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Is this kino? Or just a flick?
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You are currently reading a thread in /tv/ - Television & Film

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Is this kino? Or just a flick?
>this won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay.
it's not a comedy no matter what the poster says

Did Ellen fuck your wife or something?
Leah: Yo Yo Yiggady Yo.
Juno MacGuff: I'm at suicide risk.
Leah: Juno?
Juno MacGuff: No, it's Morgan Freeman. Do you have any bones that need collecting?
Leah: Only the one in my pants...
Juno MacGuff: I'm pregnant.
Leah: What? Honest to blog?
Juno MacGuff: Yeah. Yeah, it's Bleekers.
Leah: It's probably just a food baby. Did you have a big lunch?
Juno MacGuff: No, this is not a food baby all right? I've taken like three pregnancy tests, and I'm forshizz up the spout.
Leah: How did you even generate enough pee for three pregnancy tests? That's amazing...
Juno MacGuff: I don't know, I drank like, ten tons of Sunny D... Anyway dude, I'm telling you I'm pregnant and you're acting shockingly cavalier.
Leah: Is this for real? Like, for real for real?
Juno MacGuff: Unfortunately, yes.
Leah: Oh my GOD. Oh shit! Phuket, Thailand!
Juno MacGuff: There we go. That was kind of the emotion that I was searching for on the first take.
It's a good comedy flick tbqhwy.
despite some of the bad writing
I can't believe ebert gave it 4/4 and one of the best films of the decade
Cringe: the movie.

Also it made a generation of sluts think that having a kid in high school was acceptable.
Nothing wrong with that

There'a a lot wrong with that, and yes it did. After Juno got really popular and won a lot of undeserved praise, a little show premiered on MTV called "16 & Pregnant". That should tell you all you need to know about Juno's influence on the moral degradation of teenage girls.
I kinda unsubscribed to ebert around 2007, his taste was just meh
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I saw this shit at the movies.

Pussy is a hell of a drug.
>a generation
less than hundred max
Teenage sluts have been getting pregnant at high school all throughout history, they don't need Juno for that.
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she meka me dik hargd
>Teenage sluts have been getting pregnant at high school all throughout history
Yah, teenage sluts. Juno is not a teenage slut, she's just some average high school girl with loving parents and friends and an impregnable support system so she could just gallivant around being pregnant and everyone will kiss her ass and it's so fun and cool and you can have sexy pseudo-affairs with Jason Bateman.

Juno is the most culturally-destructive movie of the past decade.
>Juno is the most culturally-destructive movie of the past decade.
Sweet. We need more of that.
>le watch the world burn meme
Hey edgy faggot how are you gonna get your hotpockets if the grid goes down? Plant a hotpocket tree?
>Juno is not a teenage slut, she's just some average high school girl with loving parents and friends and an impregnable support system so she could just gallivant around being pregnant and everyone will kiss her ass and it's so fun and cool
You're right about that

>Juno is the most culturally-destructive movie of the past decade.
I'm pretty sure this Juno-effect has been debunked. There were very few cases who got pregnant because of this

>getting kids
Chaim? Didn't notice you sorry
>having kids at an age when you are not equipped emotionally or financially to raise them
Are you a nigger by chance?
She should have gotten the abortion. People like her make me sick.
i was actually surprised by how turned on i was by her in this scene
then she got her face blown off like 5 minutes later
>I didn't see the movie
PROTIP: It's kinda the point of it

hello reddit
So she gives the baby to a future single mother who's gonna be relying on child support and alimony to take care of some rotten offspring of a dyke and Michael Cera. GREAT ending.
>forshizz up the spout.
I couldn't get any further than this.
This is worse than baneposting.
>implying that didn't make it all the more erotic
Normie, get out, ree, etc.
I honest to blog need le sauce on that zexy pik.
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the rape scene in Super
This scene gave me chills in a bad way. I was instantly embarrassed and it felt like a million hot needles were poking my face.
"Honest to blog. like a boss, applesauce-" Ellen cheerfully remarked.

"CUT!" Diablo yelled.

"What's wrong? I thought that take was good."

Diablo frowned and tilted her head downward. Ellen looked down at the bulge in the front of her pants and gasped in surprise.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't even feel it happen!"

Diablo sighed in exasperation. Filming had run late, and the suck boy had already gone home for the night- after having relieved Ellen of five loads over the course of the day. Ellen was flush with embarrassment.

"I'll just go in the bathroom and take care of this..."

"That'll take too long. Come here." Diablo sternly demanded.

Ellen nervously eyed her. "I'm sorry, you're lovely, but it's just..."

Diablo knew enough about Ellen's tastes. She turned her attention.


Michael Cera looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights.


"Drop to your knees."

"What? No!"

"Fucking do it now or I'm going to fire your ass and hire Jesse Eisenberg to film the rest of your scenes!"
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Every ten years or so, a bad movie gets good reviews. And I don't mean that Bratz: The Movie scored a 21 on Metacritic when it deserved to get a -999, which would mean that by federal law everyone involved in its creation can be murdered without any legal repercussions whatsoever. No, I'm talking about movies like Titanic, a lumbering behemoth of a film that managed to gross 40 trillion million dollars, mostly because 12-year-old girls saw it over and over again, attempting to imprint Leonardo DiCaprio's youthful face so deeply onto their mind's eyes that every unconscious moment would be dominated by his mien, like Gregory's face spanning the world entire at the conclusion of The Man Who Was Thursday.

Juno is another such film, our generation's Titanic, just like Paris Hilton is our generation's Marilyn Monore, or Gulf War II is our generation's Gulf War I. And like our American forefathers, when confronted with a Saddam Hussein, a Paris Hilton, or a Diablo Cody/Jason Reitman, it's our solemn duty to hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats. Or to write scathing blotrys that will cause the targets of their soul-crushing invective to realize their own stunning, insurmountable inadequacies and to then slit their own throats. Information Age and all that.
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I'd like to begin by laying out a few facts.

As of my writing, Juno has amassed 94% positive reviews of Rotten Tomatoes' "Cream of the Crop" critics, ostensibly a collection of the most prestigious movie reviewers in film criticism-dom. It also has a score of 8.1, which suggests that the reviews are not mildly salutory, but overwhelmingly positive. By comparison, the Coen Brothers' masterpiece No Country for Old Men has a rating of 93%.

No Country For Old Men is a searing, gorgeously composed meditation on the nature of evil, the inescapability of fate, and the inability of good men to overcome either. It is best thing the Coens have made since Fargo, and is one of the great films of the year, if not the decade.

Juno is a twee vector for Diablo Cody's "wit" and "humor" masquerading as a dramedy about a teenage girl's pregnancy.

These are the facts.
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I don't want to rage apoplectic about the failure of Rotten Tomatoes or of film criticism in general. Metacritic, another review compilation site, is considerably less sanguine about Juno's quality. But Juno's success is real--it was nominated for three Golden Globes, including Best Comedy and Best Screenplay, and won the Best Original Screenplay Oscar. And I do think that Juno's ascendance is indicative of larger trends at work in the world.

"We're drowning in quirk," Michael Hirschorn pronounced in The Atlantic, in reply. Hirschorn was too indiscriminate in his condemnation, lumping The Royal Tenenbaums and Flight of the Conchords together with cultural obscenities like Garden State and Napoleon Dynamite. But he's onto something. He's right to be skeptical of the kind of aesthetic that satisfies itself with reference and nostalgia, with what the British would call twee, dainty affectations that signify nothing.
I'd rather drink curdled milk before chasing it with chimp piss than sit through another film which features Ellen Page for more than 5 minutes. She's easily one of the least endearing, most pretentious and infuriatingly talentless "actresses" working today.

I've more than given little Miss Page a chance. Interest piqued thanks to the hype, I had my first taste of her in Juno, and I sat through her entire performance stone-faced. I felt none of the supposed tension nor was I humored by either her's or her co-star's quirkiness exhibited on screen. The smug, self-indulgent Codyisms worsened the film, and I'm convinced Page took more than a few acting cues from that cunt monster writer. Its popularity struck me as mass hysteria in action.

Inception, one of the most overrated films ever made, did her no favors. The very fact that very little danger ever existed in the dream layers made this film a tedious watch. Every one-dimensional, lifeless and paper-thin character ruined the supposedly great movie, with Page being the worst offender. She's said to be a Dream Architect, yet very little did she convince us so. While we can blame her blandness on the poor characterization, Page managed to outdrab an already poorly written character. All we could gather was her recitation of lines and presence in the action sequences, which in a way, suited her very well, as it served to anchor her acting hallmarks which recur in virtually every frame she occupies.
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The cynical emptiness at the heart of movies like Juno speaks to the triumph of a kind of fakery that's become endemic to a lot of artistic endeavors. Yes, all art is artifice, but the good stuff gets at the humanity, the hidden realities, of the situation. That's why in Pulp Fiction (Tarantino is a writer who specializes in successful stylization and who I've seen compared to Diablo Cody more than once) two hitmen can have a conversation about hamburgers--because what they're talking about is genuinely sort of interesting (of course they can't call in a quarter-pounder in a country that uses the metric system!), and because we might imagine that hitmen who've committed countless crimes before would talk about empty frivolities on their way to another hit. Or take this exchange between Butch and his girlfriend:
I will give Whip It some credit, as the derby scenes were high energy rushes. Wasn't great, but her performance wasn't so fuckwittedly unwatchable (although her hallmarks in this role didn't escape me unnoticed).

Page is one of the biggest chunks of vomit spewed by the film industry in the past decade, and every interview with her I've seen made me want to shoot my TV. I'd consider it a mystery why her intentionally bland performances, stilted delivery and overwrought quirkiness have been embraced by so many people, but a cursory look at her fans reveals that virgin neckbeards and hipster morons will embrace anyone who'll make them feel less alone in the world, especially if it's a vaguely attractive female with an interest in nerdisms. Sometimes I think that if these diehards were forced to tattoo their IQs upon their foreheads, they'd all look like Hindus who forgot to fill in their dots.

I'm sorry, baby-love.

You were gone so long, I started to
think dreadful thoughts.

I'm sorry I worried you, sweetie.
Everything's fine. Hey, how was

(waterworks drying a
It was good --

-- did you get the blueberry

No, they didn't have blueberry
pancakes, I had to get buttermilk
-- are you sure you're okay?

Baby-love, from the moment I left
you, this has been without a doubt
the single weirdest day of my
entire life. Climb on an' I'll
tell ya about it.

Fabian does climb on. Butch STARTS her up.

Butch, whose motorcycle is this?

It's a chopper.

Whose chopper is this?


Who's Zed?

Zed's dead, baby, Zed's dead.

The exchange is stylized, it's not realistic (how could it be, really, since it follows a scene in which Butch slices up a couple of redneck rapists with a samurai sword), but it still manages to engage with real situations and emotions, as Butch desperately tries to talk his flighty girlfriend into coming with him without asking too many questions. Tarantino's dialogue sparkles because he consciously juxtaposes the absurd with the mundane, and finds humanity and humor in both. That's where the comedy comes from, why pancakes are funny, and why Tarantino deserves credit as a stylish writer.
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Imagine you're on the bed kissing and fondling AnnaSophia Robb, when Ellen Page jumps out the closet dressed as Boltie. "Sorry bud'" laughs Ellen, giving you a friendly punch on the arm, "Not a fan of the cock, but if you want, I'll warm 'er up for ya!"

You watch wide-eyed as Ellen spreads AnnaSophia's shapely thighs to reveal that little slice of heaven she keeps between them, and begins eating her out with great skill and enthusiasm. AnnaSophia is more than "warmed up" - she cums twice in 15 minutes, moaning like a whore, her face cherry-red with excitement and embarrassment.

"Your turn bud'!" laughs Ellen, her lips and mouth chin glistening with AnnaSophia's juices. 2 hours later, all 3 of you have cummed multiple times, you and Ellen are elated, but from the humiliated look on her face, AnnaSophia feels like the dirtiest most wanton slut ever. As you and Ellen high-five over her luscious sweat-soaked body, you know this is the beginning of a lifelong friendship.

Juno's dialogue isn't funny because it's phoney. Look at this exchange from early on in Juno:

ROLLO, the eccentric drugstore clerk, sneers at Juno from
behind the counter. He wears a polyester uniform vest.

Well, well. If it isn’t MacGuff the
Crime Dog! Back for another test?

I think the last one was defective.
The plus sign looked more like a
division sign.

Rollo regards her with intense skepticism.

I remain unconvinced.

Rollo pulls the bathroom key out of reach.

This is your third test today, Mama
Bear. Your eggo is preggo, no doubt
about it!

An eavesdropping TOUGH GIRL wearing an oversized jacket and
lots of makeup gapes at Juno from the beauty aisle.

Three times? Oh girl, you are way
pregnant. It’s easy to tell. Is
your nipples real brown?

A pile of stolen COSMETICS falls out of the girl’s jacket and
clatters to the floor.


Juno crosses and crosses her legs awkwardly, hopping. It’s
obvious she has to use the bathroom urgently.

Maybe you’re having twins. Maybe
your little boyfriend’s got mutant
sperms and he knocked you up twice!

Silencio! I just drank my weight in
Sunny D. and I have to go, pronto.

Why is Rollo so antagonistic? There's no hint that he has any kind of prior relationship with Juno. Instead we're left to conclude that we're deep in the territory of Quirk-Land, a kind of twisted Fairy realm populated by impossibly verbose pixie girls and angry drugstore clerks and stepmoms with oh-so-random predilictions for cutting pictures of dogs out of magazines, where the rivers flow with Sunny Delight and the ubiquitous chords of cloying indie bands fill the air.
fuck me

Why is Rollo so antagonistic? There's no hint that he has any kind of prior relationship with Juno. Instead we're left to conclude that we're deep in the territory of Quirk-Land, a kind of twisted Fairy realm populated by impossibly verbose pixie girls and angry drugstore clerks and stepmoms with oh-so-random predilictions for cutting pictures of dogs out of magazines, where the rivers flow with Sunny Delight and the ubiquitous chords of cloying indie bands fill the air.

How else to explain Juno's familiarity with Soupy Sales (the only person I know who knows who Soupy Sales is is my 60-year old father), or with Thunderbirds? Who, indeed, is apparently such a wit that she has the presence of mind to make a Thunderbirds reference just as her water breaks? That moment, in fact, nicely encapsulates Juno's dual failures: a complete lack of authenticity coupled with a tin-ear for comedy; making references to mid 60s puppet shows is not inherently funny. Over and over again, Cody mistakes reference or inappropriate explictness (nipples! pregnancy! eggo preggo!) for comedy.

Juno judiciously avoids any engagement with reality. It carefully sidesteps any hint of the extreme strains her tiny body must be undergoing--Juno carries her child as lightly as, well, a fat suit. It dances around the social consequences of being pregnant and in high school. It teeters dangerously close to genuine drama with the strange, uncomfortable relationship between Jason Bateman and Juno, but then backs away at the last second. And yes, certainly, of course, it stays far far away from examining Juno's decision to carry the pregnancy in the first place-- the burden of that decision is passed off on a suitably lame (read Asian) pro-life protester and another round of "comedy" from the inappropriately explicit abortion clinic front desk clerk.
How the fuck was Young Adult such a good script when Diablo Cody is very clearly a terrible writer?
Michael quickly complied.

"There. Now Ellen, do your business, and make it quick, so we can finish this take."

Ellen gently patted Michael on the head and began unzipping her fly.

"I've... I've never done this before..."

Ellen and Diablo both broke out in riotous laughter.

"I bet he means he's never sucked a white one!" Diablo cackled wickedly.

"No, I'm serious..."

Ellen smiled warmly. "That's really sexy. I bet I'll finish quick thinking about that." She fished her steely hard five inch rod out of her fly.

Michael took it in his hand, leaned forward, and tentatively licked it.

"Hurry up you little bitch, we ain't got all night!"

"Diablo? Do you mind? You're ruining my concentration here and I'll never be able to finish."

Diablo sighed and fell silent.

"It's ok baby, just open wide."

Michael parted his lips as Ellen pressed her hands against his scalp and eased the tip of her cock in.

"Ow! Cover your teeth! Mmmm... that's better. Work some spit up. Use your tongue more."

Ellen gasped as she pushed her short cock to the back of Michael's mouth and basked in the wet warmth.
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All that would be perfectly OK if Juno's ambitions were purely comedic...but they're not, and anyway, the "comedy" is mostly contained in inane, artificial lines like, "Honest to Blog." Honest to Blog? Really? Not only does no one talk like that, no one wants to talk like that. Anyone who did talk like that would be taken out and shot. And I would be glad that they had been shot. Whoever did the shooting would receive a medal of some kind, and a delicious roast ham.

So what does Juno's ascendence mean for you and me? I hesitate to use the success of the latest flavor of the month to extrapolate broad social trends, but I do think movies like Juno suggest the triumph of easy laughs and unearned bathos over genuine humor and hard-won emotion. It's all style over substance, a kind of carefully manufactured reality, carefully crafted to stimulate without demanding anything of the audience other than that they laugh and cry on cue, when the film says that it's being funny or moving without ever actually being either. In its fakery it's not entirely unlike, say, a certain screenwriter with a catchy pseudonym and a manufactured resume involving a trumped-up stripping career which just happened, purely by accident mind you, to be parlayed into a successful blog and an an adoring press junket.

There's a brief little moment in Juno that threatens to blow the whole farce wide open, to expose the charade. It's gone before it really registers, but it surprised me, and stuck with me. As Juno calls the clinic to set up the abortion on her silly hamburger-shaped phone, she says, "What was that? I’m sorry, I’m on my hamburger phone and it’s kind of awkward to talk on. It’s really more of a novelty than a functional appliance."

That's about right.
"That's not so bad, is it baby?"


"I knew you'd be all right." Ellen tilted her hips back and forward, slowly pumping Michael's face as she held his head in place.

"Unn... so good..."

Ellen thrust fast and hard but she felt Michael begin to sputter and gag. She needed more stimulation, so she instead put one hand on his lower jaw and forced his mouth to close tighter, then began to thrust slowly, dragging her shaft back and forth over his tongue.

"Oh baby... OHHH"

Ellen's tight, smooth little ballsack pulsed against Michael's chin as Ellen pressed his face into her crotch. He felt his mouth flood with warm, sweet love which he instinctively swallowed.

Ellen pulled out and stroked her shaft once, eliciting a single pearly drop from her piss slit. Michael, without having to be told, leaned forward and licked it off, then lovingly kissed her tip.

"You're a natural born cocksucker" Ellen grinned down at him. She pushed her softening cock back into her pants, zipped up and helped Michael to his feet.

"All right, ACTION! What do you mean you never stopped filming? Oh well, I guess this'll be a DVD bonus feature then."

Holy shit, I haven't seen this pasta in years. It's a small world. It really, really is.
This is inaccurate. Ellen is way too nice here.
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