The Luck of the Irish is a made for Disney TV movie whose preachy message of tolerance and diversity is nonchalantly tossed overboard in the final act of the movie so that its conventional fantasy movie plot of recovering a powerful object from the villains can be served.
A lame attempt to rehab things in the final scene by bludgeoning the audience over the head with the star’s ill-advised attempt to make Irish step dancing cool and in one of the more cringeworthy moments in the history of film, then having him sing “This Land is Your Land” while members of the audience join in only serves to possibly explain why you never heard of any of the actors involved ever again. Continue reading
Unlike a lot of Olivier Gruner films, The White Pony concludes with a climatic dressage competition that sees an evil teenaged girl sabotaging her cousin’s riding equipment, abusing her own horse and whacking her cousin with a riding crop. And also unlike a lot Gruner’s films, he stands around the whole movie with his thumb up his ass while his daughter treats his niece like so many road apples. Okay, to be fair, he does snicker a bit when his niece falls off her horse and lands in a horse pie, but he doesn’t get any credit for that because any of us would have done the same. Continue reading
Molly’s life is full of sad backstory that you normally only find in routine country music songs. Her mom died (a mother’s survival rate in so-called “kid friendly” leprechaun movies like this always approaches zero) and then she is forced to move to an old cursed relative’s home in Ireland because her loser dad Howard can’t seem to sell his newest “how to” book and went and lost their house. Of course, it turns out that there is a significant amount of back taxes owed on the house in Ireland which Howard also can’t afford. Maybe for his next “how to” book Howard should write about the wisdom of staying in America and just renting an apartment. Continue reading
Is it really possible for a Christmas special not to be the dumbest in the world when everything happens because a sea captain forgets to pack the ship’s Christmas tree for the long holiday voyage? Or that the captain detours his ship to a small island because he saw a tree he liked and orders the obviously learning disabled cabin boy ashore to dig the thing up? Or that said cabin boy continues to dig up the tree even after he sees that the island is full of leprechauns! Continue reading
At the risk of having one of the wee folk put the come hither on me and replace my kids with changelings, I’m going to go ahead and declare that Darby O’Gill And The Little People was nothing so much as a lot of potato-breathed blarney that even an Irishman full of cheap stout could not have enjoyed. Continue reading
It’s easy to say that Spellbreaker: The Secret of the Leprechauns is like some kind of mediocre wish granted for having endured its puny predecessor, Leapin’ Leprechauns!
If you recall, that film followed an old man and his stowaway leprechaun and fairy friends as he visited his douche son and family in Denver. Douche dad was trying to scam old man into letting him build the Irelandland theme park on Fairy Hill. No one believed old man about the existence of the wee folk at first, but everyone came around eventually.
If you don’t recall any of that, don’t worry because Spellbreaker wastes its first two minutes having douche dad’s creepy son, Mikey, narrate it all, accompanied by flashbacks. This is easily the worst part of Spellbreaker. That’s not really a compliment toward Spellbreaker so much as a reminder of what a pile of pooka droppings Leapin’ Leprechauns! was. Continue reading
“I should have trusted my children, you are a witch,” the formerly bewitched rich guy played by Jack Scalia (Endless Descent) blandly announces as he watches his fiancee levitate with electricity periodically sparking around her. And just like that the water banshee’s plan to flood the valley begins to unravel. Continue reading
I want to tell you a tale about a guy who didn’t believe in the wee folk. He was given to lying to his pops, patronizing his family and worst of all possessing a douchey countenance and haircut.
He heard stories that his immortal soul was bound to be hauled off by some evil cloud-monster-banshee thing to whatever hell the wee folk think up for non-believers (lots of soccer and Riverdance, but I’m just guessing), but he what did he care because these little turds weren’t real, right?
But then, like in all other major religions, these pesky pipsqueaks started giving him signs like causing food to get shoved in his face! And magic markers to fly around! And a vase full of water tipping over on his plans for the moronically named Irelandland! (I like to think King Kevin was just trying to save this dope from himself with that trick.) Continue reading