Greetings

The very first thing I want to do when I look at my notes for Greetings is to just cry. Just, you know... ball my eyes out for twenty minutes. Get all of my self-hate, self-loathing, and all of my insecurities out. Just get everything out in the open. Because I need to make all the extra space in the whole wide world between my lungs and what's left of my heart to fill it with the greenest, darkest, most putridly vile anger that I can possibly concoct to stain the "reputation" that this film has (if it even has one) to the point of making Brain Damage Films go out of business. That's right. This is one of those flicks where I wondered how it even made it past the writing process. Hell, even the idea process. Here it is, zits and zombies-nothing in this film works. It's broken. It's so goddamn lame that I'd rather start going back to church again than ever having to think about this Euro-trash for the rest of my pathetic life. Literally 95% of this film is a bunch of British nit-wits sitting in someone's living room blabbing on and on and on and on about whatever the fuck they want to. They drink ass-loads of wine and coffee, see a floating upside down table... and then I proceeded to drown myself in a glass vat of hydrochloric acid. 

A little bubbly for the birthday.

What a cheesy ass speech. Get out of here.

Brits do love the smell of fresh paint, yeah? I mean, they watch it dry on t.v. for Satan's sake.

This is seriously the most boring birthday party I've ever seen. Falling down the stairs and spraining my ankle is more exciting than this shit.

Damn bro, wanna get hammered?

Oujia isn't supposed to work with a fucking wine glass. Wow.

Somebody just said they thought a window was open! Jesus Christ.

What broke into the house?! A chicken??

Yeah-spraying Febreeze is going to help out so much.

In all seriousness, the first 50-60 minutes of this "movie" (it's 71 in total by the way) is all of the main characters sitting around in some blonde bitch's living room talking about nothing and getting shit-faced off wine. That is it. Nothing fucking happens. On and off, the guys that are there play this really crappy version of Oujia with a wine glass and some flat piece of rusted metal, and then a table in the living room is all of a sudden floating upside down. Then more talking for the rest of eternity until some magical white light starts killing people. And that's all there is to it. I'm going to leave you zits and zombies with this-putting my hairy ball-sack into my wife's Nightmare Before Christmas themed nutcracker and pushing the tab on the back as hard as I possibly can down on my nuts and going to the ER would be more fun than fucking watching Greetings ever again. If you want to watch a good birthday horror flick, go find Bloody Birthday or Happy Birthday To Me. At least then you could have your cake and eat it too.