Tuesday is the one day of the week that I can actually afford to go to the movies, thanks to cheap ticket day at my local moving picture projection house. So on Tuesday I tend to go a little nuts, which is surprising considering the fact that most movies these days suck inordinate quantities of dick. Still, it's the only way that I can find to escape my day to day life, which is on average considerably worse.

That's good news for you however! Because thanks to the magic of the internet I can warn you ahead of time so that you don't make the same mistakes that I frequently do. So without further ado, here's the list of all the shit I subjected myself to this week.

Hollywood needs to stop releasing movies with numbers in the title. We know by now that when the inevitable sequel comes around they're just going to take the original title and add one to the number, even if that means it ceases to make sense. Think The Whole Ten Yards, 22 Grams, The Magnificent Eight, Ten Months and the poorly-received Brad Pitt vehicle Se8en. Surely it's better to add a byline or something. Ocean's Eleven was called that because George Clooney's team of crooks had eleven members. And it still does. Ocean's Twelve and Thirteen doesn't make any fucking sense. He doesn't have thirteen bloody people. There haven't been thirteen movies. The number thirteen is absolute nonsense. This isn't fucking algebra. You don't have to treat it like a math equation - (Ocean's 11)2. Adding another number shouldn't effect the original number. No matter how low your opinion of the consumer public is, most of us are capable of reading a title with two numbers in it without collapsing into a state of mouth-frothing confusion.

When you bankroll a movie with George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon in the lead roles, I can only assume that your target audience is going to be middle-aged women who want to have sex with every single person on screen. With Clooney in particular, women seem incapable of saying his name without having a minor orgasm at the second syllable. I have to admit that I felt a stirring in my own loins, but not for Clooney, Pitt or Damon. Not even for Ellen Barkin, who I seem to remember being hot in the past, but who in this movie looks not dissimilar to Liza Minelli. No, I'm moderately-but-not-entirely ashamed to admit I kinda sorta wanna bone Al Pacino. I can't think of another man who could turn a terrible movie into the greatest movie ever, just by looking into the camera bug-eyed and clearing his throat. The man has powers. Terrible, erotic powers.

Okay, now I take that back. They may have actually improved the title of this film by adhering to the aforementioned law of numbers-in-titles. Fantastic Five. That seems marginally less incompetant and amateurish than Rise of the Silver Surfer. What does that even fucking mean? How can you justify the use of the word rise in the description of what the Silver Surfer does in this movie? What, because he flies? Is that what they're referring to? His ability to fly? Or did they just pull a title out of their arse that fulfilled their criteria of including a reference to both the Fantastic Four and the Silver Surfer?

Man, you've got to hand it to them. The only reason I saw this is because I didn't think anything could surpass Fantastic Four in my mind as the worst movie ever made. Boy, was I wrong. The only Marvel concept more unfilmable than the Fantastic Four is the Silver Fucking Surfer. Yeah, well done Stan Lee, a surfer who surfs through space, great. That's almost as good as your idea for Daredevil, a blind man whose superpower is that he can see.

Most of the Marvel movies seem to adhere to the tactic of adapting the comics into halfway-realistic scenarios that seem plausible while still retaining a fantasy edge. The producers of this series, however, seem to have adopted the idea of adapting the comics exactly as they are - wacky to the extreme that you can't even pretend to imagine it's really happening. So the twenty-three year olds who compose the Fantastic Four are apparently world-renowned supergenious scientists, even though the fire guy talks like Michaelangelo from the Ninja Turtles, and Jessica Alba looks like a stripper, and none of the characters ever say anything even remotely intelligent. I like how the lead character, the stretchy guy, solves all problems with a deus ex machina technology solution. You need to figure out where the Silver Surfer is? Simply build a massive machine in like three hours that tracks cosmic radiation throughout the universe. Easy!

I especially liked the dialogue. Watch the fire dude wince as he stumbles through his lines. "It seemed to be some kind of... silver... surfer..."

We all know that Hollywood loves remakes, and that's fair enough, but when I go to see a movie, I'd at least like to know that it's a remake. I especially don't like to be tricked into seeing a movie because I'm under the impression that it's something entirely different to what it is. If, for example, I buy a ticket to what appears to be a lower-scale Narnia clone, I don't want to discover that it's actually a remake of the early Macaulay Culkin vehicle My Girl.

I just love how every generation thinks that the short memory span of our youth gives them licence to just re-release old things and pretend they're new. It reminds me of how irritated I was when some wanker re-recorded the theme to Beverly Hills Cop about a year back and it shot to the top of the charts. "Wow, how original!" screamed all the idiot teenagers. Now it's happened again. Every single line, every syllable of the script for this film seems to have been derived from My Girl. They just added some almost implied fantasy elements and swapped the gender roles.

Instead of going to the movies these days, people should probably just stay at home and watch their 70s movie collection over and over. It's more affordable and you'll get the same result. Although with less Zooey Deschaniel.