Party Dog still wants to know where the bitches at

Party Dog still wants to know where the bitches at

I haven’t seen Hot Tub Time Machine yet (or as I like to call it, “Hot Tub Time Machine: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire”).  But especially after reading AO Scott’s review in the New York Times, I almost wish I didn’t have to put it off for another day to see Birdemic.

The undercurrent of misogyny and homophobic panic that courses through most arrested-development, guy-centric comedies these days is certainly present here. But unlike, say, “The Hangover,” which sweetens and sentimentalizes its man-child characters — allowing them to run wild and then run home to Mommy — “Hot Tub Time Machine” is honest in its coarseness and pretty tough on the fellows who are the agents and objects of its satire.

The cultural detritus piled up everywhere, to be recycled, cherished, mocked and travestied, provides small — but nonetheless real — compensation for the spiritual deficits of modern life.  Is it crazy to write that sentence in a review of “Hot Tub Time Machine”? Not really: the movie itself proves the point. [NY Time]

The use of five-dollar words, the scribe’s given name needlessly done up in pretentious initials — not to mention the  elaborate sentence construction — is it crazy to enjoy such things when one’s profession involves posting trailers to Jerry Bruckheimer movies accompanied by *fart*?  Perhaps.  But when it’s for a review of Hot Tub Time Machine, it’s pretty awesome.