The Mummy

Year: 2017
Genre: Action
Directed: Alex Kurtzman
Stars: Tom Cruise, Annabelle Wallis, Sofia Boutella, Russell Crowe, Jake Johnson, Courtney B. Vance, Marwan Kenzari, Simon Atherton, Stephen Thompson, James Arama, Matthew Wilkas
Production: Universal Studios

The Mummy often feels like a nightmare. Not an interesting or memorable nightmare mind you, but the kind where you wake up mind boggled by the various avenues your stream of consciousness went sloshing around. It's just a mess - a huge, blundering, skin-festering, cliche-riddled, desperate mess.

Well don't sugarcoat it...

The first sign of trouble occurs before the film even has a chance to introduce us to its characters. The Universal logo inverts its blue/green globe revealing an eclipsed Earth, with "Dark Universe" scrawled in big, bold, overly-confident gold letters. The hubris of a promised extended universe is then immediately undone by Tom Cruise's soldier of fortune, Nick Morton and his compromising exchange with franchise female dead-weight Annabelle Wallis. From there the movie sputters on the same broadly drawn characters and sweeping barrage of action set pieces that would have felt more at home in the 1999 Brendan Fraser movie. Yet while that movie played up its cliches for cheeky laughs and cheap scares, this one wants you to take in the first twenty minutes like you're sucking down prized Kentucky mash.

Please, put me in a better movie!

Once the smoke has cleared both figuratively and literally, the movie introduces us to its titular monster, a cursed, soul-sucking Egyptian princess played by a very game and oh so terribly utilized Sofia Boutella. As refreshing as it may seem to have a female mummy, Universal's only real ace in this faux franchise so far, having her play this specific monster with sexual moxie is like asking to make high cuisine out of coprophagia.

But before we even see her face and can recognize her physical presence, we're forced to experience a farcical amount of brittle zombie attacks and really cheap looking CGI which makes you wonder where the $125 million it took to make this movie went. It clearly didn't go to making this movie look good. Principal photography took place in Oxford, Oxfordshire, England but it might as well have been shot in a hollowed out missile silo for all the under-lit, flat-looking and dull frames that assemble this movie. I was seriously wondering if I was watching a big-budget spectacle or an Underworld (2003-Present) movie.

Ahahahahaha!!

What's left of this quivering mass of insipidness has its neck snapped by the halfway mark. The movie stops cold to fully explore the minutia of Prodigium: The Dark Universe's analog to S.H.I.E.L.D. Only instead of it being a welcome distraction (the best possible scenario by this point), it more or less ends up being a sad reminder that Russell Crowe, the Oscar winning actor of high repute, actively doesn't give a s**t. And yes, Russell Crowe is in this movie and yes he does play Dr. Jekyl/Dr. Jekyl with a Cockney accent and yellow eyes. His choice to play the dual role like a drunken rendition of The Green Goblin is actually kind of admirable if you put the right lens against it - like Jesse Eisenberg in Baman V. Superman Ice Cream (2016) only with slightly less to do.

Please Alan, don't bring this franchise back from the dead!

I'm honestly at a loss at this point. Despite many attempts, not a single major studio has managed to match the chops of the Marvel Extended Universe, and I'm starting to think it's not even possible anymore. The Mummy has thrown both figuratively and literally the elastic man himself Tom Cruise at this problem and the only thing that came out of it is a busy, bloated and offensively dull movie with one of the most disappointing non-endings since Pushing Daisies (2007-2009).

Final Grade: F

The Lovers

Year: 2017
Genre: Drama
Directed: Azazel Jacobs
Stars: Debra Winger, Tracy Letts, Aiden Gillen, Melora Walters, Tyler Ross, Jessica Sula, Lesley Fera, Eric Satterberg, Janine Mitchell
Production: A24

Infidelity in cinema is nothing new. Much like the boiling conflicts of war or the inevitable fissures of generations old and new, the inherent drama of infidelity has always been one of those clear cut and elemental driving forces that has the immediacy to color an entire movie. Reaction to it is almost automatic and the story, depending on who's telling it always seems to virtually write itself. Yet in the case of The Lovers, infidelity is less the flash of conflict as it is the strangely reserved starting point to a story about human peculiarities.

The esteemed Debra Winger and acclaimed playwright/due paying bit actor Tracy Letts play Mary and Michael, a middle-aged married couple whose loveless marriage is nearing its dispassionate end. Both barely hide their constant trysts with their respective inamoratos, both of whom are artists and both of whom remind Michael and Mary of who they once were. In the weeks before their estranged son Joel (Ross) is to visit, both simultaneously resolve to end their marriage. Yet as they come closer to the brink of separation, eros takes a hold of them, leading to an impulsive romance.

The beauty of The Lovers is it twists and turns in surprising yet painfully human ways. Every time you think you have a firm understanding of the characters at play, something unexpected yet so emphatically human breaches through and the movie gainfully searches for a new dynamic. It's all to our delight. Behind the film's reserved almost dusty demeanor lies a barely hidden heart threatening to burst at the seams. The film for the most part stays true to its quiet composure. Yet in a few key moments the movie almost seems to glitter with the emotional resonance reserved to it welling romantic score.

Azazel Jacobs

Director Azazel Jacobs does wonders with his workmanlike camerawork. It's purposeful fluidity and literate use of space sells a particular kind of drollness. One that can take the innate beauty of Southern California and make it fade in the background against two deeply flawed characters and their increasingly desperate counterparts. Yet what sells The Lovers's admittedly indie aesthetic, is the film's central foursome; Letts, Winger, Aiden Gillen and Melora Walters. Their reactions to the duplicity, then the double duplicity carries the entirety of the script in their eyes, their body-language, their placement in the room. One could put the film on mute and gleam everything apart from the names.

I don't want to end up like you (sob, slams door)

The film as a whole is meant to be a meditation on mature love; a prospect that sometimes falters under the weight of the film's melancholy tone. This is not to say the tone is the problem but rather The Lovers's beat-by-beat story flirts a little too much with melodrama for something not to eventually give. And yes, the movie risks breaking down completely during its final act with the arrival of a coarse Tyler Ross, who slumps in the middle of the film's delicate and disquieting frame, and call out its bulls**t with the subtlety of a bullhorn.

Thanks to the unforced earnestness of Winger and Letts (and an oddly perfect song selection), The Lovers finds it within itself to bounce back like a seasoned dancer after a minor trip. What results, may not be the most well-observed study of needy, perilously unhappy people. Yet considering how counterfeit a lot of movies feel nowadays it's nice to see something that attempts to find the audacity in the littlest of moments.

Final Grade: B-

Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie

Year: 2017
Genre: Animated Comedy
Directed: David Soren
Stars: Kevin Hart, Thomas Middleditch, Ed Helms, Nick Kroll, Jordan Peele, Kristen Schaal, DeeDee Rescher, Brian Posehn, David Soren, Mel Rodriguez, Susan Fitzer, Lynnanne Zager
Production: DreamWorks Animation

Captain Underpants is one of those movies whose plot, themes and overall approach to its subject matter seems completely beyond reproach. Any criticism of the film, no matter how valid will inevitably be drowned out by a chorus of people, most of whom haven't even seen the film, yelling; "it's Captain Underpants! What did you expect!" I might as well shoot myself in the foot early in this review by saying that part of the reason I didn't enjoy the film was because I was in a theater full of crying children and inattentive parents. Thus I spent a huge portion of the film quietly seething, head vein a-pulsing and eyes a-twitching, just waiting for the movie to end so I wouldn't have to smell the remains of my arm rest neighbor's diaper.

Here's to getting exactly what I deserved...

The self-deprecating tone of the film hits incredibly early. We catch up with our merry pranksters George Beard (Hart) and Harold Hutchins (Middleditch) just as they're putting the finishing touches on their newest Captain Underpants comic book. When not irreverently goofing about in George's treehouse however, the duo are under the watchful, indignant eye of the grumpy Principal Krupp (Helms). To counter-act their oppressive environment, George and Harold pull elaborate pranks which eventually put them in hot water. Now faced with the prospect of separation, George and Harold inadvertently hypnotize Principal Krupp and turn him into the super but dunder-headed Captain Underpants.

I don't get it.

What follows beyond this point is a constant barrage of light-hearted gags and elaborate slap-sticky moments that culminate in the quick and easy introduction, exploration and expulsion of our main villain Prof. Poopypants (Kroll). If you giggled to yourself about the prospect of having a villain by that name then congratulations this movie is for you. If however you chuckled more at the fact that Nick Kroll is once again voice acting for a character whose name is the butt of a butt of a joke, then maybe you'll find Captain Underpants more cheeky as opposed to outright funny.

And even then up to a certain point. The inherent lack of tension, reinforced by the film's complete inability to take itself seriously, all but guarantees that it'll eventually wear down most parents. That's of course if you're not already a Melvin like me. Kids self-effacing enough to claim they want to see this movie will either find more fulfillment reading the books or find themselves breaking focus so they can play with their fidget spinners.

Come to think of it, fidget spinners are a perfect metaphor for this movie. It's simple, it's elegant, it can provide a good half-hour of entertainment; yet after you get over the novelty, there's really not much to it other than a seemingly endless patter of puns and potty jokes. I mean, imagine if I told you the funniest poop joke you've ever heard, immediately followed by the second, third, fourth, funniest etc. There comes a point when you want to talk about anything else but poop!

Final Grade: D+

Wonder Woman

Year: 2017
Genre: Drama
Directed: Patty Jenkins
Stars: Gal Gadot, Chris Pine, Robin Wright, Connie Nielsen, Elena Anaya, David Thewlis, Lucy Davis, Ewen Bremner, Danny Huston, Said Taghmaoui, Eugene Brave Rock, Doutzen Kroes
Production: Warner Bros.

Part of the problem with the DC Extended Universe (DCEU) is it often feels like it's beholden to a lot of different masters. From the get go, it needed to be immediately palpable to mainstream audiences while throwing in enough fan-service for those who knew every esoteric piece of increasingly convoluted mythology. It then needed to balance that same mythology on the backs of a multitude of reoccurring characters, a plethora of converging themes, a gauntlet of story dynamics and, because the whole circus had the unmistakable tinge of a franchise geared towards Monster swilling, Call of Duty playing, insecure 13-year-olds, it also throws in pretentious amounts of Philosophy 101 under the auspice of being "mind-blowing". Add to all that Warner Bros.'s desire to copy Marvel while emphatically denying they're copying Marvel, and their pesky need to, you know, keep the lights on, it's become pretty clear they've bitten off a lot more than they can chew.

Thankfully Wonder Woman douses the still raging dumpster fire that is the DCEU with a tall glass of soothing bio-luminescent water. It takes out half the algebra, concentrates on the basics and leaves you with a singularly excellent movie. It's not perfect, and it may not give DC the course correction it truly needs but it still conjures memories of Christopher Reeves's Superman (1978) in the best possible sense. So for now I say, stand aside superherodom, Wonder Woman has finally arrived and boy is it about d**n time.

The DCEU: now in color!

Nearly the entirety of Wonder Woman takes place before the events of BvS: Electric Boogaloo (2016); which places our titular character on the island of Themyscira somewhere between Ancient Antiquity and the early twentieth century. It's established early on that Diana (Gadot) is a near-immortal, living in relative peace with her mother Queen Hippolyta (Nielsen), her aunt General Antiope (Wright) and the rest of her Amazonian peers.

That is until the day Steve Trevor (Pine), a roguish American pilot and British Intelligence spy, crash lands on the shores of the island and fills everyone in on The Great War (WWI). Hearing that millions of innocents have already been slaughtered, Diana concludes that Ares, the mythical God of War, must be behind all the carnage and vows to stop him. It's a simplistic and naive worldview that Steve doesn't truly buy, but she saved his life and can kill him in nearly a hundred ways..so off they go to stop the war.

Now there are many reasons to celebrate the arrival of Wonder Woman. It's a controlled and structured narrative (emphasis on the word: structured) that sustains itself with interesting, believable characters, organic fish-out-of-water humor and a clear black hat, white hat binary. It introduces Diana as a source of both physical and inner strength and never thinks to undermine that strength in the service of cultural appeasement. It includes both the best and most farfetched aspects of Wonder Woman's mythos, while grounding everything in reality and, and here's the greatest part, the movie makes it all look easy. This thing isn't molded with the jagged edges of plot contrivances and misplaced bluster but rather meets its overall serious tone with a simple story that's ironically about the complexities of human nature.

If we're being honest though, the whole enterprise would arguably be for not, if it wasn't in the capable hands Gal Gadot. She takes what could have been a female Superman clone and turns Diana into a fun, engaging character who's energy is bolstered by her determinism and purity of heart. She not only brings a level of command and natural chemistry to the party, she also brings a physicality to the role which was only hinted at in BvS: The Silent Killer, because it's hard to pit your Kung Fu kickboxing, capoeira, Brazilian jiu-jitsu and swordsmanship skills against a CGI ug-monster.

Which brings me to the movies third act which, by in-large sticks the landing but fits a little too comfortably in the "hero v large, fake-looking monster" box. Worse still, because the film cashes in on the audience's goodwill to relay what might come across as a sappy mission statement, many may feel Wonder Woman's character change is loose and unearned. I'd argue that by simply stressing an economy of thought (there's also a love story at play, let's not forget) in what is essentially a summer popcorn flick, the overall product should be met with appreciation if not applause.

Okay DC bro's you can stop complaining no one likes your movies

Maybe I'm just so used to the DCEU s**tting the bed on a regular basis, that finding halfway decent sheets with hospital corners feels like a godsend. In the months to come, the faults may loom larger and the positives may dissipate in a cloud of noxious bat gas. For now though, I'm going to safely announce that Wonder Woman is unarguably the best in the franchise and I'll also put a little skin in the game by saying this movie will stand the test of time.

Final Grade: B+

War Machine

Year: 2017
Genre: Comedy
Directed: David Michod
Stars: Brad Pitt, Anthony Hayes, John Magaro, Anthony Michael Hall, Emory Cohen, Topher Grace, Daniel Betts, Aymen Hamdouchi, RJ Cyler, Alan Ruck, Nicholas Jones, Ben Kingsley, Meg Tilly, Scoot McNairy
Production: Netflix

If ever there was a reason to love Netflix, War Machine, a modest, character driven satire about the War in Afghanistan would on paper be a good one. After all, theaters are just now starting to feel the diminishing returns of a studio system feeding itself solely on franchise entertainment. So its nice to have an outfit out there that is willing to make a "socially relevant" film, bolstered by a name actor, isn't selling itself as obvious Oscar-bait and isn't burning a fortune doing it. Now if only the movie was good.

This is counterinsurgency in a nutshell...

War Machine tells the modest rise and tragic fall of General Glen McMahon (Pitt); an ambitious an foolhardy Army functionary who is given the insurmountable task of ending the War in Afghanistan. To accomplish this, McMahon assumes, quite incorrectly, that the sheer willpower of the world's most powerful Army, and the flaccid abilities of his tight-knit entourage will be enough to bolster the impossible (a successful counterinsurgency). Unfortunately for the General, nothing is truly fair in love and war. He bristles uncomfortably under the confines of coalition bureaucracy and civilian middle management while slowly coming to believe he's entitled to so much more.

Join the Army: meet new people, and kill them.

War Machine wants to be two things at once and somehow manages to be neither. It wants to be a sharp-witted black comedy a la In the Loop (2009), while still being a somewhat nuanced character piece about an Army lifer whose hubris is mismatched by the times. Standing in the way in both cases is Brad Pitt's performance who stands apart from the film in its own little orbit. It's an entertaining performance that conjures memories of George C. Scott's Patton (1970) and Thierry Lhermitte's performance in The French Minister (2013). Yet there's nothing really tethering him to the rest of the film. When it plays for the laughs - Pitt goes introspective. When the film goes gonzo - Pitt turns into a caricature.

General Stanley McChrystal

Additionally the humor never feels like it's reaching the absurd heights it should; though part of that may just be the sign of the times. The film is based on "The Operators" by Michael Hastings, which itself is based on the firing of Army General Stanley McChrystal. With that in mind, its easy to see why the movie's tone is measured, assured and some may say boring, while broad comedic set-pieces are nowhere to be found.

Yet while the tone is boring and provides only toothless satire, the pacing is all over the place. One minute we're knee-deep in a weaksauce version of House of Cards (2013-Present), the next minute we're in a frantic Sgt. Bilko (1996) routine with the most torpid ensemble in recent memory. For what it's worth, Anthony Michael Hall, Topher Grace, RJ Cyler et al. seem to be going for nuance as McMahon's entourage of dog robbers yet the editing guarantees that you'll get nothing more out of the characters outside of Scoot McNairy's piddly narration. What draws more attention and arguably more ire are the actors who play real people; namely Ben Kingsley as an ineffectual President Karzai and Reggie Brown who plays President Obama like Wilson from Home Improvement (1991-1999). Their inclusion stops just short of making the entire ordeal look like a failed TV pilot.

War Machine ultimately feels like a "Beetle Bailey" comic strip without a punchline. The satire is impoverished, the pacing is all over the place and Brad Pitt's, conceited and glib performance leaves little room for anything else to take root. Deadpan - more like dead in the water.

Final Grade: F

Baywatch

Year: 2017
Genre: Comedy
Directed: Seth Gordon
Stars: Dwayne Johnson, Zac Efron, Alexandra Daddario, Priyanka Chopra, Kelly Rohrbach, Ilfenesh Hadera, Jon Bass, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Hannibal Buress, Rob Huebel, David Hasselhoff, Pamela Anderson
Production: Paramount Pictures

It's a warm, beautiful day on the beach. The pristine waves crash gently against the sand as the sun-kissed folk of Southern Florida come out to play. Lifeguard Post 1 stands like a sentinel - its windows permanently cocked forward towards the horizon. There's a change in the wind. A wind surfer looses control of his sail and is catapulted upward towards the sky before plummeting, head first into a coral reef. He's knocked unconscious...all seems lost. Then Mitch Buchannon (Johnson) appears on the scene.

You're welcome!

What results is a valiant rescue that inexplicably involves slow-motion running, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson flexing his pectorals underwater, fireworks and dolphins for some reason. The movie could have stopped right there as by that point we got the best version of what could have been the cinematic version of a farfetched TV show. Unfortunately the first fifteen minutes aren't so much a harbinger of the hilarity to come but rather a visual metaphor for the movie's inflated sense of self.

The film energetically sets up its main characters with all-too-brief introductions on tryout day. We immediately endear ourselves veterans Stephanie (Hadera), C.J. (Rohrbach) and Mitch as they judge incoming trainees the tough and brainy Summer (Daddario), the dorky Ronnie (Bass) and disgraced former Olympic swimmer Matt Brody (Efron) whose ego Mitch sees as a liability. Much of the film's prouder moments are spent with The Rock and Efron doing what they do best; The Rock deflating Brody's ego with real-deal charisma and action hero one-liners - Efron playing the dim-witted, put-upon jock who deserves everything he has coming to him because he was in High School Musical (2006).

When will you stop torturing this guy for this?

But just when you think everything will turn out for this movie, the narrative drastically shifts to a crime story that stops the movie's momentum cold. The narrative thrust involves the new owner of the beach's fancy yacht club (Chopra) and her suspicious connection to a new designer drug called Flaka. The rest of the movie doesn't so much spend time exploring that connection or its implications (Chopra compares herself favorably to a Bond villain pretty much from the get go) but instead it lays every aspect of the conspiracy out on the table and waits for the lifeguards to connect the dots.

I'm suddenly too dumb to realize this is a double entendre...

This ploy not only doesn't work but it basically splits Baywatch into two completely unsatisfying pieces. The first piece brings a diversity of comic set-pieces which on their own, probably couldn't make a good sketch on Key and Peele (2012-2015). They lack a depth of character requiring one or two of them to be more gullible, less resourceful or otherwise dumber than what was previously established.

The other half of the movie plants its flag firmly on The Rock's ability to recap what we already know while Priyanka Chopra chews unhelpfully on the scenery until the timer runs out. All throughout the film drops hints that you should care about this or that - an insert shot of a watch brings more pause than a fiery boat rescue. Yet because nothing new is ever revealed, the film's call for attention becomes soporifically annoying.

Oogle at her breasts like a true red blooded American!

The overall tone of the film is also aggressively reductive, treating the, in retrospect quaint misogyny of the original series with an uncomfortable amount of contrarian glee. Every time one of the girls of Baywatch justifiably call out the boys for being pervs, the payoff by the end of the film amounts to nothing more than quid pro quo ribbing or worse - they end up with the dude at the end. If Baywatch had just treated the subject as window-dressing, I might have been inclined to let it go (after all trash TV is trash TV). Unfortunately the movie stops just short of waving its d**k in the air while saying "you think we're being sexist, f**k you bruh!" Thus I think its worth a brief mention.

Baywatch has all the necessary ingredients to make a pretty satisfying comedic soup. Unfortunately apart from The Rock and Efron standing out as the film's sole saving graces, everything else is squandered on a useless story, oblivious editing and a unifying tone that's unnecessarily combative. Unless you're the type of person who truly believes Kelly Rohrbach's slo-mo runs along the beach are enough to maintain your attention, I suggest skipping out on this aggressively unfunny movie.

Final Grade: D-

Wait, so I have to meet her standards instead of waiting for hers to lower?!

Post script:
Stop with the dorky guy gets the hot girl for doing nothing cliche. It's been done a hundred times before, you're bringing nothing new to the table and it's come to the point where if you do it at all it just feels icky. The Sam Witwickys of the the world should have to, you know, work for it now.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales

Year: 2017
Genre: Action
Directed: Joachim Ronning, Espen Sandberg
Stars: Johnny Depp, Javier Bardem, Geoffrey Rush, Brenton Thwaites, Kaya Scodelario, Kevin McNally, Golshifteh Farahani, David Wenham, Stephen Graham, Angus Barnett, Martin Klebba, Orlando Bloom, Keira Knightley
Production: Walt Disney Pictures

Yet not once have they ever used the legend of Steve!

If you're like me, you were never much interested in the buccaneering, larger-than-life characters that populate the Pirates of the Caribbean (2003-Present) series. Subversive characterizations; forget about it, constantly shifting alliances; no need for it, organic integration of plot combined with clever setups and payoffs; pirate please! Everyone knows this series is and should always be a catalogue of increasingly farfetched pirate folklore almost entirely based on a small collection of supernatural trinkets Jack Sparrow (Depp) and Captain Barbossa (Rush) happen to have on them.

Submitted for your approval: Dead Men Tell No Tales answers the pressing questions of how Jack Sparrow got a hold of his magic compass. It's cursed (of course) - having the power to release the owner's worst fear the moment it is betrayed. Naturally, Jack betrays the compass at a bar, unleashing the ghostly Captain Salazar (Bardem) from his watery tomb. This then allows Salazar to seek revenge against the pirate who outsmarted him a generation ago. There's also some throwaway exposition involving two star-crossed lovers (Thwaites and Scodelario), and a mythical trident that gives the movie an excuse to dust off and use Orlando Bloom for all of five minutes.

Hey! Um, you're looking...good.

With a narrative foundation positively drenched in seafaring happenstance, Dead Men Tell No Tales is an uncompromising success of messy, soulless, conveyor-belt cinema. Its emotional stakes strain under the weight of Depp's, by now tired and embarrassing performance while the pacing ebbs and flows with the force of every exposition drop. The special-effects are a master's class in "quantity over substance" with a showstopping zombie shark sequence being a real standout in the patently unnecessary.

So what's the point of this then?

Speaking of the patently unnecessary - Captain Barbossa's inclusion blows any of the unnaturalness of the previous movies completely out of the water. His contrived, lazily detailed story serves as a perfect metaphor for series' parent company's indignant lack of creativity. But while some other franchises I could name, disguise familiar trappings with a false sense of reverence (cough cough Star Wars, cough cough) or at the very least retool them to seem new (cough cough Marvel), Pirates just lets its complex mythos dangle in front of Disney's nakedly plain ambitions to keep this moneymaker chugging.

Face it, you're going to watch this one...and the next...

It's almost like the movie is daring you to hate it. It brazenly has no economy of thought - letting its dry exposition scenes, its tired comedic scenes and its loud action scenes serve their simple purpose with nary an overlapping thread. It then perverts the original film's fondness for coincidence into an oppressive highlight reel of bad storytelling, bad editing and bad franchise maintenance. Then, as if to purposely piss everyone off, the movie manages to fit in a reoccurring joke about Scodelario's character being a witch because she happens to be smarter than everyone else in the f**king movie!

Gasps! So the legends are true!

This is now the fifth movie cataloging the adventures of Captain Jack Sparrow and his confederacy of loose fitting frienemies. Five movies...out of a franchise that arguably only made one good one! Can we please be done with these? Please? I don't think I can stomach another lucky brush with a well armed, supernatural villain on a search for vengeance and quite possibly Jack's tricorn hat. If anything this movie is proof that some things just need to die.

Final Grade: F