Duh. Duh. Duh, Duh Duh?

If you are going to review films, as my USC intern used to say, then start at the top. So here is my review of Iron Man.

Because Iron Man is more of a movie than a film, I am not sure what to say. Films engage you. Movies distract you.

To be honest, Iron Man may well be a film if it weren’t for its one overarching distraction. I waited, as did others, for "the riff." The riff that could be the greatest in hard rock history (so some say). So why does John Farveau wait until the credits to hit us with Ozzy’s opus?

Oh, and not to, like, totally spoil the fil, um, movie for you but there is one other distraction. Iron Man spends most of his time driving the same Audi R8 I covered in my "How Clinton Wrecked His Ferrari" post.

Iron Man keeps a full house of cars that are far better than the R8. Try a Saleen S7 — 700 Hp and 750 lb. Or what is surely a replica 427 Cobra and something that looks like a bespoke British exotic (the Ascari perhaps…I’ll place it soon).

You know, I really don’t know what else to say. Jeff Bridges is bad (as in good) and Iron Man’s suit is b-a-m-f-chillierthankatarinawitt.

I am distracted.

P.S. No, my blog picture (taken at the Akron OH public library) ain’t Robert DJ, but then it’s not Sabbath playing "duh, duh, duh, duh, duh" in the movie credits.

Duh-A-AH-um.