A Bad Night To Live Easy?

So I saw the latest Die Hard movie a while back. It was called A Good day To Die Hard, and it was the most amazing motion picture experience I have ever witnessed. Seriously, you need to get out there and see this movie. You will not be disappointed.

Well, I say that... but am I telling the truth? That's subjective, I suppose. My family, for instance, was not at all disappointed in A Good Day To Die Hard. They all seemed to enjoy it.

Myself? No. NO.

Yes, I was lying earlier when I said I thought it was a transcendent motion picture viewing experience. Don't get angry with me. This blog is called The Book Of Lies, dammit! It's in the title, for fuck's sake!

I hated this movie. I hated it like I hate direct sunlight, which is to say with every fiber of my being. Holy shit, was this a horrible movie.

Mike agrees with me. Why don't you?

The opening scene takes place in what I assume is a Russian prison, where some well dressed dude is talking to a prisoner who looks like a hobo. They're talking in subtitled Russian, and I have no idea what they said. It just didn't register. Why should I care? Who are these boring people, and why should I be invested in their relationship? Apparently the well dressed dude wants to keep the hobo in prison, because he's a bad guy, or maybe the well dressed dude is the bad guy? I don't know anything about this. They've got a past, but I don't know and I don't care.

Then we cut to John McClane Jr. shooting some guy in a night club, then he gets arrested. And I don't care. What does this mean? Is the film attempting to form some sort of mysterious plot? If so, could it please try to engage the viewer? John McClane hears about his son being arrested in Russia and decides to fly overseas to... visit him? I don't think he was planning a prison break, at any rate. Maybe he was just going to attend the trial and shake his head disapprovingly every time his son turned to look at him. He'd turn to the judge, shrug and say "Kids! What can ya do?"

His daughter drives him to the airport, tells him not to get into any trouble over there in Russkie Land, and then turns and winks at the camera, because this is supposed to be funny. It isn't. As McClane walks into the terminal, the camera remains behind, fixated on a sign reading "Aeroflot". I don't understand the significance of this. Then the camera slowly zooms in on the "Aeroflot" sign while ominous music swells. What does it mean? Is the sign a double agent? Is it rigged to blow? Come on, man!

The well-dressed dude has a phone conversation with some mercenaries, then walks toward the camera in slow-motion, backed by an army of judges in the worst homage to Reservoir Dogs I have ever seen.

And here's the best homage to Reservoir Dogs. Ever.

This shot is madness. Why does it exist? He's literally flanked by thirty or more judges stalking toward their camera in flowing robes and bad wigs. He doesn't show up later in the movie with a private army of heavily armed judges, shooting up McClane and son in the ruins of Chernobyl. They never appear again. Why did this have to happen?

Bad guys blow up the courtroom, John Jr. and Boxcar Willie escape, blah blah blah explosions blah blah blah I'm on vacation blah blah car chase blah blah like father like son blah blah double cross blah blah CIA blah blah cowboy bloah blah Chernobyl blah blah kaboom blah blah fuck you.

I hate this fucking movie. It's less than nothing. It's poorly directed, poorly written, poorly acted garbage. There is literally nothing good I can say about this movie. I tried to think of something, but I drew a blank. It's worthless. A Good Day To Die Hard was so terrible, it made me re-evaluate Len Wiseman's A Good Day To Die Hard. I now look back on that trainwreck with rose-colored glasses, which is disturbing. I had no idea how bad it could get. Now that I know, there's no looking back. We are through the looking glass, people! Now all bets are off.

You did this. You doomed us all, you smug prick!

By the way, it's time for a brand-new installment of Lies My Podcast Told Me, a podcast prominently featured on this blog. What, you didn't know that? Shit. Well, there's this podcast I feature here entitled Lies My Podcast Told Me, and today I present a new episode for your listening pleasure.

Most podcasts try to have a point. People get together and discuss specific topics, they try to be timely, and often they attempt to be humorous in some fashion. Not here! We shun such things, preferring to deliver unfocused, rambling bits of audio delight that never actually attempt to be humorous or even entertaining in any way. We're bucking the trend! Because we're rebels, here. We don't do what THE MAN says. When THE MAN tells us to zig, we fucking zag. Because we're iconoclasts. Badasses. We don't care if you like what we have to offer. We don't even care if you listen to it. We're so detached, we don't even know we're recording a podcast until it finds its way onto the internet.

Keeping all of that in mind, I present to you the 23rd chapter of this astoundingly awesome podcast, called Whiskey Dick Degeneration. In its expanded runtime, I get drunk and ramble incoherently. I also severely burn my finger. It's a real game-changer, let me tell you.

Chapter 23: Whiskey Dick Degeneration



That's all I've got for now. Soon... something will happen, and I shall return. Maybe. Until then...

TIME MARCHES ON!

NSFW, I guess.