It Happened In L.A. – a movie review

This movie made me want to stick a screwdriver in my ear. I watched it in a state of fixed homicidal horror, trembling in disgust, unable to reconcile that these were in fact members of my species. Sharing taxonomic nomenclature with these simpering hipster rubes is an affront to my dignity. Desperately, desperately I wanted these feckless cretins to kill each other and towards the end, shivering and nauseous, I decided that a single thumb would do. The credits rolled and I decided it would be acceptable to just beat one of them if our paths ever crossed. I could maybe get away with it, maybe not, but this level of brain damage deserves retribution.

In this saccharine, anthrax dusted love-hate Millennial romp, toothy Gummo skank Annette (nighthog Michelle Morgan) lives with her finger sniffing creampuff doorknob husband Elliot (Jorma Taccone) and boo hoo, their lives as pitiful suckdogs are lame, stale, empty- whatever, who cares. They snark their way through it with the sort of Fruity Bootie University-Woody Allen- baby smartsie poo banter that makes you want to step on their necks and grind, and in a horror twist, Annette constantly compares herself to her Hollywood jizz toilet pal Baker (Dree Hemingway). Ever lick fly paper? No? Me neither, but I’m sure this is what you taste after watching this.  

This is the worst movie I have ever seen. BUT, dear reader, I came away from the viewing experience as if with an illness, and when the aftertaste of this wretched flick passed (about an hour) I felt good. Then… Great. I don’t know anyone like these human shaped hole characters. My life seems full to overflowing. Sometimes it’s worth watching a movie like this. It can make you feel good if you’re in prison in Juarez, like you’ve made solid moves and positive life choices. It can make you feel GREAT if you’re in your comfortable living room.

Available now on Amazon.