Hey, Iggy here!

Well. What can I say? As much as I wanted to like Suburbicon, I have to confess I found the film to be a dreadful mess, and a complete slog to sit through. I just can’t recommend it. So . . . let me explain.

George Clooney directs this well-intentioned but unfortunately unsatisfying polemic about 1950s racism.

I mean, I was excited for it. And it sounds like the perfect film, right? Directed by gorgeous George Clooney, who is an amazing actor and such a force for good in the world, from a script co-written by two of most brilliant screen writers in the history of Hollywood, Joel Coen and Ethan Coen (I may have mentioned I have a signed copy of the shooting script for Blood Simple before, but if I not, I’m telling you now: I do, and Ethan Coen swears that big coffee ring in the middle of it is from Joel’s coffee mug during the shoot!) and it stars Matt Damon and Julianne Moore. Sure to be dynamite, right?

Well, let me tell you. First, my authentic 1969 VW Bus wouldn’t start. I thought it was the battery, but apparently it was something in the engine. Joe from next door said he thought it was something to do with the toadfloaters or the flombrigenator, but it was all greek to me. So I had to call an Uber.

My Uber driver kept trying to get me to come to his Big & Tall Yoga class for the husky man or woman. I politely declined. I have Important Work to do for you guys!

So up comes this little tiny Prius. I’m not the skinniest guy in the world, and quarters were in the Prius were kind of cramped. The guy driving it was was short, and apparently taught some kind of yoga class when he wasn’t being an Uber driver, and kept giving me business cards saying I needed to try Yoga. He had a special class for huskier men, he said. I had to threaten to give him a bad rating AND accuse him of an assault to get him to stop by the Walmart Neighborhood Market on the way to pick up supplies for the movie. That was bad enough, but it got worse, my friends. Much worse.

A few of my typical rations for any movie performance. In this case, this is just what was left over, but you get the idea.

Normally, I pick up most of the nourishment I’ll need for my screening before I get to the theater. Why pay $6 for a box of Milkduds if you can pick it up for .98 cents at the Walmart, am I right? My normal purchase for a single viewing involves Swedish Fish, Butterfinger Bites, Goobers, another box of Swedish Fish, a box of Cowtails, Reeses Pieces (a ritual for every movie since I first saw E.T. : The Extra Terrestrial), Raisinettes, Cookie Dough Bites, Junior Mints, and whatever else strikes my fancy that day.

There was nothing but Good & Plenty left! And some Gobstoppers and Nerds, and I don’t like Gobstoppers! Or Nerds! This event foreshadowed the unpleasant viewing experience to come, alas.

Well, imagine my horror when I looked into the .98 cent candy bin and all that was left were Good & Plenty! Gag! There was like one box of Runts, some Gobstoppers, and a box of Whoppers. I bought the Whoppers, but still . . . it was not an auspicious start to this viewing experience.

Okay. So I get back in my Uber, and the driver asks me what I bought, and I show him the Whoppers and he starts going on about kale chips. Look, I love kale chips, especially the bacon-flavored kind, but it’s not right for seeing a movie about white racists terrorizing African-Americans back in the dark ages of the 1950s. That’s a Goobers and Swedish Fish movie if ever there’s been one.

Finally, I get there, get my large popcorn and large root beer with the unlimited refills, and I buy my two tickets, like usual, and make my way back to the smallest theater. Since I’ve only been going to this particular cinema for the past year, I hadn’t yet been in every theater in the place. Turns out, this was what they called the “3rd run” room, and it didn’t have the kind of armrests that folded up and out of the way like the other ones! So I had to squeeze myself into a single seat, and set up my whoppers and soda and popcorn in the seat beside me.

Did I mention, it didn’t have cupholders!? Well, it didn’t. It was truly awful.

So after a number of trailers I had already seen on my computer so why bother, the movie finally starts, but by the time that happens, I’m super uncomfortable, my back is killing me, and I’m beginning to get sugar withdrawal: my Whoppers are gone and I haven’t got any Goobers, Reeses Pieces, Goobers, or Butterfinger Bites!

For you, my loyal fans, I know I’ve got to soldier on and watch this movie so I can tell you what to think about it. But it was becoming impossible! So I reach into my pocket and pull out some pills that I snagged from my mother’s pharmacopeia. She’s got all sorts of stuff. I’m not sure what I took, but I knew some of it was for pain and some of it was for anxiety, and that’s what I needed right then.

I’m not sure if I passed out or fell asleep, but I am pretty sure I hallucinated the bit with Godzilla eating Matt Damon. I’ll have to watch it again to be sure.

Godzilla in a pitched battle to the death with Matt Damon! Not George Clooney like I originally said, but I see a little of that devil-may-care attitude of a brash George Clooney in the picture above.

But anyway, before I passed out, it was pretty clear an African-American family had moved into an all-white neighborhood, and the white people were being really mean to them. Which reminded my of how my mom and dad single-handedly integrated the all-white apartment complex we lived in, back in the 1970s. They were brave, and I’ve always remembered the lessons about loving everybody and humanity and how awful white people can be that my dad taught me.

However, despite reminding me how important my family was in the civil rights movement, I still can’t recommend this movie. It wasn’t good enough to keep me engaged, or awake, or play in a theater with decent seating for movie critics. Sorry, my friends, I’ve got to give this one a big thumbs down.

Better luck next time, George!

This is King Geek, signing out! Keep it chilly, peeps!

Mmmmm. Peeps.
Ignatius Roeper lives with this parents in Akron, Ohio (but not in the basement!). His father owns Akron's premier curio and antique shop, Bongs and Hashpipes, while his mother works as a cocktail executive at the exclusive Club Platinum. Having taught himself to read with his father's collection of Richie Rich, Hot Stuff, and Little Lotta comic books by the age of two, his parents recognized his precociousness and soon introduced him to the many pleasures of R-rated cinema, knowing that even at such a tender age, he was mature enough to appreciate such adult entertainment. By the age of 12, he had amassed a collection of thousands of films for his Sony Betamax, and had a collection of over 10,000 comic books, many of them not Richie Rich or Little Lotta! As well, his collection of toys, action figures, maquettes, movie posters, and memorabilia had expanded so massively that they threatened to overwhelm their cozy home. According to Mr. Roeper's self-published autobiography, Iggy Knows It All, his matchless knowledge of all things film and entertainment quickly garnered him a reputation, and he often found himself being visited, and even consulted on script and movies, by numerous Hollywood professionals, who gave him the well-deserved title: King Geek. He flatly denies that the name was in fact given to him by his fellow students at Jennings Middle School as they punched him in the head and threw him in the dumpster after he'd brought his entire collection of Sailor Moon figurines to school as part of a "multimedia" report on the country of Japan. While he admits things have been a little difficult for King Geek since he lost his job at the Chapel Hill Mall Blockbuster video in 2002, he's finally found a home at FilmGoblin, and looks forward to once again telling aspiring geeks, and his loyal fans, what to think and how to feel about the movies and TV shows that bring us all together. And he totally does not live in the basement. He has both a room and an office on the 3rd floor of his parents' house. Take that, haters!