Depending on who you ask, The Boondock Saints was either a gritty cult classic or an over-hyped bar fight, merely proof that nostalgia looks especially "Sean Patrick-flattering" through shamrock-coloured glasses. Regardless of which side of the pew you sit on in that debate, one thing is certain: its follow-up, The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day, leaves its viewers praying for a MacManus brothers–style mercy killing faster than you can say Ding Dong.

Where do we even begin? Between the unforgivable "accents", nightmare performances, high-school-locker-room screenplay, a weird (but thankfully, brief) left turn into the manosphere, and a plot with more holes than a rosary has beads, all we can do is thank the saints of cinema that Billy Connolly and Willem Dafoe took pity upon the fans and reprised their roles in this dumpster-fire-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow of a movie.

Special thanks also to Norman Reedus for helping keep the dream alive. We're grateful there were a few moments of flabbergasting, laugh-out-loud stupidity to cling to, but make no mistake, this film remains a black mark on Boston, Ireland, the film industry, perhaps even Bushmills Distillery... and, yes, my own immortal soul.

You look like you could use a supersized ofder of freedom fries!

chroniclesofcriticpod@gmail.com

While we're not quite ready to wave goodbye to the crunchy leaves and glow of jack-o'-lanterns that close out October, The Holdovers makes a strong case for skipping the pumpkin spice season altogether and diving headfirst into the cozy, boozy melancholy of a 1970s New England Christmas, courtesy of Alexander Payne's delightfully nostalgic film.

Paul Giamatti is the perfect troll of a man to embody the role of curmudgeonly Professor Paul. It's no wonder that Da'Vine Joy Randolph's performance as the "bereaved bridge between two worlds with a stiff upper lip" landed her the Oscar for this role. And as for Dominic Sessa's big-screen debut? Let's just say that he will have us watching his career with great interest (lol) for years to come.

We loved this movie for its wry humour, stand-out performances, tight assembly, and overall charm. So fill your coffee mug with an 11 a.m. bourbon and join us as we try to figure out, once and for all, just which of his eyes is the normal one...

And remember: the next time you realize you forgot to apply deodorant... Glade!

chroniclesofcriticpod@gmail.com

If the devil appeared to me and offered to grant me seven wishes in exchange for my soul, I'd use every last one of them to try and erase the hot garbage that was Harold Ramis's Bedazzled from as many planes of existance as humanly possible. The eternity I'd have to spend roasting in hell would undoubtedly be better than the 90 minutes I spent in the purgatory that was watching this awful movie.

Sorry Brendan Fraser, whatever you were going for in this film was agonizingly nauseating to watch. Thank heavens that Elizabeth Hurley's playful and mischievous outing as The Devil provided the occasional moment of reprieve from the cheesegrater that the character of Elliot Richards raked across my mortal soul any time he appeared on screen.

I wish they would have dumped the budget of this movie into the Columbian drug lord sequence and produced something that didn't feel like the world's worst Mad TV sketch going on far longer than it had any business to.

chroniclesofcriticpod@gmail.com