Tommy yells out to Richard to let him know that he figured it out about Chuck and how he sent the one-armed man to kill Richard to cover up the Provasic side effects so he could keep damaging people’s livers for money, but then the one-armed man accidentally killed Helen instead, which turned into a whole thing.
Chuck tries to shoot Tommy, but Richard saves him by clonking Chuck with a metal pipe. Finally, it’s over. Richard is happy because he didn’t kill his wife. Tommy unlocks Richard’s handcuffs in the police car and gives him an ice pack. Best friendship with Chuck over. Now Tommy is best friend.
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“I don’t. Hahahahaha.”
The Fugitive is the best movie because it has the best lines and is never scary, only interesting and exciting. All other movies should quit. Case closed. GAVEL.
RATING: 13/10 DVDs of The Fugitive.
Footnotes
1 If this joke is classist, my husband wrote it.
Shit, Actually
We open in a fucking airport. A fucking airport!!! Of course Love Actually, the apex of cynically vacant cash-grab sentimentality, would hang its BIG METAPHOR on no less than an empathy-stripped cathedral of turgid, racist bureaucracy. Of course. Hugh Grant’s voice pipes in to tell us how inspiring and magical the airport is, as though we’ve never been to one, because when you’re at the airport you can’t help but notice that “love actually IS all around.” THE FUCKING AIRPORT!!!!!
If that’s not the epitome of unexamined privilege—declaring that the airport is your favorite place—then I don’t know what is. Welcome to Love Actually.
Bill Nighy and his technicolor dream-blouse are in the studio recording a shitty, vapid Christmas song in hopes of squeezing a few dollars out of idiots who will pay for any tatty garbage as long as it has a celebrity’s name attached (way better metaphor for your movie than “the airport,” BTW!). Bill Nighy keeps ruining perfectly good takes so he can yell about how shitty his shitty Christmas song is because Bill Nighy doesn’t care about the valuable time of the hardworking professionals who are just trying to finish his bad record so they can get home to their families. Not Bill Nighy’s problem! He’s done heroin before!
Question: Why is Bill Nighy weirdly hovering over the stool like that? Can somebody please adjust Bill Nighy’s microphone so he doesn’t have to cop a weird squat? I should be able to watch a movie without my brain being forced to contemplate the current dilation of Bill Nighy’s butthole. Thx.
Text appears on the screen to alert us that it’s five weeks before Christmas. Why are you recording a Christmas single FIVE WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS!?!? This movie is so fucking incompetently made that even the people doing their fake jobs inside the movie are incompetent.
Meanwhile, Colin Firth’s girlfriend is sick. NBD, right!? WRONG. Turns out, she isn’t sick with the flu—she’s sick with ColinFirth’sBrother’sDongitis! Colin Firth cannot deal, so he runs off to France all sulky to fucking type a novel on a fucking typewriter in a mansion. Siiiigh! “Alone ah-GAYN!”
This old Frenchwoman shows up at Château de Firth and is like, “Bonjour, I found you a lady. I’m literally giving you this lady.” Score! Free lady! The lady is named Aurelia, and she only speaks Portuguese, and so does her entire family, apparently, even though all of them live in France. It’s irritating.
Colin Firth falls in “love” with Aurelia at first sight, establishing Love Actually’s central moral lesson: the less a woman talks, the more lovable she is.
None of the women in this movie fucking talk! All of the men in this movie “win” a woman at the end! This goddamn movie.
Liam Neeson is bummed out because his wife just died. The grief-stricken Liam Neeson calls up Emma Thompson, who I guess is just some woman he knows (relationship NEVER EXPLAINED, and don’t argue with me that they are brother and sister—I DID MY RESEARCH AND THEY NEVER SAY [and yes, of course, men and women can be platonic friends, but could they in 2003?]), to talk about how sad he is. Emma Thompson is Love Actually’s top female-personality-haver, which means that she’s totally nice and bland 95 percent of the time and then every once in a while she’ll say something horribly caustic and inappropriate and out of character. You know, like normal regular human woman who is not robot!
Emma Thompson tells Liam Neeson that she’s obviously “terribly concerned that your wife just died but anywayz bye, LYLAS.” Later, she tells him, “Get a grip. People hate sissies. And no one’s going to shag you if you cry all the time.” Oh, she’s just terrifically naughty, isn’t she? (Don’t worry, though! She’ll be punished later for her infernal personality!)
In an office building somewhere, some fucking guy is running around throwing sandwiches at people and asking female office workers if they want his “lovely nuts.” It’s possible that he says something important, but I couldn’t tell you because the music is louder than the dialogue because #competence.
Oh, looks like his name is Colin, and he’s terribly, terribly oppressed because no ladies want to sit upon his ginger ween (idea: could it possibly be because you wear a shirt that says SATISFACTION GUARANTEED and call complete strangers “my future wife” in a professional setting and then cry about not receiving immediate intercourse?). Colin decides to go to America in order to locate skanks. This is his entire plotline.
Hugh Grant plays the role of “horny prime minister,” which raises the question: What percentage of Americans believe that Hugh Grant literally is the prime minister and/or boy king of the UK? I’ll bet you the number is not zero, and that is why we should all probably eat poison.
It’s Hugh Grant’s first day on the job, and he’s saying hello to his new staff. One staffer is named Natalie, and as far as I can tell, her job is “woman.” She’s also incredibly, disgustingly fat, like a beanbag chair with feet, according to literally everyone else in the movie who apparently all have Natalie Dysmorphic Disorder (a silent killer). Natalie accidentally says some swears in front of the prime minister, and then she makes lemon-face for forty-five minutes. Actually, she’s probably just thinking about delicious lemons because NATALIE HUNGRY!!!!!!!
Hugh Grant falls instantly in love with Natalie, which is understandable, because she hasn’t yet exceeded her Love Actually attractiveness word quota. (The quota is twenty-seven words before you become Emma Thompson and must be composted.)
Keira Knightley is marrying Chiwetel Ejiofor while wearing some sort of terrible hairy cardigan. In the middle of their wedding, the best man reveals his “big surprise” (and no, it’s not his penis…kind of): he arranged for a large choir/marching band flash mob to interrupt the ceremony that Knightley and Ejiofor carefully, painstakingly planned to celebrate their love in order to undermine their relationship and attempt to steal the bride for his own ON HER WEDDING DAY.
HEY. DUDE. YOU’RE A DICK. THIS ISN’T ROMANCE, IT’S CRIME.
Also, why did nobody notice those seventeen strangers with saxophones taking up half the audience? Fuck these people. And fuck Laura Linney for wearing her woolly hat during a fucking wedding ceremony in a fucking church.