Get your own Free Home Page
If you get any enjoyment at all out of these reviews, please consider returning the favor by contacting the publisher and editor of this good paper (it wouldn't hurt to send carbons to Strom Thurmond, and maybe Jeff Gordon and the Dixie Chicks too) to suggest I'm not getting paid enough to sit through hopelessly amateurish junk like this braindead attempt at hip-hop comedy. Written and directed by D. J. Pooh, who co-wrote Friday with Ice Cube, it makes thin pretense toward social relevance in a story about a young con who was not only wrongly imprisoned for his second prison stay but faces possible life after stepping into a wrong place/time situation the minute he's paroled. What it's really about is a nauseating litany of the same old profanity, fart jokes, cannabis, malt liquor, pit bulls, cell phones, booty-waving, ho-chasing, and even a couple tired O.J. and Rodney King references. The only good thing was its brevity, clocking in at 80 minutes or so, at which point it didn't so much end as stop breathing and lie down and die. I think this is the worst normally-budgeted movie I've ever seen. Which brings us back to the issue of relevance: forget all the jingoistic campaign hand-wringing about gun control. Show me a candidate who advocates some sort of competency testing for rappers who want a movie camera, and s/he's got my vote.
Mark Twain once suggested means for getting even with an inanimate object, which, suitably adapted, would go thusly: 1) go see Three Strikes; 2) demand your money back; 3) take the refund money and buy some goldfish; 4) kill the fish. F
Get your own Free Home Page