Paranormal Stones
By Steve Herte
Paranormal Activity 3 (2011)
If
somebody knows why this series lasted to two sequels, please let me know. The
only reason I gave it any rating at all (one-third of one Martini glass out of
five) was because I couldn’t believe anybody had the nerve to create something
this bad. Story: Dennis and his wife Julie live in this perfectly gorgeous
house that nobody but the upper middle class can afford (Dennis can’t afford it
either) with their two adorable daughters Katie and Chrissa. It doesn’t matter
who played what part, you really don’t want to know. Dennis is obsessive
about video cameras (otherwise, the movie would really never have been made and
he might have been able to afford the house) and sets one up in their
daughters’ bedroom, the master bedroom and even figures out how to attach one
to a multi-directional fan to cover the kitchen and living room downstairs.
What
he doesn’t plan on is his youngest daughter’s invisible friend Toby getting
bugged at a refusal by the child to do what he requests, so he wreaks havoc on
everybody but Mommy (until almost the end). Up to that point she blames Dennis
for her hysterical children. And…it doesn’t go away when they move into her
mother Lois’ house. Oooh, bad karma as well as bad camera.
If
you have the patience to sit through this film, get ready for endless stretches
of non-activity interspersed with stupidity and occasional flashes of lame
horror. Forgive me for not having seen 1 and 2, but 3 should never have
been made and I’m thinking the same should have been for 1 and 2. I was
actually happy when pay-per-view froze after one and a half hours and went back
to the menu.
A Stone’s Throw
2660 Woodley Road NW, Washington D.C.
Speaking
of horror, imagine my surprise when the steakhouse where I thought I was dining
was actually in the Marriott! I steeled myself as I trudged uphill to one
of the two bastions of higher-priced-than-worth-it rooms and wondered what had
I gotten myself into this time.
The
Captain’s Station had nobody staffing it (surprise, surprise) and two tables of
customers were waiting to be seated before me. There was no computer to
verify reservations. They recruited staff from Harry’s Bar to tend to
those misfortunate enough to press on.
The
sweet but elderly Eleni handed me the menu and took my order for my martini
while relating an uninspired cod fish main special and a cream of mushroom soup
appetizer. After seeing how uninteresting the other soups were, I chose the
mushroom soup. It was definitely creamy, with decent slices of button
mushrooms and shredded spinach – not a bad dish.
I
decided to make it a three-course meal because I saw something else interesting
– the Grilled Meat Balls. These were definitely flavored as if a Greek chef had
made them and were served in a covered dish, in tomato sauce with onions. Again,
not great, but not bad.
Not
trusting the other main courses and still thinking this to be a steakhouse, I
chose the Filet Mignon and specified how I like it cooked. I also
specified to leave off the mashed potatoes (hate them) and if possible, to
bring French fries instead. My waitress looked like she understood. My
poor filet was leaning on a Devil’s Tower of mashed potatoes and sided with
huge cold sliced carrots and some other yellow-root vegetable. I piled the
offending potatoes onto my bread dish (the bread was only so-so) and notified
my waitress, who brought the fries and took the blob away. At this point
the manager (if I may call him so) appeared and offered me a glass of wine,
which I accepted (Cabernet-Sauvignon) – it was indeed very good. By the
way, the filet was also good, not steakhouse quality, but good.
I
was terrified of dessert. Of the six listed, I only could chance two and
decided on the one with the obvious misspelling on the menu (and explained it
to my waitress) – the Chocolate Dolce de Leche Tart (it should be Dulce to be
completely Spanish and not half Italian) – served with a strawberry meringue
and a mixed berry, chocolate sauce. What came out was a hard, three-inch,
tasteless chocolate cup, filled with hard, flavorless beige concrete, and topped
with a half-inch round of artificially flavored strawberry fluff topped with one
strawberry sliced in half. There were two sad raspberries and two
blackberries in the drizzle of (really good) chocolate syrup. I ate the fluff
(which reminded me of my penny candy days) and the two half strawberries on top
and left the rest, suggesting to the waitress that if anybody else orders it,
she should tell them they were out of it.
I got my check as soon as I could and left, hoping the bar in
my hotel could clear my palate. No recommendation here.
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