Hate Watching with Dan and Tony

Send us a textA goat gag, a blow dart, and one perfect Norm Macdonald riff walk into a movie. We dive into The Animal with our gloves off and our sense of humor intact, asking a simple question that unlocks the whole watch: can lowbrow comedy land when the lead can’t elevate the bit? One of us relishes the film’s shameless silliness and second-screen charm; the other sees a conveyor belt of half-built jokes that never earn their own punchlines. From the evidence-room meltdown to the press conference “what’s in my butt” moment, we break down why justification is the secret ingredient that turns a smirk into an actual laugh.We pull on the bigger comedy thread too—what separates Rob Schneider’s neutral energy from Jim Carrey’s bit-running force of nature, and why even a brief cameo can reveal the gulf. Then Norm Macdonald storms in with a mob scene so precisely built—questions, rhythm, escalation—that it becomes a mini masterclass in how to make a premise sing. Around that, we interrogate the movie’s inconsistent “animal science,” the romance logic that never makes sense, and the tonal snapping between mailbox-humping discomfort and a dolphin-style hero save that forgets the seal on the poster.Beyond the laughs and groans, we branch into what keeps movies in the culture. We celebrate the early-2000s needle drops that still slap, contrast box office muscle with cultural cachet through the Avatar lens, and talk about spectacle that satisfies in the moment but leaves no totems behind. We also swap notes on Under the Silver Lake, where mood can outlast meaning, and wrestle with the Stranger Things finale—how manipulation and catharsis can coexist when the craft is confident. Stick around to the end for our next watch: Steven Soderbergh’s Presence, a ghost’s-eye experiment that promises rules, restraint, and plenty to argue about.Enjoyed the ride? Follow, rate, and share the show with a friend who knows the difference between a setup and a payoff. Your rec keeps the bits running.Written Lovingly by AIBe our friend!Dan: @shakybaconTony: @tonydczechAnd follow the podcast on IG: @hatewatchingDAT

Send us a textWe had questions the moment Playdate 2025 opened on a joyless car chase and a baffling lacrosse scene—and then Isla Fisher strolled in with the “Mama Mafia” and Alan Ritchson arrived like a golden retriever with black-ops training. That’s the whiplash of this Prime Video action-comedy: when the energy is right, it’s hilarious; when the foundation wobbles, even a decent gag falls flat.We break down why the first act muddies everything a comedy needs to thrive—clear relationships, clean stakes, and jokes that sit inside structure. The stepdad-stepkid bond veers from clingy devotion to cold indifference, making the “learning to protect” arc impossible to buy. Then the movie’s best ideas surface: coin-sock mayhem at a Chuck E. Cheese knockoff, a killer phone-call bit mid-car-chase, and Stephen Root delivering a masterclass in character POV in under five minutes. We dig into how Ritchson nails a weird tone—sweet, blunt, and physically sharp—while Kevin James never finds the same wavelength.Yes, we get into the clone twist. On paper, it’s a playful genre swing that could power the back half. In practice, CGI crowds replace practical chaos, the chase geography collapses, and a sharp final brawl is undercut by shaky-cam that hides the good choreography. And then there’s the choice that derails goodwill: the “kaboom” that wipes out a building of clone kids. Dark comedy needs purpose and release; this feels like shock for shock’s sake and breaks the one humane thread the movie earns with CJ.We don’t just roast—we rebuild. Tighten the stepdad arc, anchor the chase with real geography, keep the coin-sock, bring Mama Mafia back for a third-act save, and swap the finale’s cruelty for a convoy of silver vans whisking kids to safety. With a strategic recast and a structural pass, this could have been a tight, rewatchable romp.If you enjoy craft talk—comedy structure, tone management, practical vs CGI, and performances that recalibrate scenes—press play. Then tell us: is Playdate 2025 one smart rewrite away from great, or does the ending lose you for good? Subscribe, share with a friend, and drop your fix in a review.Be our friend!Dan: @shakybaconTony: @tonydczechAnd follow the podcast on IG: @hatewatchingDAT

Send us a textA Vespa hums into Bakersfield, a church robe hides bondage gear, and a smooth-talking reverend runs a drug ring between sermons about macaroni. We dive into Honey Don’t with a simple litmus test for any detective story: does the protagonist actually want something concrete? When a PI drifts through clues without being hired, breaking in, or deducing much of anything, style and shock have to work overtime. Sometimes they do—there’s a killer dark-comic exchange where the reverend clarifies which “loose end” needs cutting, and a punchy beatdown where Honey demolishes her niece’s abuser and half the set with a stubborn attempt to break a gun. Those moments pop because desire finally drives action.Most of the time, though, the movie trades plot for “period interest.” Public intimacy scenes and graphic interludes arrive without chemistry or consequence, the police flirtation thread wanders, and tonal flourishes—freeze-frame credits, a lounge pianist narrator, and a congregation chanting “macaroni”—feel like disconnected curios. We contrast that with great shaggy noirs that still hum on character wants. The Big Lebowski may meander, but everyone wants something, and that magnet pulls you through. Here, the late twist that recasts MG as the true monster doesn’t reframe earlier clues so much as overwrite them, draining suspense and turning the finale into a list of facts instead of a reckoning.We talk craft throughout: how color and quirky detail should feed a throughline; how stakes escalate when choices collide; why romance needs buildup to matter; and how consequence grounds even the wildest genre swings. Bakersfield looks great. Chris Evans chews scenery like a pro. But without a spine of desire and payoff, Honey Don’t plays like a collage—provocative, occasionally funny, and oddly hollow once the noise fades.If you’re into smart, spirited takedowns of messy movies, queue this one up, then tell us your spiciest take. Subscribe, drop a review, and let us know: did any of it work for you, or are we right to call it a case with no core?Written lovingly by AIBe our friend!Dan: @shakybaconTony: @tonydczechAnd follow the podcast on IG: @hatewatchingDAT

Send us a textA healing unicorn, a billionaire’s lodge, and a night that should have dripped with dread instead slides into confusion. We dive into Death of a Unicorn with fresh eyes and plenty of receipts—where the premise shines, why the scares fizzle, and how the story trades suspense for unfinished spectacle. From the first “we hit something on the road” beat to that jarring daylight time jump, we trace the exact moments the movie stops trusting mystery and starts overexposing its creature.We talk craft first. Creature features live or die on restraint, and this one shows the monster early and often, leaning on CGI that can’t carry the weight. We unpack how to rebuild the same scenes with tension: silhouettes over full frames, sound over splash, partial reveals over glory shots. Then we get into character stakes. The father’s “financial promise,” the daughter’s supposed purity, and a horn that cures, resurrects, and randomly bestows visions—none of it plays by rules the audience can follow. So we outline the fix: make the horn addictive, tie each character’s need to a cost, and let greed fracture alliances until humans pose the real threat.There’s also a problem of lore without payoff. The tapestry research looks impressive, but discovery never changes tactics. We explore how good supernatural stories use clues to pivot action and how consistent rules turn fear into momentum. Along the way, we call out the casting trap—banking on a beloved actor to redeem an irredeemable arc—and the ethical shortcuts that undercut the finale, including a needless casualty to clean up the plot.If you love horror that earns its chills, or you’re writing your own low-budget creature story, this breakdown doubles as a playbook: define your rules, sharpen your motives, and let the audience’s imagination do the expensive work. Listen, then tell us the trope you’d retire forever, and if you enjoyed the show, follow, rate, and share with a friend who argues about movie logic as hard as you do.Be our friend!Dan: @shakybaconTony: @tonydczechAnd follow the podcast on IG: @hatewatchingDAT

Send us a textA leather jacket Santa, a melted plane, and a train to the wrong city—on paper it sounds wild. We hit play on the Jonas Brothers holiday special expecting cozy carols and earned nostalgia, and got a glossy tour of Europe where money and magic wipe away every consequence. The result is a Christmas road movie with no real road and no reason to hurry home, propped up by a handful of good jokes and one romance beat that almost redeems the trip.We unpack why the core premise falls flat: when passports vanish but a new jet appears in minutes, tension dies. Santa as a snarky saboteur doesn’t mentor or challenge the brothers; he detonates obstacles instead of nudging growth. That choice undercuts the holiday grammar that makes films like Home Alone and Elf endure—clear rules, genuine stakes, and heart over spectacle. We talk lip sync problems, songs that feel stapled on, and a Home Alone musical gag that somehow works despite a convoluted setup. Then we trace the character arcs that should have mattered: Kevin’s desire for a real vocal moment, Nick’s control streak, Joe’s playboy reputation versus a surprisingly sweet connection with Lucy.It’s not all coal. We call out the lines that hit, the chemistry that clicks, and the cleaner version hiding in plain sight: fewer explosions, more constraints, and music that actually drives character and story. A better structure would give each brother a problem to own and solve, with Santa as a wry guide rather than a wrecking ball. Along the way we detour into Rotten Tomatoes whiplash, holiday ranking sanity checks, and a couple quick recs—yes, Knives Out fans, we see you.If you’ve watched the special, hit play and argue with us; if you haven’t, we’ll help you decide if the cozy vibes outweigh the plot holes. Subscribe, drop a review, and tell us: did you laugh, cringe, or secretly love it anyway?Written lovingly by AIBe our friend!Dan: @shakybaconTony: @tonydczechAnd follow the podcast on IG: @hatewatchingDAT