We all make mistakes. Just ask Cher. To begin with, look at her head. Despite being almost 100% recyclable, Cher – singer, actress and potential vampire – explained the concept of regret to the rest of the planet through her 1989 single, “If I Could Turn Back Time”, in which she expresses her desire to turn back time.
Well, Cher, I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could find a way. I wish I could go back to the time before I decided to see The Counselor and watch The Smurfs 2 instead.
Cher is not in The Counselor, but she may as well be. Everyone else is. Nonetheless, Cher’s notion of remorse for her own actions is essentially what The Counselor is about. Yep. That’s the connection. Bear with me.
Michael Fassbender, taking a well-earned break from bending fass, plays an unnamed lawyer who decides to dive face-first into shallow end of the drug-trafficking swimming pool. Why? Good question. I think it might be to pay for a wedding ring for his soon-to-be-wife, Penelope Cruz. This is not properly explained, however, as you’ll see, the same can be said for almost everything in The Counselor.
“The Counselor”, as The Fass is exclusively referred to as during the movie, draws on the drug-transportation expertise of Reiner (Javier Bardem), restaurant owner and underworld kingpin, who spends the majority of the film dressed like the Sri Lankan flag. Reiner has a girlfriend, Malkina, played by the rapidly aging Cameron Diaz. Malkina is a real piece of work. She’s like Stuart Broad times a million. She’s what would be produced if John Terry and Tracy Grimshaw had a baby. Pure. Evil.
A shipment of drugs is being transported from Mexico to Chicago, hidden in the tank of a truck containing human waste (poo). Pretty smart, I know. Before it makes it to Chicago, the truck is hijacked and the contents are stolen. This pisses the Mexicans off to no end and essentially means it’s time for our lawyer to GTFO or die. If Hollywood has a message, it’s that all Mexicans are all lunatics. It’s really not as simple as this, but to clarify the situation in the most basic of terms, I’ve illustrated my understanding of the situation on this Oporto receipt:
When human waste (poo) hits the fan, Fassbender and the whole crew are in a world of pain, including Brad Pitt, who plays a young Colonel Sanders. The next spirit-draining portion of the film cuts between long, protracted periods of self-important dialogue punctuated with short jabs of extreme violence. Fassbender regrets his greed and the effect it has had on himself, Penelope Cruz and, hopefully, the paying audience of Event Cinemas at Macquarie Centre, North Ryde.
At one point, Cameron Diaz has sex with a car. Yes, Cameron Diaz has sex with a car. A Ferrari California, to be exact. To be fair, it’s not as if it was going to be a Nissan Cube – despite how great that would have been. Javier Bardem recounting the details of this event is perhaps the only redeeming feature of The Counselor, in which he describes the occasion as being “too gynaecological”.
You get the feeling that even though The Counselor is rubbish – which it most certainly is – those in Hollywood responsible for its creation will be sitting on a balcony at dusk, looking over the valley below with martinis in hand, dressed like teenage Arabs, drooling out snide comments in response to the film’s barrage of poor reviews, such as, “these people don’t know quality when they see it” or “oh well, they just didn’t understand it”. We understand it, you fucktards. It’s no good. It’s mutton dressed up as lamb. It’s Cameron Diaz dressed up as someone under 30. It’s pretentious, self-righteous, over-engineered, under-edited human waste (poo).
Why am I so angry? Well, for starters, my Oporto was cold. Secondly, look at the trailer. Just look! It’s as if they’ve made the trailer and then decided that perhaps they need to stretch it out and make a movie. It’s Killing Them Softly all over again. The result? Nothing happens and it takes longer to do so than it would take Muhammad Ali and Michael J. Fox to shake hands.
They say that the worst part about being a giraffe is the amount of time you have to think about all the mistakes you’ve made when you’re sinking in quicksand (nobody says that, but it would be great if it catches on). The Counselor takes 117 minutes to do what Cher did in 4 minutes. Yep, we’ve all made mistakes, but instead of dragging it all out in painful dialogue, grab your fishnet stockings and your g-string and head to your nearest fully-manned navy ship. Good chat.