There’s many things an intrepid movie blogger such as myself can handle. I made it through a viewing of Cannibal Holocaust once, finishing the movie drenched in my own tears, sorrow and fighting back my gag reflex. I have withstood the horrors of movies such as High School Musical with a headache and half my teeth ground down. I have sat through to the bitter, bitter end of every Daniel Day-Lewis movie I’ve ever seen, which is phenomenal given my fiery distaste for Day-Lewis.
But when you throw something at me like Ray Liotta’s bare ass bathed in the soothing, unnaturally cool blue of a personal tanning room as he screams at an assistant followed by a shocking close up of his pock-marked face with a heavy emphasis on Ray Liotta’s scary, scary set of chompers, that’s more than this lady can handle. That’s where I checked out on this one, stifling my own fears to run far, far away and deep into the comfort of a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
So I don’t know what to tell you. If you like freaky naked Ray Liotta, then this is totally the movie for you.
Note to Guy Ritchie: We may have to have an intervention, friend.
