The tranny and the disgruntled critic double-team this summer's next big hit!

What do you get when you put a Hydroco-loving, happy-go-lucky street tranny with the Internet's most bloated and loathed film critic of all-time? Why, you get Dr. Heckle and Ms. Da'Fide. Join Aida Da'Fide and world heckler B. Alan Orange as they take a grumpy on this summer's cartoon abomination Shrek the Third.

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The Transvestite's Take

Was Shrek the Third any good? Ms. Da'Fide was mystified, baby! I give it an Ebay score of A++. The packaging was great. The product was fine as could be. Darling, I didn't even have to pay a shipping and handling fee!

There are two reasons why you should see this film. They both involve brilliantly orchestrated dream sequences. The first features Shrek's own parenting nightmare. Overcome by the fear of being a father, our big green Ogre falls asleep on a boat. There, he experiences the worst REM nap known to mankind. Dreamland finds his fat belly back in the swamp, where tiny baby Ogres descend upon his tranquil home. They pour in through the window by the truckload. These sickly, evil creatures interrupt his living space with horrible and frighten antics. The smell of baby powder and soft green skin engulfs our hero, leaving him to drown in a sea of puke and Kelley-colored poo. It's quite horrifying.

Then, there's the scene where Gingy, the little gingerbread man, is threatened and his life literally flashes before his eyes. We get to see the entire lifespan of that tiny cookie. Rolling around in his gumdrop car, the time he went to jail, his legs being broken off. Oh, it's so funny and cute. I could just hug the (explicative) out of this movie.

It is simply a joy to watch. It's Shrexcellent. Ooh, hoo! Look at lil' old me being clever. I can't tell you how much I loved Shrek. I just wanted to bend him over and tickle his pink winker with a feather brush. Maybe I'll have to take these unrequited urges up into the rafters. Seriously, can you imagine me kinkering around inside the projection booth while you enjoy your cartoon? That guy up there is kind of cute. Maybe he'd let me take his film reels through a hot light shower? Mmm.

Anyway, I can't say enough about the wonderful cast they have collected here. Everyone is great. From the returning characters to the new ones created just for this film, I loved everybody. Especially sexyback himself, Justin Timberlake. He plays a handsome medieval high schooler that I would just love to scoop out of home economics class. I could teach him a thing or two about the course requirements. His little butt would be backing cookies in nothing but a "Kiss the Chef" apron, in no time. My personal servant. An aperitif. Breath mints in the bathroom after a hard night of partying with all those sweet corn nibblers. I might have to look on the Internet for a picture of Mr. Shiverme-Timberlake in CGI form just so I can nail it to the ceiling above my bed tonight. Yummy.

The jokes in Shrek the Third come fast and furious. They are better than ever before. Jesus H. Alonzo, my baby brethren, I almost cocked harder than when I went down on John Holmes in a glory hole bathroom. So, so funny. All the old hags sitting around me even thought so. It's that Pussy's eyeballs. Rack 'em up! They are the cutest things I have ever seen in my life. I almost died! So, so humorous. Come on, Antonio, give me that look again.

My Shrek the Third verdict is: I would defiantly take my mother to see this. And he hates cartoons.

The Critic's Take

Shrek the Third is almost as good as a sixth season episode from some horrible 80s Saturday morning cartoon. Almost.

They should have just called it Shrek the Turd. It's a somewhat more appropriate title considering that the franchise has a basting sheath of scatological humor drenched over its cartoon ugliness. Defecation and Shrek are intertwined like a chain link fence. Most of the poo and pee jokes are borderline perfunctory, digging at the gag reflex like an arthritic hand grabs at pills. Sadly, I can't get too worked up about it. This is just one little fecal chad floating around in a sea of sh*t this summer.

I would almost play nice had Ms. Da'Fide not gone down on it so rigorously. But I don't want to fool the albino chicks that are going to make this their lonely Saturday night. I don't want to give them any false hope that they'll actually be doing something worthwhile by going and seeing this movie. It certainly won't take their minds off the problems they are having. No boyfriend cause you turn into a crispy chip when you're out in the sun. And you look like a malnutritional ghost? F*ck you. I just sat through Shrek 3.

I think it's time for me to bust out the teeth. And the Icy Hot. Seriously, how am I supposed to watch a film about babies, especially one where a stepin fetchit donkey is rolling around with the abominations against nature that he calls his kids, while Murphy-Gate is drowning the Entertainment press? Scary Spice says Eddie doesn't love their child, scrapped off the tip of a spermicidal codom. Poor bastard. At least the tyke is too young to see his dad hugging on these scary donkey-dragons, giving them the love he will never know. Don't worry kid, it's not worth it. Just watch Pluto Nash and you'll see what I mean.

Here, I will always associate Shrek the Third with a kidney stone. Cause I was trying to pass one while watching it. Do you know how hard it is to sit through a bad CGI cartoon while a calcium rock the size of a dime is squeezing its way into your bladder? They could be showing blueberry pie-drenched tits, and I still wouldn't have cared less. There's this real, actual, physical pain that you can't help but bring into the experience. All I could do was sit there, staring, wishing to God that this four millimeter calcium rock would just pop out of my pee hole. Watching this brown little nut of a film was turning out to be more painful than squeezing a Rolaid out of my urethra.

Actually, the film itself wasn't that bad. But, Goddamn it, it wasn't enough to keep my mind of the searing hot light that was eating through my left kidney. Seriously, though, I don't know what I was expecting. Number 3s usually dance the tango with mediocrity. It's like watching a lifeless relationship struggle under the pressure of an expiration date.

Shrek the Third just can't find anything new to say. In a nutshell, it's rather dull and uneventful. For a summer tent pole that's suppose to engage and excite, it just kind of sits there in a kiddy pool full of hot dog water. It churns a lot of tiny wakes, but there are no spectacular set pieces. It's missing the high gloss ambience something like this is just supposed to have. It's a mandatory requirment. Basically, nothing happens for an hour and twenty minutes. That's a long time to sit and stare at empty space. (Did I already mention how much pain I was in?)

Almost every single joke falls flat. It felt as though Shrek the Third's extensive group of screenwriters were sleep walking in the kitchen, looking for another glass of prune juice. A theater full of children couldn't muster more than a couple of chuckles. The dark hall was silent. Their absent joy carried like a dead weight in the room. It dropped everything into a quagmire of difficult viewing. The handful of guffaws that I actually heard came from a group of old women in the back. I think one of them might have been a drag queen. And they were just laughing at reoccurring themes found funnier the first time around. Like the Cat's soulful, innocently wide eyeballs. Or the goofy medieval business names found in the Kingdom of Far, Far Away. It was mildly pleasant tthat first go, sure. But now it's like a homunculoid with Down's syndrome telling the same knock knock joke for the fiftieth time...Actually, no it's not. That sh*t would make me laugh.

These are all just redundant ideas churned out for the sake of the audience's complacency. Parents who have had to sit through the first two movies on DVD will have seen these ideas and tossed off jokes a bazillion times by now. The wash is a tight pair of jeans cutting at the belly. That's an uncomfortable coupon at 12 bucks a pop, wouldn't you say?

There was a good story here. One the creators of Shrek the Third should have embraced. They could have employed it with a strong hand. Heck, just make the movie Mr. Mom with Shrek instead of Michael Keaton. Boom! There, you have a modest hit that's unique in the cannon. They should have played with the idea of Shrek becoming a father, explored it a little more. That idea has great potential. But the director abandons that concept for another tepid road picture, whoring out the isame deas found in the first two films. It doesn't make sense. The elements and ideas surrounding Fiona's pregnancy could have easily carried the movie. That should have been the consistent through line. The "A" story. But that plot element is reduced to baby mole size. It's shoved underneath an unnecessary adventure that's too short on action and too short on time to amount to much.

The baby scenes only add up to about five minutes of screen time. They are all loosely tacked on at the end in one of those grating musical montages that the franchise loves to employee. Who knows? Maybe the writers quickly grew bored with the little green hellions. Or they knew they had to come up with a fourth movie, and they're saving all their jokes for that one, hoping they can glide on gusts of stink air here without much consequence at the box office.

There is one long, inappropriate scene at the beginning of the film that involves a dying frog king. He just keeps passing away, only to come back again. It seems to roll on forever. The sighs from the audience during this scene literally lifted into a fog above our heads. Shrek finds out that he's the next in line for the throne of Far, Far Away. Sitting there, I was rather awed by something I must have fell asleep during while it was being explained. Why am I looking at a family that consists of an old silver haired fox, a chubby green ogre, and a frog? The old lady had sex with an amphibian? That's how ogres are made? That's disgusting. I couldn't get the image of this old lady bumping ugly buttholes with a frog out of my mind. The only saving grace was that the beastialic rager inside my head was proving to be more entertaining than anything on screen.

Anyway, the news that Shrek is going to be both a father and the ruler of a country should have been enough to carry an eighty-minute film. But it seems that the creators of Shrek didn't have the faith to deviate from their course curriculum. This movie walks the same path as the first two, pretty much abandoning any fresh idea for old mold. I'm left feeling like I have pebbles in my teeth.

This is a pretty dead affair. Shrek the Third is more suitable to half-conscience couch surfing than a hot summer night out about town. The feeling is sick stomach.

The most grating problem is the cast. Every single on-screen bit of minutia, including the character's skin cells, has been given a celebrity voice-over. The entire time, I'm either sitting there, trying to figure out who any given actor is, or I can see them in my head, standing at the podium. Acting. Justin Timberlake is especially bothersome. Maybe its because I saw six specials on the making of Shrek the Third