Straw Dogs (1971)



I saw the 2011 remake of Straw Dogs in the theater. I was in the middle of a random city in the middle of nothing and nowhere Pennsylvania for a two night work-sponsored educational trip. It was a slow night and everyone else wanted to sleep, so I headed out into the shit and found my way to a movie theater. I had never heard of Straw Dogs at that point – which was unusual since I’m often informed about every single thing that will be arriving in theaters. But I paid it no mind because it was the only movie starting soon and it was the one I would be watching. The 2011 remake of Straw Dogs  will forever live on in my mind  –


I was shocked and appalled and disgusted by the infinitely boring schlock that was being projected on screen. It was worse than the worst movie I had ever seen. Terrible, terrible, terrible and sooo soo boring! It went way past the point of being so bad it becomes good.  It just continued trucking onward and downward until all hope was lost. All the happiness of the world was gone. Everything was dead and rotten and diseased and kittens were being tortured and disabled children were being made fun of (but not in a way that was funny, more like an asshole-ish, cruel way) and you just caught your wife sleeping with your father and you learned  your kid is not really your kid but is actually your *gulp* brother. Bad. Eating shit bad, but it was worse, it was so much worse. It was terrible and annoying and I hated every moment I remained sitting there watching the lifeless characters on screen whine and talk about nothing. There was no suspense. There was nothing interesting about the characters. The dialogue was terrible. The acting was horrid.

I sat in my seat and I imagined myself leaving the theater, buying a gasoline container, filling said container with gasoline, returning to the theater, dousing the seats and the screen and the unfortunate fools sitting in the audience with the foulness, lighting a match, and letting myself and the film and everyone inside melt inside our Cage of Stupidity. I hated it. I hated it. I hated everything about it. I began having a panic attack inside the theater when I had the momentary thought that some fool out there may actually enjoy the film. I Hated It. HATE, HATE HATE HATE HATE.

Oh, but Peckinpah’s 1971 original? Not bad!

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