slashymoviereviews.com

Hello dear readers,

you may have noticed that there have not been any updates to this site in quite a while - some unplanned Real Life Troubles (TM) have prevented me from dedicating as much time to slashymoviereviews.com as I’d originally planned.

So this is me announcing the infamous indefinite hiatus.

If any of you lot don’t have to deal with Real Life (TM) keeping you busy and would like to write a guest review, here are some general rules and guidelines:

1) The review should be structured like the ones I’ve published on this site so far…

2) …with a word count of 800 to 1,200 words.

3) I won’t be paying for the review. Conclusively, all rights remain your own and you may publish the review wherever you want - but of course I’d be happy if you included a link to this site.

Yours,

SBunny

I have to admit I knew next to nothing about Star Trek except that slash originated through two of its characters, in a pairing that, of all things, can be shortened to KOCK. And that there is the legend of William Shatner heroically sucking in his gut for several seasons and various movies. And I’m not really much of a Sci-Fi fan, but I figured, “It’s a movie about the origins of the origins of slash. And the actors of KOCK knew each other from working out in the same gym.” Let us let this last one sink for a while…yeah, you can’t really go wrong with that.

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Dear Hugh Jackman, there are several things about you that I adore. Your physique at forty, for instance - I fell out of love with Wentworth Miller when he started to go all out of shape at the grand old age of thirty-five because he couldn’t lay off the frappuccinos (which was roughly at the same time that he began walking around with a kabbalah bracelet and until this day, I can’t decide if that’s worse than the paunch). Then the fact that you’re a family man who for all we can see adores his kids and his wife and so far has not decided to “change his life” by merely exchanging his current woman for a younger one. Basically, you’re awesome. And I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.

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You’d think that as a die-hard slash fan, I would have known better. I mean, take “Top Gun” for instance: despite the aircraft, the love-story with the hot female instructor (and the most cringeworthy sex-scene in history until “Watchmen” came along), and lots of supposedly uber-straight guys, I’d never believe for a second that this movie was about anything other than latent homosexuality in the Naval aviator scene. Yet for some reason, I had been giving “The Fast And The Furious” a miss for years - even though it contains pimped cars, scantily-clad women, and lots of supposedly uber-straight guys and conclusively is clearly about latent homosexuality in L.A.’s illegal street racing scene. What was I thinking?

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Sometimes the universe seems to find satisfaction in being cruel to the fangirl. Like this one time when I dreamt I was in bed with Bradley James, and we were necking and about to have sex, but then I woke up because the freaking doorbell rang (yes, the person who rang it is still among us). But as if to atone, this week the universe provided my slashy self with great joy: Not only did I finally (at the insistence of a fellow fangirl) discover the slashiness that is “The Fast And The Furious”, I also found that there’s currently a sequel in the theaters that reunites the original cast and ends on a complete OT3 note. Happiness!

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Until “Casino Royale”, I never managed to endure more than ten minutes of a James Bond movie. I assume I do not see the appeal in sitting through a straight guy’s jerk-off fantasy. And although I’ve been assured that “Casino Royale” and its successor “Quantum of Solace” actually aren’t James Bond movies, but simply the best of the “Bourne” flicks, I’d say they still qualify as masturbation material. Only this time, it’s aimed at a much wider audience, because apart from explosions, shiny gadgets and locations, as well as corny dialogue, there’s Daniel Craig.

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I’m another fangirl who’s bitten the dust: I’m high as a kite on the BBC’s “Merlin”. My love for Arthur Pendragon who I wish would shag me blind its characters and the slash dragon must have impaired my higher brain functions; it’s the only explanation I have for reasoning, “yay, a dragon, a teenage boy with a destiny, and Jeremy Irons as his hot mentor; I’m sure it’ll be delightful” while completely ignoring that the movie is based on a teenage boy’s geeky jerk-off fantasy. And I’m not blaming “Eragon’s” author in the slightest; you just would have thought that by 2006, Jessica Alba had taught Hollywood that jerk-off fantasies on the silver screen are a really bad idea.

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This is a chick flick. Don’t be fooled by its violent, pretentious, wannabe-dystopic plot. It features the ultimate female fantasy: Hottie Christian Bale stars as a guy who can kick ass and then learns how to feel. It’s like “Batman Begins”, but backwards, and without Katie Holmes (and Liam Neeson delivering ridiculous Qui-Gon-on-vengeance monologues).

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There is a notion that’s commonly let loose upon the world by adults who refer to themselves as artists, have no grasp of their own mediocrity, and presumably want to hide that by dazzling the general public with how deep they are. That notion is: “Sometimes, you have to suffer heartache and be unhappy to know you’re still alive.” Personally, when I want to know I’m alive, all I need to do is check my pulse. Or go into the front yard and pull weeds for three hours. Thing is, that idea is not for grown-ups. It’s for that time of life when you want to inhale “The Sorrows of Young Werther” and believe tragedies to be romantic. “Love in Thoughts” (based on what became known in the Weimar Republic as the “Steglitz Student Tragedy”) is a case study of how the uncompromising attitude of youth can go horribly wrong. And why it’s a good idea to mature. Eventually.

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I was so happy when “Brokeback to the Future” hit the internet, because finally the entire world was slashing the lovely Michael J. Fox. Of course it wasn’t meant to be serious, and even I find the idea of Marty with Doc Brown rather scary, but being part of the ultimate rare fandom - “Anything with Michael J. Fox…what about Alex P. Keaton and the friend he lost in the famous “A, My Name is Alex” episodes of “Family Ties”…heck, what about that Pepsi commercial where Michael built his robot-twin?!” - I was prepared to take what I could get. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like the following buddy/action comedy starring Michael J. Fox and James Woods will register the former on the fangirls’ slashdar.

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