Sh*tty Film Reviews for Movies I’ve Never Actually Seen
I have the attention span equivalent to that of a small rock when it comes to watching anything, so movies aren’t really my thing. I decided to create a list describing popular movies I’ve never actually seen, based entirely on my own imagination.
This movie was the comedic experience of the century. In a series of intense flashbacks, main character Augustus Waters begins to reminisce about his past in order to figure out why all of his kids hate him, only to find out he’s been in a psychedelic coma for the last five years. In an effort to piece his fragmented life together, he embarks on the journey of a lifetime filled with booze, bonding and other b-words I won’t get into on a public forum. The film had me crying tears of laughter from start to finish, following the story of a broken man who deserved every bit of karma he had coming, yet somehow you still want to root for him every step of the way.
-Hannah O’Toole, Burger King enthusiast
If there is one movie that you need to see this holiday season as a family—it’s this one. E.L. James’s coming of age novel was brought to life in this heart wrenching cinematic experience. The film centers around the troubled life of Christian Grey, a young man on a harrowing journey to discover who he is as he navigates the world of the elite. Filled with triumph and failure, this film is for anyone who feels the need to be reconnected with their childhood roots and remember what it feels like to be young again. It is a guarantee that everyone who sees this movie will leave the theater questioning at least one aspect of their life as they know it.
-Hannah O’Toole, Professional Maker of Nachos
Months later, this movie still gives me nightmares. Entering what appears to be the mundane world of a nursing home, this psycho thriller becomes anything but. The movie takes place inside Bethany Manor, a home for the elderly where the dementia ward happens to be filled with all blind patients. Unbeknownst to the nurses, the patients are planning to overthrow the home in a ploy for power. If you’ve never seen a senile old woman running around hospital floors in a nightgown, now is your chance. Trust me on this one, you will be having nightmares for weeks.
-Hannah O’Toole, Type 1 diabetic (full-time)
The Best Day Ever
Has anyone ever asked you to describe your best day ever? Why is it that in the 23 years of my human experience I’ve been asked this so many times? Why is it that as soon as someone asks me this I can’t think of ANYTHING? Am I a pessimist? A glass half empty person?
That’s what I coded myself as until my most recent shower thought. As I stood there banging my body wash that had been empty for the last 3 months on my palm in denial, I realized that maybe I can’t think of my best day ever, because I don’t see just one day. I see a collection of moments where happiness felt the most tangible.
On my 11th birthday, my aunt pointed out every sign, tree or fixture with two parallel lines. She told me that once you turn 11 the world shows you all the 11’s you couldn’t see before. Something about it felt like magic. The whole world knew that I was 11 and they were celebrating with me.
For 9 years, I went to a summer camp for people whose pancreases shit the bed (Type 1 diabetes if you’re looking for the medical term). During my last summer there, we were sitting under the stars when I heard someone say “Thank god my pancreas doesn’t work” I sat back, surrounded by my best friends and the smell of campfire, not a working pancreas in sight–-I felt pretty lucky too.
As I gave up on the body wash, and the water turned from lukewarm to freezing, I realized that maybe my best day ever is merely a mosaic of memories.
It’s belting out the lyrics to my favorite song surrounded by people that make me laugh until my stomach hurts. It’s sitting around a countertop, reliving memories with girls I knew before dry shampoo and mascara. It’s seeing someone’s eyes light up when they talk about their favorite book. It’s sitting in amicable silence with a friend who knows you so well, words aren’t necessary to feel their comfort.
The best day ever is realizing that I can’t choose just one day, because I have far too many to choose from, and so many more to come.
*Editor's note: Dear Roommates,
Please forgive me for using up all of the hot water as I ponder yet another existential crisis that hasn’t crossed anybody else’s mind. -Hannah
Unlucky Charm
A short story.
We all have that one story. You know the one that your mom brings up at Thanksgiving dinner and the whole time she's telling it you kind of just want to slam your head into your grandma’s dry stuffing and ruin the whole dinner before your barely breathing great aunt mutters some stupid grace that’s subtly racist. But, what happens when your life is just a series of construed fuck-ups rolled into one disgusting bologna sandwich? Hi I’m Hannah. Let’s get into it.
How does one become the source of laughter for many? I can give you the answer to that question in one word: Trauma. Maybe it was shitting my pants in my Catholic center parking lot that gave me my comedic grit. Or possibly my mom dropping me down a flight of stairs at the ripe age of two after my dad left Cisco grease up the railing…who really knows. One can never be too sure.
Anyone that knows me, knows that I am quite possibly the most unlucky person to walk this earth. I would be the person that ironically slips on a banana peel and becomes paralyzed. While I should probably start putting my plethora of tales into a shitty trilogy titled “You Can’t Make This Shit Up,” I figured I’d grace you with a classic tale of young love and rejection.
This tragedy begins where most love stories of Gen Z begin. In the swiping fortress of Tinder. It was sophomore year and I desperately needed a rebound for the guy I had shown no interest in who now was in a happy relationship. Call me immature, I get it.
Almost immediately, a new target had been acquired. Grudgingly, I agreed to meet this new guy at the dining hall, after all who could pass up mac and cheese and chicken tender Thursday? Not me that’s for sure. I showed up late and he smelled like the bombs they set off in Abercrombie to make the whole place smell like some sort of man soap. I was into it, sue me. Surprisingly, the lunch went great, minus him being a Bills fan and his slight Hitler mustache that I hoped was something he got put up to for No Shave November.
One thing leads to another, and I hated to admit it, but I was head over heels for buzz cut McGee. I was on the road to what I think some would consider the dreaded R word—relationship. As we know with most tragedies, boy was I wrong. While I could get into the nitty gritty of every minor detail of this saga that might make you like this guy, this story is about the aftermath of post-rejection glow-up, but I don’t think this could be considered even close to that.
So, how did we get here? Well, put simply, I asked the one question that makes every college, booze infused neanderthal man run for the hills. Three words. 10 letters. Say them and you're done for, “What is this ?” And just like that, I was back to singlehood.
Rejection. It’s like raisin bran. Nobody likes it and it makes you feel like shit. I’d rather sit my ass on a thumbtack than be told that somebody doesn’t like me. But, what’s the one response to a college girl getting dumped? Booze, lot’s of it. Moral of the story, on this freezing Thursday night-I was hammered. I wish I could tell you that this was the start of some amazing journey towards self discovery…but no, it was far from it.
So what happened in the aftermath of this rejection? Well for starters I broke my ass that night. Take a drunk girl, give her some icy stairs and BOOM you got yourself a fractured tailbone. The thing about breaking your ass is there really isn’t a cure. My remedy was an ass cushion and some Tylenol. Did I mention that it also happened to be finals week? Lucky me. Let me tell you, it’s a truly humbling experience carrying around an ass cushion and having to explain to your teachers that you need a seat up front so that they can hoist you out of your chair when you're done with your final. It’s nightmare fuel honestly.
On the flip side, I was losing weight. Post-rejection weight loss? Into it. That did not last for long. I got home from school and immediately was diagnosed with Celiac disease. My post breakup carb load was now out of the question…fucking damn it.
I wish I could say that this saga ended with this spout of bad luck, but unfortunately not. 4 months later, I moved into my apartment and who is my only neighbor? The same twat that rejected me and started this whole mess. Lucky me.