Empire Records
Fucking hell.
Typically, I'm proud of the man I am. I am confident that my tastes in entertainment are superior to that of others, I own enough band tees to clothe the whole of Africa, and, as long as I stay in the right parts of town (>2 Starbucks per square kilometer), I'm OK with being scrawny. However, certain movies occasionally make me want to repent of my lifestyle. 6 months ago, I watched 500 Days of Summer and felt like the biggest jackass to ever walk the earth by initially falling for the hype, as well as knowing I'm continually associated with such narcissistic, useless people. I thought I had learned better. Sadly, movies centered on people who enjoy music are my Achilles' heel.
Prior to this evening, I didn't think there was a way to screw up a film about kids trying to save a record score with the power of music and naivety. Tonight, however, I found several:
1. Wooden acting. Sure, my friends couldn't have done much better, and I suppose that should make the film even more relatable, but my film would have a better soundtrack. Which brings me to...
2. Crappy soundtracks. Again, I wasn't certain it was possible, but Empire Records blew my mind once more: here lies an indietastic film that offers no entertainment in the audio department. If you're so far up your own pretentious ass that you need to put a cover of a Big Star song in your film, you shouldn't be attempting to operate a camera.
3. Plot holes large enough to make Lance's mom blush. By the end of the film, I had no idea why the fuck anything was happening. Well, beyond offering an excuse to shove in another bland '80s "gem" we were all better off forgetting, and pairing it with a nonsensical montage that serves to forward the film without forcing the screenwriter to actually get out of bed.
4. Reminders of why you hate the decade the film is set in. Present in Empire Records are "have a nice daze" posters, kids slacking all over the fucking place, orange hair, and -- even though this plight isn't specific to the '90s, I'm pointing it out regardless -- quoting Jim Morrison as if one is reading from the holiest of holy script. Everyone in this film needs their ass kicked.
In sum: so bad, it makes me want to change my avatar, as well as change my Interference birthdate from 1991 to 1989, just to get me out of the fucking '90s. 3/10.