pretending having fucked up taste is the pinnacle of pretension
I get it, I really do. I can respect the cult status, the loud cars, the over-the-top flirtatious dialogue, the leather, the tight jeans, and the goofy amounts of cleavage.
I'm down for any excuse to see a film filled with dusty deserts and denim but I'll be damned if it just wasn't for me. There just ain't much too it, the plot is comparatively subdued and kept interesting only by virtue of the American pulp.
I'm a little iffy on this. I loved a lot of the first 2/3, the chemistry between Jones and Murray was great, Marlon Wayans though perhaps not the best casting was a choice that intrigued me nonetheless.
The final half hour though I didn't much appreciate. I was rather expecting it to just tear my heart out and rip it to shreds. In retrospect it's kind of what I wanted, to just be emotionally destroyed and that didn't happen. If…