That's it, Judge David Johnson is marching into management's office right now and demanding dental benefits for having to sit through this crap.
The few. The proud. The clueless.
I just watched a movie called Delta Farce. It was marketed as a comedy. I've seen eating disorder documentaries that were funnier.
Facts of the Case
Larry (Larry the Cable Guy), Bill (Bill Engvall) and Everett (DJ Qualls) are three friends who do little with their lives other than shooting off guns and getting drunk. They also serve as Army reservist as self-proclaimed "weekend warriors." But when they're called up to do a tour in Iraq, their lives take a turn for the serious. Reporting to hard-assed Segeant Kilgore (Keith David), the bumbling trio does a brief spell in boot camp, then pile into their transport plane and head for the Middle East.
Mechanical failure on board leads to several Humvees being jettisoned—with Larry, Bill and Everett sleeping inside. The pals come to in the middle of the Mexico desert and naturally think they're in Iraq. And so unspools the main gimmick of the film, which is impossible to prolong, so twenty minutes later, the guys realize where they are, and a new plot kicks in, one where they have to defend a small village against a gang of bandits led by a guy that looks like Danny Trejo (Danny Trejo).
Holy Crap this movie was horrible. It was so bad, I felt my brain slowly succumb to muscle death with every passing minute of the Godforsaken runtime. And I don't use "Godforsaken" as simple hyperbole. I truly believe that God Almighty, in all of His infinite Divine wisdom and foreknowledge, placed a curse on this film before time even began, decreeing in his Heavenly Voice, that in 2007 a movie about three morons in Mexico would elicit not a single laugh, chortle or body emission from any who watched it and, if by some profound anti-miracle, running counter the Lord's will, some hapless, pathetic soul did laugh—even a little—that person would be struck down where he stood and all connected to his bloodline would be turned into pillars of salt.
Look, I'm as far from a pretentious film reviewer tool as you'll find, and I actually think Larry the Cable Guy is a pretty funny guy, but the only thing redeeming about this release is its disc case. As in, it's a perfectly functioning disc case, so after you place-kick the DVD into freeway traffic and burn the jacket for heat, you can put something more useful into it, like a Fruit Rollup or a blank CD-R.
This movie is not funny. At all. It is negative funny. Jokes will detonate so miserably that any mirth you may have had going into the film will be instantly smelted and turned into feelings of malice and fury. And that's when you're most vulnerable to the will of Satan.
You want a sampling of the type of humor that awaits you in Delta Farce? How about a recycled joke about the guy who died in his sleep but the passengers in his car died screaming? Or the razor-witty punch-line "Did you fart?" DJ Qualls tries on a dress! Larry the Cable Guy spits tobacco into a bag of food—and Keith David eats it! The guys shoot a donkey! And wonder if it's donkey season in Iraq! Here's another slice of comic gold, uttered by Larry when he finds his two friends sleeping next to each other: "What in the name of Siegfried and Roy?" Oh, there are so many more jokes, and, cumulatively, they rate on the Hilarity Spectrum somewhere between "traumatic vaginal hemorrhage" and "mass starvation in North Korea."
The idiotic premise of mistaking Mexico for Iraq—mildly amusing on paper—is chucked well before the final third of the film, giving way to a half-assed separate plot about saving a town's drinking supply and wrestling some Luchedores and making out with the annoying CTU girl from the past season of 24.
Okay, I don't feel like dwelling on this canker sore of a comedy. I can't envision anyone finding Delta Farce even moderately smile-inducing, no matter how admiring they may be of the film's stars. Bill Engvall, Larry the Cable Guy, even the kid who played Mexican Villager Number 2 have had their reputations eternally besmirched because of their presence in this production.
Here are the specs for the DVD: 1.78:1 anamorphic widescreen and a 5.1 Dolby Digital Surround EX Audio mix, which are both commendable, and totally wasted on such drivel. In the extras: a handful of brief interview-centric features (highlighted by a conversation with Trejo) and a commentary by director CB Harding who, for some reason, doesn't spend the 89 minutes saying Hail Marys to atone.
Don't f—--—watch this movie.
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