house fire Brahms is like, “Mom, Dad, I’m going to live in the walls and you will take care of this doll that has my spirit in it, okay? I also want a doll face mask to match.” And they were like, “Cheerio old lad, not a bugga.” (I assume that’s how they would talk). Then apparently they got really fucking depressed about it twenty-some-years later and instead of evicting or even attempting to talk to their real, actual son instead of the doll (or charging rent?), they each put one rock in their pockets and walked into a fucking lake. First off, that’s absolutely a half-assed way to do that. One rock? That ain’t going to keep your bloated body down, champ. That’s an easy climb back out of the lake while the Misses sinks to the bottom so Mister Brahms can go enjoy the nearest brothel until his heart gives out. But also, you definitely finished paying the mortgage on that house. You’re going to let crazy, manipulative, creep, attic-dwelling Brahm take that house? Scott free? I don’t think so. To their credit though, nice pick on Lauren Cohan as the ‘sacrifice’. It was a good final attempt. If anything’s going to snap Brahm out of his pre-pubescent, eight-year-old in a twenty-eight-year-old’s body, it’s the fucking smoke-show that is Lauren Cohan. Like, who wouldn’t just snap out of it? “Brahms, I know you’re only an eight-year-old boy, wink wink, but here’s a smoking-hot, thirty-five year old, American, woman who just got out of a relationship and is definitely single that we’re going to leave you all alone with, okay? Oh and rule number ten is always give you a kiss goodnight, we just wrote that in for you, so go ahead and enjoy!” But wait, also, how would Brahms really be able to read the death letter his parents sent and get the context? Like I bet there was some upper-class British talk going on in there and he probably stopped his English homework twenty years ago. No way he got all that. I’m just writing myself into hating this movie more and more now. Imagine Brahm’s B.O. No way they had the bids and the bees talk so he’s definitely just reeking to high heaven up in that stuffy attic. But also, how was there a fridge and microwave and shit up there? Brahm didn’t age past eight, but he’s rigging control boxes and electrical equipment? Fucking hell.
To put this all into perspective, it didn’t even have a general consensus on Rotten Tomatoes. So nobody saw this film. Actually, I take that back. This fucking thing made over thirty-five million domestic and over sixty-four million worldwide. On a ten-million dollar budget. Boy was I wrong. Looks like we’re going to have The Boy 2: Brahms Hits Puberty. The plot is he can’t stop jerking his pud to Greta and searches for her in America. The twist is, it’s thirty years later and Greta went through the “change of life” and Brahms is no longer interested, so he goes back to just fucking the dress over a bale of hay from the first one. It’s a full-circle feature film of sorts.

General Shenanigans Written By: Steve “Sandwich” Hanisch 

Last Word “You wouldn't hurt me, would you?” - Sandwich talking to a bottle of Altos Tequila

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