I love a lot about The Quiet Man - and there’s also a lot I don’t like (mainly the way Wayne grabs, slaps around, and then literally drags Maureen O’Hara roughly on the ground for several minutes - even though O’Hara herself loved Wayne IRL and never complained about it). That said, the Thornton vs. Danaher donnybrook…

Yeah but maybe he’ll tousle her hair.

There’s also the point that once he had it, Montalban totally killed in the role.

I was thinking the same thing after reading the statement, “for all the scope and detail lovingly packed into the two trilogies, the vast, complex and dazzling universe dreamed up by J.R.R. Tolkien remains largely unexplored.”

They’d have to be talking about spin-offs because, while Jackson didn’t stick with the text…

I repeat that phrase regularly around Christmas, to the puzzlement of 98% of the people around me.

Call me crazy, but I’m not really sure the kind of folks who are throwing a fit over the new M&M’s are going to be placated by making Maya Rudolph their spokesperson. Consider it a hunch.

Man, that fucking kid at the window. *shivers*

Wait - at the end, was that Ted McGinley, the patron saint of shark jumping?!

And don’t forget “Her?”:

Whenever I wonder why I’m still holding onto my old DVD’s any more when I can stream everything, something like this comes along.

>> “I don’t want to give the movie away,“ he said of the mysterious dial. “But is there a relic in this movie that possesses a kind of power, or may possess a kind of power? And is it based on history and scientific speculation? Yes.”

Maybe he just should just replace the spear guns with walkie talkies.

First they need to dig up Sebastian Cabot. Everything else is secondary.

I believe that is supposed to be Christopher Robin grabbing his own butt cheeks. And yes.

Ah yes, Schrödinger’s diva.

I just read an article this morning that while filming a new episode of the National Geographic show he does for Disney+ he unexpectedly found out that he has a strong genetic predisposition for getting Alzheimer’s disease. Shit like that tends to change your outlook on things.

I think my favorite part of her original statement was, “It’s certainly the year 2022, so we’re aware of the trends,” as if gay marriage were the equivalent of eating Tide Pods or listening to Beyonce’s latest album.

Guessing it’s a dove holding an olive branch, but it could also be an albino sloth puking up oregano. There’s really no way to tell.

Huh, I have never been able to see what the hell was painted on Charles Napier’s forehead before. At first I thought it was just glare from the lights, then I thought it might be a makeup smudge, then I realized I didn’t give a crap because the episode was so bad.