movie review with lulu fayou.

da 5 bloods was a regrettable choice for r's birthday. let me say it is stupid, ok? i know he is like the premier black filmmaker and i suppose his intentions are well whatever, the first most glaring indication that it's a movie of the genre i call stupid is when da bloods are at a club and with a big giant apocalypse now sign in neon and the camera recedes with da bloods boogying in line and a big slightly less than apocalypse size neon budweiser sign appears. for a second i thought oh budweiser apocalypse now, that's kind of smart, eh? or...not, as the product placements continue, it must be a contractual number of times, and then i end up thinking it's all some kind of half-written half-unwritten contract between the corporations and the viewing audience. i get the message but i don't drink the swill, bud, ok, so i guess i'm just not the right audience and it's not trying to reach me who reaches not for the bud. i know, there's more to da 5 bloods than that, but that's where my art starved mind gets thirsty. i can't drink the rest. i got no taste buds for da bud. now i must say my caveat: we left da bloods in the weirdly denuded section of the jungle when the son of one of da bloods stumbles on a gold bar all shiny in the dirt when he's taking a shit, then they find all the gold looted back in the american war when the radical one among da bloods gets killed, and moments later find his dog tags and his perfectly composed skeleton. it's a fable, right, it don't require da verisimilitude. i feel like i'm not being fair. it's fair to say that i may be missing something critical, and i may be a curmudgeon, but it's fair to say also that be that as it may, i am unequivocal in my opinion that this movie sucks. i did want it to be good. we picked it for a birthday treat that also had some cultural resonance. i can be up for mass entertainment but i can't leave my brain at the door and drink the cheap swill and eat the teeth drilling sweet cake. spike is america's top black filmmaker but his films are bad, clunky and awkward as heck, the actors are good, but he's a bumbling cliche of a story-teller. i'd like to like him, but i can't. now the last black man in san francisco—there's a movie.

post dat. it feels awkward to not like the spike especially now. like i'm sorry not to like spike but i wanted to, ever since do the right thing, but i think this may be my last spike review.