Director by Denis Villeneuve

Holy butt plug, Batman! Don’t you just hate it when a movie makes you weep little baby tears in the first scenes? Not me, bitch, I love that shit. It reminds me that pain is real when I’m feeling numb from the existential and looming depression harboring deep (and not so deep) within my soul.

Arrival is hella tight. It’s got everything— explosions, aliens, exploding aliens, first contact with said exploding bitches, and a hot red head to make said contact with said alien hoes. I swear if this shit was any more lit mafucks would be twerking in the cut scenes.

Let’s face it, alien flicks come a dime a dozen. And when they come the production is cheap skilled and talent even cheaper. Arrival is none of that bullshit. The score is most fiya. Its haunting theme keeps bitches anxious and excited. No matter what crazy ass out-of-this-world shit goes down, somehow this soundtrack leaves ya bitch ass wanting more. I found myself turning into a str8 up crack addict. I call it the Space Odyssey Mass Crack Effect. Basically it’s where everything is so cray like Kanye you can’t help but want more. And most of that is due largely in part to Jóhann Jóhannsson, who, if you’re a complete asshole and you don’t know, is one of the holy meccas of composing the most supa hot-fiya scores. Its composers like this that make your battle and crying and fighting and happy scenes so fucking emotional. So the biggest of ups to the homie, Jóhannsson. I see you, you frolicking sex muffin you.

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If having Amy Adams and Hawkeye as your main protagonists isn’t enough for your greedy cinematic pleasure, guess who storms the pearly gates into movie land? None other than world leader himself, Forest Whitaker. I mean holy shit! My butthole was already moist enough, then you bring Whitaker into it?? That lazy eye is so fucking hot I’m thinking bout goin full retard and just gouging my shit just so I can get an off centered glass eye.

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BE MY DAD, FOREST. Amy and Jeremy may be the focal point of this joint, but the Almighty dad F. Whitaker def commands the direction of Arrival. He also commands the direction of my heart because I wanna s that dude’s d right about now. Sweet dick, dad.

This sci-fi gem is amazing. It def has a bit of an Interstellar-ish/space-odyssey-ish vibe, but make no mistake you sweltering fascists, the plot and twist is more original than the shape of the shit logs Jude Marcley made after eating three carolina reapers. Aside from the plot and plot twist, we are left with an unanticipated, worldly message. A message most dopely dope.

Donald Trump may be our president, but Forest Whitaker is our dad. Let us not mourn over the diminishing sanctity of love and kindness that our new world leader is bestowing, but let us bask in the beauty of space and in the unknown realms that Arrival provides. We are human. Do you understand how science-y we are? We’re science-y as shit. It is embedded into the genes of our gooey brains to be uncomplacent in the face of turmoil and hardships. The Donald may reign, but time reigns absolutely. Be inspired and watch the movie, for it is a testament to all the beautiful shit I just said.

If you didn’t already know what Joaquin was gonna give this you can go on a suck on a butt.

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