The Avengers   The Filthy Critic says: "It's pretty piss-poor." The Avengers was not released to critics for review before its commercial release. Warner Brothers claims they wanted the general public and the critics to experience the movie together. I don't believe them. No, I think the real reason Warner Brothers withheld the movie is because it is a big stinking pile of shit. Once again, the pricks in Hollywood decided they could sloppily slap together a disjointed, incomprehensible and annoying reel of fecal matter because we are too stupid to expect more. Well, I for one say to Hollywood: FUCK YOU, ASSHOLES. It's not as if they didn't try. The studio clearly spent shitloads of money, and all the actors seem to be working their asses off. But, nobody bothered to come up with anything resembling a freakin' story. In the Avengers, Ralph (pronounced "pretentious cocksucker") Fiennes is John Steed, a man so proper that he's probably never pissed in public. His main weapons are his bowler and umbrella. Uma Thurman plays Dr. Emma Peel, a sweet-ass meteorologist whose ethics are supposed to be in doubt by the film's heroes for most of the story. Her main wepaons are her big titties, which she whips out and uses to knock people unconscious... I wish, but she never actually takes off her top. At some point in the past, Thurman helped develop a vaguely described weather program for the Ministry. Enter Sean Connery as a motherfucker named August d'Winter, who also worked for the Ministry and now has found a bitchin' way to control global weather patterns and hold the world ransom. Fiennes and Thurman must stop Connery before he freezes the butt of every bastard in London. That's the plot; it's supposed to be like a campy James Bond. The film looks as pretty as a $500 whore, with all the shit going down in an abandoned, gray London. And there's loads of little touches throughout the movie that have no reason to exist other than someone thought, "Wouldn't that look fucking cool?" Sixties vintage Coopers and Jaguars race around among mansions and tree-lined drives. Thurman is so fucking hot looking that I would chop off my little finger if she asked. And Fiennes has the dapper kind of suits that I'm gonna wear once I'm a rich jerk-off. The main reason the flick is stinking failure is because Director Jeremiah "I'm a Fucking Idiot" Chechik lacks any ability to be subtle. He works so hard to give the film that stodgy Limey feel that he forgets everything else, like character development and plot. Plus, he loads the film with awkward attempts at witty repartee. It's the kind of witty repartee you usually find inside adult greeting cards at Spencer Gifts. They include indirect, but obvious, references to large, blood-engorged cocks and screwing. Finally, Chechik has the comedic ability of a retard with a xylophone. Adding the stink to this shit is that fact that Uma Thurman and Ralph Fiennes have the romantic chemistry of oil and peepee. Hey Kids, get Filthy's Reading, Listening and Movie Picks for this week. It would be a disservice to discuss the Avengers without mentioning a few of the many pointless and confusing subplots. For example, Connery just happened to create a clone of Thurman that does battle with our heroes. But, when the clone angle is worn out, it's dropped like a cob of corn that was repeatedly rammed up some hillbilly's ass. Connery's character also alternates between wanting to kidnap Thurman and wanting to kill her. He claims he needs her to help him develop his weather system, even though it's already fully operational. What the fuck? And British comic Eddie Izzard has screen time as a henchmen that chews gum and looks tough. That's all. I'd like to meet the asshole that put that in the script. Then, indicative of the cleverness of this toilet bowl of diarrhea, there are two characters named "Mother" and "Father" who are not really a mother and father. Are you laughing? Well, the hilarious bit is that Mother is a man, and Father is a woman. Oh, shit, oh my achin' sides. Whee. That's fucking hilarious. I give it a pretty piss poor, only because it's nice to look at.    Enter an e-mail address and send this page to a friend:  Want to tell the Filthy Critic something? ©1999 by Randy Shandis Enterprises. All rights fucking reserved.