Let’s just start by saying that, aside from having the greatest titles I’ve ever seen – The Thingy is a miserable Belgian movie that is absolutely NOT fun at all and if I had that bazooka I’ve wanted for years to use on stupid automobile drivers, I would kablow this fucking thing right now and not think twice about it. That being said, this is probably some asshole’s favorite movie due to its art-house fucking rendering of the injustices of being bullied for being different and all of that shit, OK, I get it, I guesssssssss. But really, this thing irritated me to no end from start to finish and if I could commit manslaughter on a movie, this would be one of my first choices. But let’s back up a second and give this thing a chance because I’m fair.
Someone had an idea to make a movie and they did it! Yay! I had an idea to make a movie and I never did, so — they win! The Thingy: The Miracle of Life Afterbirht 1, Film Miasma 0. Oh wait! I did make some very short movies – I was just talking about one earlier this week. And OMG OMG – CPD! Do you remember the one I made about Oracle of Film??? God damn – I thought that was fun. So wait, maybe I win!! I even did digital editing and made that train go back and forth through that tunnel! HMMM – I wonder if that still exists somehow or can be resurrected from the graves of youtube… maybe one day I’ll try. That was pretty fucking funny.
But yes. The Thingy. The Thingy (the movie) and I went out on a date and it didn’t quite work out. That reminds me of an old, buried memory. One summer of some year back in the early 90s when I was working at that goddammed piece of shit restaurant (I mean, it was fun for a while until I went into management) I don’t remember how but we had an Irish or Scottish girl working there. After we’d close the joint down we’d all go out and drink beer and smoke cigarettes in the parking lot. I also honestly don’t remember how it happened but I think I had to give her a lift to where she was staying (some sort of U.S. style hostel maybe??) and when we got there I don’t remember if she was grateful or horny but we started kissing in the front seat of my car and she was SO STRONG and AGGRESSIVE and I remember being a little intimidated and maybe even a little scared. For real, this was at least 30 years ago and, I think, also for real, she made have made a move down to – ahem – It – and she was so strong and forceful and rough it wasn’t pleasant or erotic or anything. God damn, I haven’t thought about that in three decades… wow.
“What’s the fucking point, asshoole?” you ask. In this thing, a man plays a female body builder. She somehow greases out a baby in the gym (squeeze, argh, shloop, plop!) and tosses it in the freezer and keeps the placenta. The placenta then gets baptized, is named Luke, grows an eyeball and she eats the baby. And then, as if things weren’t going bad enough for me, then the thing started to talk.
I don’t know if I can do this trait the injustice it deserves but, imagine if you could make yourself stupid. Half close your eyes, set your mouth open and kind of slur some words in the meekest, most feeble fucking voice you can. And then talk a lot. “eeeeeeaaaahhhhh meeeessssteeerrrr caaannnn youu pleeeeaassseee passs mee some rubbeeeennnggg oiiillsss ffoooorrr myyy wreeeeetcchheeeeddd pooorreeesss….?’ And while you’re making yourself so pitiful and (YES!) miasmic (!) (LIKE ME!!) (I did it!) drool a lot and piss yourself and go ahead and, I don’t know, roll around in your own shit or something. I really fucking hated that thing.
Here’s his momma:
As it goes, the fucking thing grows and goes to school and gets bullied and goes to a movie and slithers around leaving a trail of blood and shit behind him. It evens wears a fucking watch.
It even goes on a fucking date and smokes a cigarette.
Jeesh. I wear a watch. And I went on a date. And I smoked.
*Looks at camera lens in grimacing potential dismay*
“You’re so strong,” I whimper getting rubbed on by someone from a foreign land.
In this next sentence I am going to spoil the end of this movie, so, you, who may be considering this pile of shit, may want to skip it.
Eventually his mom ODs on steroids so it (The Thingy) goes crazy and murders a bunch of babies in a hospital nursery before his own priest eats him for dinner. THE END.
Oh boy. What a deal. The other day our reigning Queen of Reviewing, Jay did a post about something called “French Exit”. She likened the movie to trying to be like a Wes Anderson thing and, in my mind, I didn’t. Of course, I haven’t seen the thing but my brains wandered and, being the classy fucking taxpayer that I am, I said nothing. Further, since I am, as they say, a Gentleman, I will refrain from being vulgar or such shit but leave the definition of French Exit open to interpretation. But I will say this: if anything was deserving of being or receiving a French Exit, The Thingy is the One.
FILED UNDER: WORSE THAN THE DRAFT BEER SHITS
Since I just made a reference to the shits and something called a french exit, here’s something to cleanse you pallet, get your toe to tapping and give you some pleasant visuals so you can have sweet dreams: