You allow pretentious French DJ who has an ax to grind to write and direct it.
I don't know what happened in Quentin Dupieux's childhood to make him hate the world, but between cutting and pasting samples in his computer to create insipid techno music and his film Rubber, his contempt for his audience, regardless of medium, is clear.
This film is marketed as a throwback to grindhouse films, and it would have succeed beautifully if it were edited down to about 5 minutes. To keep others from befalling it's completely false advertising, here's what the movie actually is:
Eighty two minutes of "I'm-so-clever, huh?" diarrhea that causes a nasty diaper rash that no amount of soap, hot water and zinc oxide can clear. Thank you, so very, very much, Quentin Dupieux. You're a dear.
The actual plot involves some poor saps that have been forced to watch "the movie" from a nearby area in the desert, with binoculars. Luckily for them, some twerp comes along and poisons them, putting most out of their misery. Unfortunately for the actual audience, one person refuses to eat, and as a result does not die and therefore "the show" must go on.
The plot jumps back and forth between the movie (Robert, the tire, on a killing spree) and the "I'm-so-clever, huh?" trots, with most of the screen time, naturally, going to the trots. We're supposed to be OK with all this thanks to a Rent-a-Center Quentin Tarantino monologue at the beginning about things happening in films "for no reason," but even the village idiot can see through this pseudo-philosophical garbage.
For the love of all things good, please, please, please, stop Dupieux before he is allowed to gain that mysterious status that M. Night Shyamalan and Kevin Cosner have attained allowing them to continue to make films despite how blatantly incompetent they are.
I don't know what happened in Quentin Dupieux's childhood to make him hate the world, but between cutting and pasting samples in his computer to create insipid techno music and his film Rubber, his contempt for his audience, regardless of medium, is clear.
This film is marketed as a throwback to grindhouse films, and it would have succeed beautifully if it were edited down to about 5 minutes. To keep others from befalling it's completely false advertising, here's what the movie actually is:
Eighty two minutes of "I'm-so-clever, huh?" diarrhea that causes a nasty diaper rash that no amount of soap, hot water and zinc oxide can clear. Thank you, so very, very much, Quentin Dupieux. You're a dear.
The actual plot involves some poor saps that have been forced to watch "the movie" from a nearby area in the desert, with binoculars. Luckily for them, some twerp comes along and poisons them, putting most out of their misery. Unfortunately for the actual audience, one person refuses to eat, and as a result does not die and therefore "the show" must go on.
The plot jumps back and forth between the movie (Robert, the tire, on a killing spree) and the "I'm-so-clever, huh?" trots, with most of the screen time, naturally, going to the trots. We're supposed to be OK with all this thanks to a Rent-a-Center Quentin Tarantino monologue at the beginning about things happening in films "for no reason," but even the village idiot can see through this pseudo-philosophical garbage.
For the love of all things good, please, please, please, stop Dupieux before he is allowed to gain that mysterious status that M. Night Shyamalan and Kevin Cosner have attained allowing them to continue to make films despite how blatantly incompetent they are.