Let’s get back into the nitty gritty of judging movies based solely on their names and maybe their posters or commercials, if I’ve seen them. Totally valid form of film criticism.


What the hell is this? Why would I want to see more? And, can this really be called a horror film?

My track record as an ardent supporter of horror movies is well documented, to the point where I’ve been known to go to the mat in support of the genre because I truly believe that visual filmmaking at its purest can be found in a great horror film. Framing, editing, lighting, and music are the tools that have been so brilliantly manipulated by masters like Hitchcock, Kurosawa, Fisher, Polanski, Powell, Young, Carpenter, Craven, and, although bloody as hell, both Argento and Romero.

In a nutshell: It’s films like this that give horror a bad name. This is a big and unequivocal no thank you.


I’m going to hate-watch this film in theaters. I’m going to purposefully have a horrible day, order some food at the theaters that I know is not on the menu, and stomp toward my dumb front-row seat, drinkless and foodless, ready to watch “Boy Girl Bakla Tomboy.” If I walk out with a smile on my face, then, and only then, will I say something nice about this movie. Can’t wait.

In a nutshell: I care even less about “Boy Girl Bakla Tomboy” than “Pagpag.” That is not a nice thing to say.


You know how some movies look kind of neglected? Not just financially or marketing-wise. I’m talking about the kind of movie that just looks as if no conscious human has ever actually given five minutes of critical thinking to any of the decisions that go into making it? If a studio is a grill on a hot summer day, “My Little Bossings” is the lone hotdog on the edge that gets neglected for hours and never rotated to go over the coals and then when you accidentally serve it to someone they bite into it and it’s still cold inside.

In a nutshell: This was the worst part of my week.

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