The movie stars the half-eaten guy from 'Jaws.'
You never did get to see the shark eat him whole. It may well have dragged him under the water, bit him in half, and that other portion sank to the ocean floor.
Strangely, it looks like this film is set in the same town as Martha's Vineyard, where Sondra Locke is out taking water samples and testing them for contamination.
Is there a touch of Britishness to her accent as she converses with all her dolls here?
Dressed like a German waitress blowup doll, she injects collagen into her bum and alters her appearance to resemble that of a Swedish schoolgirl or boy. (In hindsight, I now know why and what she was injecting into herself.)
A stroll through an English garden only confuses me what she is now.
Locke is tormented by dolls and mannequins with attitude. There are a few of these consultation scenes between Locke and the dolls.
Jeez, movie, can I fetch your slippers and fluff your pillows?
This movie's trying to be the Royal Doulton of toilets.
If Mr. Joshua had a daughter, Locke would be it.
With a touch of 'Flowers in the Attic,' Locke seems to be imprisoned in a manor, and her only companionship is store mannequins and dolls.
Lady Boleyn is at the door, movie. Will we keep her waiting?
Darrin from 'Bewitched' shows up as well claiming to be Locke's father. He is a handsome devil. Sort of got that whole Sean Connery look going on.
This is the third straight movie I've watched where I felt like ejecting it after only 15 minutes.
What a boring introduction to a movie.
The only highlight so far is a hard slap across Darrin's jaw by his ex-wife.
Locke is like a windup toy that requires re-twisting every five minutes to bolster any enthusiasm. Either that or she's the early model of EV human protocol. If she runs on batteries, it's understandable.
Oh boy, is this what royals watch in their chateaus and castles?
"She became ill, and Cinnamon ate her." A cannibalistic human eating donut.
Your hot towel is prepared, movie.
Locke just planted a wet, sloppy one on Darrin Stephens, yeah, her own father.
Locke mentioned St. Michel early in the movie, so the director or writer must have been a fan of Peter Sarstedt's "Where Do You Go to My Lovely?"
This movie shops at Harrods.
Locke does a number on one of the mannequins, and it reminds me of Caleb from 'The Love Butcher' attacking his Styrofoam tormentor.
Darrin Stephens attends midnight mass in a cemetery; the bottled gypsy from 'I Dream of Jeannie' is attacked on a night stroll; and a home invasion sees another old bag clobbered to death by an unknown assailant.
Bodies are pulled left, right, and center the next morning.
Gee whiz, movie, I'll let you know that your caviar is two minutes old, the oysters were shucked only a minute ago, and your seafood bisque uses only the deepest ocean crustacean the Atlantic can serve. To complement your fine dining, the ladle is diamond-encrusted, and your serving napkins were imported from France.
Locke consults a fish tank in her next move to eliminate Darrin Stephens from the estate, as apparently the night before her mother was murdered, even though no funeral service is extended. Instead, Locke and Stephens take long walks on the beach and let her mother's body lay unclaimed in a freezer at the morgue. I didn't know they had storage facilities for hire in a hospital.
Locke and Stephens get intimate on the beach, and later on, she rubs his thigh as things heat up and advance.
He starts injecting love potion #9 into his own daughter, and unless there's some kind of fight to the death karate or a monster popping out of a toilet, then this movie is still grounded on a 1/10 rating.
That whole point came courtesy of the salty slap earlier.
Harry and Meghan of Frogmore Cottage have booked passage and will arrive next Tuesday. Will that be Spode or Fine Bone China, movie?
At the one-hour mark, there's intermission, as this movie requires evening tea and scones. The New Zealand butter is infused with truffles and Spanish olive oil.
This crap is just 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' with a 5% drop of 'Psycho' minus any action or excitement.
It's a dead fish out of the water.
Locke is plied with beer by whoever that guy is. I don't know. And where's The Zodiac when you need him to liven up this garbage?
The unknown guy, who wasn't even in the movie, winds up in a shipwreck, and I don't give two hoots what happens anymore.
Tonight's a bust.
This movie's a dog's breakfast.
Wow, the big movie reveal at the end is that Locke was really a boy, as she'd been injecting growth hormones to transform herself into Samuel or Sandor, the sailor man.
She attacks Sean Connery, is dressed like a typical English Chav, and desires to be an ordinary Nike foot soldier street thug who bashes old people.
Whoop-de-do.
