By movie critic Scooter Van Neuter
My girlfriend Sissy and I decided to go see Rogue One: A Star Wars Story last weekend. Star Wars should never be experienced in anything less than IMAX 3D, so I called the one close to us to inform them that a nationally recognized movie critic (me) was coming and to arrange VIP tickets, complimentary refreshments, and hopefully a phat swag bag (inside term for celebrity gift bag full of spa treatments, mobile electronics, sunglasses, and luxury vacations). I was a little put off by the lack of professionalism displayed by the theater employee but held my tongue because they hire a lot of retards developmentally-challenged teenagers, and I had just watched two hours of John Hagee on TV.
When we arrived at the Deer Valley IMAX, I was dismayed to find that our VIP passes were unavailable because the manager was out sick. I gave Lucinda, the snotty assistant manager, a thorough dressing down until she finally agreed to give Sissy and I the senior rate (we are not seniors) and a voucher for a free small buttered popcorn and a box of Dots. Score! Sadly, the absence of swag prompted me to send an angry letter the next morning to the president of AMC alleging Lucinda made sexually inappropriate comments to me while attempting to grope my crotch. This is called "fighting fire with fire" and will hopefully get me some free passes and the satisfaction of knowing Lucinda and her seven children will likely soon be heading to an inner-city homeless shelter.
As usual, the AMC concession stand was a greasy, popcorn and rubbish-strewn wasteland manned by low-functioning future felons and societal parasites. Outside of the malevolent stare and lack of verbal interaction I received when placing my order, everything went smoothly up to the point where I handed our server the voucher. You could smell an electrical fire somewhere as the pudgy, black-lipped mutant of indeterminable gender stood transfixed, staring at something being offered as payment that clearly wasn't money. After a call to the ill-fated assistant manager and approximately 10 minutes watching the two of them attempt to find a button on the cash register marked "voucher," we were finally on our way. A quick bite of popcorn confirmed that AMC still uses yak sweat for their butter flavoring.
A quick pit stop at the bathroom provided just the break-in my brand new $190 Nike Air Max's needed as I stood in the ever-present lake of urine in front of the urinals. Of course, there was no soap in the dispensers and the only paper towels to be found were in a soggy heap next to the overflowing trash can. I opted for the hand dryer that was the rough equivalent of an asthmatic dwarf breathing on my hands. As I stood there I made a mental note to next time just urinate in my chair versus ever entering this room again. I noticed that Sissy had what appeared to be a used tampon stuck to her foot when she exited the ladies room but I elected not to say anything, as she looked like she had been through enough already.
The theater was mostly empty so we scored the most desirable snot and chocolate-covered seats right in the middle. For 10 minutes we sat in the low light, serenely snacking on our popcorn and Dots while listening to the soft, melodic sounds of Olivia Newton-John when all of a sudden we were assaulted with an aural tsunami that made me fling my popcorn all over the wheelchair section in front of us. I've always wondered what it would be like to be trapped in the trunk of Juan's clapped-out Hond Accord as it generated an 8.5 on the hip-hop Richter scale next to me at the stoplight, and now I know. After collecting ourselves, we put on our 3D glasses and settled in for Rogue One: A Star Wars Story.
I didn't recognize any of the actors (at least until the end - more on that later). I did like the girl (grown version) although was disappointed she was not wearing some sort of futuristic skimpy halter top made of nearly invisible sheer material - a lack of realism that really ruined the feel of the movie for me. The set design was very cool with lots of space-looking stuff like robots and the cinimitography cinamotogriphy look of the film was also very good, with lots of bright colors which I like. As for the musical score, I don't recall if there was one.
The plot of the movie involved a rag-tag group of rebels fighting against a powerful, smartly-dressed army. The rebels were trying to find plans for a Death Star that this bad guy-turned-good guy-turned-bad-guy-again-against-his-will designed. There's lots of shooting, blowing crap up, and the obligatory kung-fu required these days for the Asian markets. I would rate the story a B and the action an A+.
Overall, outside of Sissy's incessant farting, I enjoyed this movie and would have given it my coveted four rubber dog toy rating had the female lead been more realistically dressed. Also, I found the appearance of a certain actress who recently died (I don't want to give away anything here) in the final scene super creepy. I personally believe that dead people should not be forced to appear in movies - for God's sake, leave them underground and hire some new actors! Because of these shortcomings, I give Rogue One: A Star Wars Story two rubber dog toys - go see it if you don't have anything better to do.