Bubba’s Sex Tips: Bubba Reviews Les Miserable

By | January 5, 2013

I guess Alabama Liberal had figured he’d learned too much about women and how to seduce them from me, and decided he’d rather have me review a movie. At first I was excited for the job, and would have enjoyed giving my two cents on Expendables 2 (best movie of the year) or reviewing a timeless classic like Rambo III, but no…he decides what people really want around Christmas time is a three hour fag-tacular musical set in France with a bunch of people singing about how shitty their lives are.

And booooooy they ain’t kidding when they say this movie is miserable——I mean, shit it’s right there in the title, and yet the theater I saw it in was packed out, so much so that I had to sit in the front row and be even closer to the pasty British skin pretending to be sexy-Frenchness. [I had to take off my Alabama baseball cap to see the screen, and automatic points are deducted for that.]

These fuckers are straight up miserable, and not in the fun way you might expect it to be when Frenchies suffer (there’s very little torture for one thing, see Zero Dark Thirty to get your “foreigners getting tortured” fix). It’s more an…sigh…emotional suffering as they wander around an old France that looks like purgatory if it were dirtier and full of singing. This film has failed liberal revolution, brutal treatment of prisoners, hot women prostituting to keep from starving to death, and a lead character (Inspector Russell Crowe) that hates most people and is incapable of empathy…so it should have been a lot better than it was, it had all the classic elements Bubba looks for in a movie, and still sucked. [I guess you just can’t take the French Musical out of the French Musical, surprising in a cast of Australian men and American women.]

Russell Crowe looks like he’s got to take a shit for three hours (the poor bastard finally kills himself, as chronic constipation may have driven him crazy) and Anne Hathaway is in about thirty minutes of this. I thought Amanda Seyfried might add some sex appeal (an American blonde pretending to be French pretending to be British…intriguing) but she’s mostly content to make googly-eyes at the ugliest motherfucker I have ever seen in a movie, a pale ghost like scrawny boy named Eddie Redmayne who has none of the raw magnetism of an early Chuck Norris. This guy’s supposed to be leading a revolution but he looks like he’d rather just be in a disturbing Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue that features dead-eyed homosexuals pouting around open fields.

That pretty much leaves 3 hours of Hugh Jackman, who is less in Wolverine mode than in closeted-homosexual mode (the way he chooses to live his life pretty much) like anytime he hosts an awards show (the Tonys? The Oscars? we get it Hugh, you realllllly like dancing and it’s not code for anything else wink-wink) or appears on a stage. Hey, wait a minute, Les Miserable started out on a stage, so there you go. I brought my first movie review back around full circle. Grade: F+

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