supersoul

The scene that made me laugh the most is the one where one of the detectives, to find the lover of the tortured girl, sniffs her pussy while disguised as a dog and then follows the trail to track him down... Tarantino couldn't even dream of something like this, and by the way, in Grindhouse he stole the scene of the girl walking with her leg just chopped off.

The director wanted to do nothing more than a comic book movie like the ones Tarantino makes, well-shot and well-acted, only this one has the balls to be as extreme as possible and mock every convention, like chopping off a child's head, or biting off the fist that comes at you, or revealing the film's opening title from sperm. But in the end, the plot of the film about the clash between yakuza gangs is laughable, and the liters of blood spraying and the limbs being torn apart tire you long before the two-hour runtime of the film, and then someone please explain to me (if there’s an explanation) what that ending with Ichi's "puppeteer" hanging means.

Good job, lord, up until 1974 and Desolation Boulevard gives the idea, but it’s after that they slip down the toilet.

I meant the worst of the first five albums by Sweet, because after this one, I didn’t listen to them anymore.

Sorry battlegods, but I think you're quite young to review with such enthusiasm the worst album by the Sweet, which was made for a single hit like "Action" and which suffered terribly from the fact that the two songwriters of the group, Chapman and Chinn, had left. If there was anything good about the Sweet, it was until 1974 with those two.

Poletti, you know what we care about? That you've never been able to stand French cinema, and I don't think your comment was necessary in the lovely review of "Desade." After all, the French title is "8 femmes"; the Italians added the mystery. And you're wrong because this is a great film that reconciles you with well-made cinema. It somewhat recalls the operation done by Todd Haynes in "Far from Heaven." Maybe a bit more than 4.

Ah, if you find it, also grab "Around the Horn," where there's a great version of a song by Little Feat. And if, during your "rounds," you come across a band from the same era called something almost similar, Melted Americans, take them on blind faith, I guarantee it.

Great review, masterfully conducted, let’s hope that jerk Judge Woodcock doesn’t come along and say that a 5 is too much. I followed the Souled Americans in their early albums up to 1990, when they seemed closer to Camper Van Beethoven; when the melody takes over, there’s always something disorienting about it, like a Captain Beefheart-like off-key voice, a distorted guitar, or an ironic riff that makes everything strange. I don’t know this album, but if you say it’s exceptional, I guess I’ve missed something.

I don't see anything wrong with commenting on reviews of albums that one is not familiar with; it's wrong, instead, to give a rating to albums that one doesn't know... until next time, judge, I hope the weekend rest does you good so that on Monday you can return to upholding the law with greater impartiality.

And I confirm my impression of a judge who doesn’t know how to do his job; if there was something to contest here, it was the 3 given to the album by people who claim to know only the title track and yet feel entitled to evaluate the whole record. I, with my nose in the air, only comment on things I know well; for example, I didn’t comment on the Goldfrapp, because I’ve only listened to their reviewed album once, and that was enough for me because they sounded like Portishead gone bad, like a splash of sperm left to rot between the sheets, just to stay within the sexual theme imposed by the author of the review, and therefore I didn't feel qualified to give a complete judgment. Here instead, I see a lot of people who absolutely must comment, real attention seekers... it’s their business and... yours, dear judge of this bullshit.