THE HULK. Hours after it was over, I still wasn’t quite sure I hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. Overwrought, overwritten and turbo-charged with eruptions of seismic, daffy grandeur, The Hulk’s the kind of uniquely terrible movie that perhaps only a great director could make. There’s certainly nothing ordinary about its badness. In fact, the fool thing is so shithouse bonkers I’ll probably end up seeing it multiple times.
For posterity, the short review of The Hulk (2003) that permanently added“shithouse bonkers” to our family’s vocabulary. Briefly diverted to“babyhouse bonkers” six months later upon the birth of Antje Cramer (2003).
Pros: always sweater weather, outside smells like jasmine, Burmese food, even generic catering companies make their sandwiches out of decent sourdough.
Cons: housing market so crazy that even people with Good Jobs scrape to get by, old price-gouging airport, no water, too many cars, confusing roads.
Three out of five stars.
Confirmed. It’s like someone said, let’s take the one place in North America with nearly perfect weather and develop it such that everyone spends all of their time at work or in their car.
Also, they do in fact put avocado on everything.
Over Pennsylvania, in Santa Clara.