**Under your bed, bitch.
THE BOOGEYMAN
Directed By:Stephen T. Kay
Release Date: February 4, 2005
Running Time: 89 minutes
Language: English
Horror Type: The Monster Underneath Your Bed
Sex? - Not here.
Gore? - Cute.
Tim (Barry Watson) confronts a childhood fear in this slow moving piece of filth. It sounds simple, and it should be simple, seeing as there is no better way to narrate something as universal as that monster beneath your bed. But the problem is that it's scattered all throughout with unnecessarily flashbacks that pan to how the phobia evolved. I get it already. But I'm more interested in how Barry Watson challenges the Boogeyman as an adult. Or to be more specific, will he go for an AK47 or an elephant gun?
The ghost kid Franny had that Sixth Sense feel to her; finding that out was the only real trip to this film. See, the Boogeyman, being the title character, could have used a little threat-effect since the CGI failed to redeem it as a bad motherfucker.
Momel's Rating: 2/5
Jesus, I don't deserve this kind of distraction; the guy's not even my type. I have to cut the act now; it's been a week already, and I think I've apologized enough. All this unnecessary attention for a new year's resolution? I don't see anything wrong about "showing a lot of motive this year around," but there are, well, better smelling men out there. What I'm saying is that the ends don't really justify the means. Not usually. I'm not up for a scandal. Or for a sexual experience that will remain available for regretful recall.
I'm developing this devouring greed for Chuck Taylors; I have four pairs now, and I plan to acquire more. And I'm finding myself paying more attention to the way the shoelaces fall on both feet: they NEED to be of equal lengths. It's gone so bad that I'm actually taking the time of day to untie both shoes because I want to make sure that the laces are equally distributed in terms of lengths. Underscore equally. And I'm feeling a deeper sense of security with properly tied shoelaces. Jesus, OCD is scary.
All the elevators in the office are equipped with wall-to-wall mirrors good enough for four people standing side to side. And there's this fag who can't seem to get enough reflective space with which to admire his dry hair, big pores, and oily skin. It's always the same ritual with him every unfortunate chance I get to share the elevator with this vain toad. What makes this ugly fool stick to memory is that not only does he compete for the mirror space, but he doesn't stop pimping himself up until everybody else has quit doing their business three minutes ago. Quit hogging the mirror space. Your shallow sense of accomplishment can't get any more shameful than that. There's not much to look at to begin with.
I saw this dude one time, and he's wearing the fiercest skinny jeans and this white coat coupled with the craziest tote bag to complete the metrosexual charade. He walks with this sashay that's totally characteristic of the confused urban male. I'm telling you, this guy's got taste.And he's wearing a goatee, too. That's like the ultimate in closet queen fashion.
**Under your bed, bitch.
