Why in the fuck are you reading this review instead of sitting in the theater watching Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale is beyond me.
Why in the fuck are you reading this review instead of sitting in the theater watching Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale is beyond me. Do you not want to see a herd of naked old men running through the snow covered Finnish countryside? You read that correctly. A fucking herd of naked old men. Bloody naked old men, actually. That moment alone assures this review is going to be so positive it’s disturbing.
I don’t know what happened in the awesome brain of director/writer Jalmari Helender but we should all be thankful for it. The man has taken Santa, everyone’s favorite present giver, and turned him into a creature of nightmares. Santa is coming this Christmas, but this year he is coming to fuck your shit up. And he’s got help.
Not that Santa was looking for this nonsense. He was just minding his own business, buried deep in the Korvatunturi mountains, on the border of Russia and Finland. But then some crazy British guy decided he wanted some Santa and went a digging. The result is lots of missing children, a shitload of dead reindeer and an epic Christmas battle to the death.
The acting is great, the scenery delightful, the concept is worthy of a thousand blowjobs and did I mention a herd of naked, bloody, dirty, old men running through the mountains? That means you reaching your old man cock-viewing quota for the decade. Scratch that off your list.
In a year where I literally don’t have a top ten list of films, where I can only come up with seven better than average movies, Rare Exports is a Godsend. How often do we get to watch an original, interesting concept on the screen? Hey, Black Swan, I’m talking to you, you American Psycho wrapped in a tutu bullshit. Rare Exports is how you do unique. Is it perfect? No. But who gives a shit because naked bloody old men run around in the snow.
Go. Now.
–Dave Anthony
