Seeing is believing: hilarious version of Thunderbirds with a team of wooden actors led by a defunct Modine (b. 1959, here with dyed hair) taking the place of the puppets (alas, without Penelope). In this cardboard effort even the interiors and set-designs were lost for words, as were the prozac-fuelled out-of-work white actors pissed as hell that all the decent movies are packed with African Americans professionals and this was their last shot, because they had promised to take their kids to Legoland. Rarely was so little owed to so few for so much, as Winston might have said between cigars and whiskey. But let's dispense with the words, since the Americans' language is one of bullets: Shoot 'em up, Scotty! Thank heavens we can always rely on the USA to save the entire frigging planet, while joining up all of humanity in a chorus of unity, right? This movie is so inept it really deserves 10 stars.
Review of CAT. 8
