Casey Houk

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Much like disco, polyester jumpsuits, faux-wood paneling, and federally mandated 5 mph bumpers, this novel is proof that just because it was popular in the 1970s, doesn't mean it is good. At its core, this is basically a pseudo-intellectual, self-aggrandizing love letter to and from Mr. Pirsig masquerading as one of the single most important literary achievements of the 20th century. I TRIED to like this book, hell, I tried to FINISH this book... But after page after page of waxing poetic about a dripping faucet symbolizing the dichotomy between modern society and the nature of man, or a torque wrench being the metaphysical gateway to Buddhist enlightenment, I felt like I was being forced to "get" something that wasn't there to be gotten. Kinda like interpretive dance. This guy could make Squidward Tentacles seem modest and Shakespeare feel short-winded. I mean Christ, he sent himself into a full blown mental breakdown that climaxed in the form of electroshock therapy and a split personality disorder, all because he couldn't define "quality". Although, he is without question a tortured genius... in the sense that listening to him tell you what a genius he is feels like torture. This novel is on the required reading list of all the AP classes lead by failed authors who turned into overqualified, bitter highschool English teachers that are probably wearing their alma mater sweatshirt overtop of a button up shirt with the collar poking out. If you're masochistic or love the smell of your own farts, this is probably a great book for you. Otherwise, don't fall for the hype.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

39 likes

Let me start by saying that the cast does a fine job; Each character is convincing at conveying realistic emotions during every scene... the tension, uncertainty, frustrations of not being seen as we are, understood, and even being able to completely understand ourselves. The film is an inescapable labyrinth into the human psyche, and no, that is not a compliment. After the (admittedly extremely thin) charm of trying to figure out what the hell is going on fades, you're still faced with suffering through another hour and a quarter of verbiage serving only to drive home how much smarter the people responsible for this movie are than us. We get it, you went to college. And just when you think the movie couldn't be anymore arduous or slow... SURPRISE! Time for the dance scene and musical. By the last twenty minutes, I was fast forwarding and honestly just wanting it to be done. When it finally stopped, I had a sense of accomplishment, in the same way you would after having tooth pulled or appendix removed... yeah, it was painful as all hell, but at least it's over now. In short, this movie was more nerve-wracking than a bad blind date, more tedious than doing taxes, and less enjoyable than diarrhea. An extremely long winded film for the handful of people that enjoy it to validate their mental superiority over us common folk. I'd rather spend two hours in traffic.

I'm Thinking of Ending Things

160 likes

Really, truly, painfully scripted and bad. This can only be described as what might happen if an unimaginative five year old's perspective on life in the desert somehow took the form of a high definition fever dream. The toilet paper thin plot and hokey narrative might be enjoyable for children, but if you're an adult and find this enjoyable, I can't imagine how excruciatingly boring and sad your life must be.

Tiny Creatures

3 likes