cousin's wedding

Everyone please listen, for today I had one of the worst experiences of my life. And the cause has a name. Its name is: Cloverfield. A movie that even surpassed The Blair Witch Project on the annoyance scale, and has led me to believe that having rusty nails drilled into my eyes would have been a more enjoyable way to have spent my afternoon. It was 2, or was it 3, (or was it 10) hours of a simulated continuous one camera shot, by someone who doesn’t know where to point the fucking camera, or even how to work the damn thing. To make the film even more enjoyable, the guy with the camera always says: “What’s… what’s that?” or “What’s he, she, or they saying” while he waits a few seconds before actually half putting the camera on the subject. The effect was like being stuck in a car with an elderly aunt that waits five seconds before she goes at every green light on a thirty mile trip to the dentist. Except that is, she probably doesn’t scream, “Oh my god!!!” every ten seconds like the characters in this movie. As I watched, praying for an embolism, having debated walking out four separate times, at the very end of the movie, the giant monster finally appears in front of the camera, right in the middle of Central Park, thankfully eating the camera man, yet some how leaving the camera intact. The “love interest” couple, who were running with him, turn around, discover his remains, and tearfully mourn where the monster has now magically disappeared. Having blown the last on my “what the fuck” neurons, they decide to pick up the camera and run for shelter. Thankfully, everyone dies in the end, somewhat sating my thirst for vengeance for a lost afternoon. Everyone that is, except the monster, setting up the possible sequel. Hopefully, I’ll be dead by then. What should you do if someone asks you to go see this? Remember your drunk uncle’s video of your other cousin’s wedding? You know… the one where he puked on the camera? Spend the day watching that instead, you’ll be happier in the end.