A Second Helping of Rotten Catfish

The more I thought about my review over the weekend of Catfish, the more I felt obligated to spill the beans about it a little bit more. Because the only reason the filmmakers put the “Don’t Let Anyone Tell You What It Is” schtick in their marketing is because nobody would see this movie without it. I feel obligated to do my duty as a filmgoer to enlighten some people about what they’re walking into. I’m going to spoil it for some folks- and if you’re really desperate to not know, then read no further. But do so at your own peril.

This is an absolute joke of a film. The film evokes Hitchcock in the trailer, and was marketed heavily as a horror, or a suspense, or… anything than what it actually was- a documentary about some dumpy housewife in Michigan who created a flock of fake Facebook accounts, and duped some schmuck in New York who (creepily enough in his own right) had struck up a long-distance relationship with a fake person he’d never met. “Ok”, you may be thinking. “That’s your own fault for having those expectations”, you might say.

So let’s gauge it purely on its merit as a documentary, pretending that it was never falsely marketed DELIBERATELY by the filmmakers in the hopes of basically stealing filmgoers’ money. How does it rank as a documentary? It’s awful. Some forty minutes of this thing features the very unlikable protagonist FACEBOOKING AND TEXTING. If I wanted to witness the mind-numbing banality of someone facebooking and texting, I’d go hang out with a bunch of Junior High kids. So what’s the point of all this? To let us know that (GASP!!!) sometimes people lie about things on the internet! WOW! I didn’t know that at all.

The fascinating world of some douchebag facebooking, passed off as horror/suspense, and compared to Hitchcock in trailers.

And there’s a really smug, smarmy vibe about how these poor, bored midwesterners living in their flyover states have nothing better to do with their time, and their lives are so boring and blah blah blah. Please cut the crap. In summation, I’d rather rub sandpaper on my genitals than go through an experience like this again, and I highly, highly recommend you skip this movie. You might recall my very strong hatred of the movie Crash. I actually hated Catfish more than that.

There. I just saved you 90 long, boring boobless minutes.


Filed under Movies

4 responses to “A Second Helping of Rotten Catfish

  1. Dude

    I am literally laughing at work right now. Good job.

  2. hahaha. man, we definitely landed on different ends of the spectrum with this one. then again, I also loathed Crash, so at least we’ve got that.

  3. Laura

    Came across your (and I put this extremely lightly) Catfish “review” on NetFlix. I haven’t seen the movie yet, nor do I pay attention to reviews as they are all just one person’s opinion. The only reason I read yours is because the 89 pages of text caught my eye, and I thought, “This must be a pretty good movie if someone took the time to spew forth all these words.”

    That said, I must say that all I gleaned from your rantings are a) you probably have a dumpy fat housewife for a significant other; you’re a poor, bored Midwesterner living in a flyover state (Missouri, is it?); and c) you rate movies based on how many non-boring, boob-exposing minutes are in the film. Maybe you should have checked the website “Mr. Skin” before you made the decision whether or not to watch it. You don’t have boring, boob-less minutes to spare. Afterall, this self-righteous blog must take up most of your time. By the way, bloggers are right up there with Facebookers and texters. But people in Missouri probably haven’t heard that news yet.

    My advice? Learn the difference between a movie “review” and an inane, senseless rant. You come off sounding like a 12-year-old Facebooker/texter.

    A poor, bored, dumpy, fat housewife living in Wisconsin (but that might just be an internet lie)

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