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!

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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!

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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.

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If someone told me that the 1991's Frankie & Johnny was required viewing for police services and psychotherapists alike, all I could reasonably reply with would be, "Say no more, fam"!

Mixed in amidst this movie's snappy quips, world-building, and incredible acting is the story of an absolute lunatic stalking an uncomfortable abuse victim. Seriously, all you have to do is re-jig some of that background music and you could push this October rom-com into slasher movie territory REAL quick.

Watching Al Pacino kissing Michelle Pfeiffer is the exact same experience as watching the facehugger scene from Alien, though somehow even more unsettling. Writhing as Johnny pushes boundary after boundary as he spirals deeper into delusional mania makes you wish it had been Ricky J's "No Means No" that had come on Midnight with Marlon that night instead of Clair de Lune.

Despite all of the above, this is a really entertaining movie to watch. Just fon't get any ideas for your love life...

HOO-AAAH!

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We can't say the title of this movie without immediately hearing our favorite singing crab, but rest assured 1997's crime-thriller Kiss the Girls is a very different kettle of fish.

This movie doesn't really know what it wants to be. It tries to sell itself as a Se7en / Silence of the Lambs–style crime thriller, but inevitably devolves into "insert-generic-underwhelming-90s-action-thriller-here." Nothing kills suspense faster than realizing the character we spent a third of the runtime developing is inevitably destined to escape certain doom, per the very premise of the film.

Instead, the suspense comes from questions like: "Whose call was it to use those creepy phone voices and bargain-bin gunshot sounds?" Or, "Why is this random non-detective bossing actual cops around in the middle of an active investigation?" And of course: "Exactly how much are this surgeon's hands insured for, anyway?"

All that to say, this might not be remembered as a crown jewel of the genre, but Judd and Freeman bring electric performances, and the campy spiral this film takes keeps things surprisingly fun. And hey—if you enjoyed this one, maybe we'll cover the sequel faster than Jeremy Piven hitting on an abduction victim.

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I know we've all heard a few "Urban Legends" about our old pal Jared Leto, if you know what I mean, but for now, let us head back to a simpler time, a spookier time, a slashier time!

The central premise to this film is quite arguably that one girl is an absolutely abhorent driver and should have her license revoked immediately... no seriously, hear us out. This movie acts as the latest vehicle to spoon feed the audience more slop as it tries (fails?) to milk the cash cow that was the slasher-revival movie of the late-nineties (thanks "Scream"!).

Watch as the plot confuses you, the performances annoy you, and as you try to figure out why everyone in this town seems to own the exact same winter parka that they insist on bringing with them everywhere in mid-September.

And by god, if someone can tell us what that pesky Dean and his chums got up to with their free weekends back in the day, please do write in... farm animals? Yeesh!

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Welcome to Charlestown, Baahston! The city where everyone's a bank robber, the women are all on drugs, and all the little children can dream of is an ice rink. Even Fergie's lookin a little rough in this piece!

They say if you watch this back-to-back with The Departed, The Boondock Saints, and Good Will Hunting, the mayor of Boston will ship you a key to the city, a box of Bruins jerseys, and a small "Fighting Irish" tattoo will spontaniously appear somewhere on your body.

In all seriousness, this movie works harder than a "rock-breaking Townie". The performances are excellent, the stakes are exhilerating, and it was really cool to see Don Draper scream at Batman in an FBI windbreaker.

Settle in for some thrills, spills, and stollen dolla' bills - just remember who clipped your nuts for ya!

Aaaand they're back! This week, we shoot back to 2006 and a movie that left royalists, monarchists, and Anglophiles alike clamoring for more—the award darling, Oscar-bating, The Queen. This film serves up all the hallmarks of British luxury: a picnic in the Cairngorms (featuring a full bar, I might add), Barbour waxed jackets, Land Rovers, gaggles of corgis, flawless diction, painfully rigid protocol, and a curmudgeonly old man taking the Lord's name in vain while endlessly cursing out "the poors." Does it get any more British?

"Steep" yourself in the "tea" of the Royal Family immediately following the untimely death of Princess Diana, as Helen Mirren and Michael Sheen battle for the heart of a nation. The performances slay, the stakes are… medium… and the 90s nostalgia is at an all-time high.

God Save the Screen!