Word: lloyds
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1990-1999
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Without Christopher Lloyd, whose physical gestures, bulging eyes and quirky hand movements steal the comedic presence of the film and decent special effects, My Favorite Martian would be a Disney failure. If you want an evening of brainless, unoriginal entertainment, then this intergalactic comedy is the place...
...slams on the brakes. A spacecraft has landed on the nearby Enter Martian--a red, three-eyed creature who sees O'Hara recovering from the shock and, realizing he has landed on planet earth, chews on a piece of blue gum enabling him to transform into Christopher Lloyd. Grace, the spoiled boss's daughter whose glossy lipstick, tight apparel and wonder-bra breasts reek of superficiality, pulls up in her red sports car equipped with a "Dad's Girl" license plate. Emanating her usual "don't-you-want-to-slap-me" self, she asks O'Hara "why the hell...
...Lloyd would gladly leave the "savage" earthling at peace and return to his beloved Mars, but he must build an electron accelerator (which later on turns out to be a simple carburetor) to repair his damaged spacecraft. So the Martian, later dubbed "Uncle Martin," becomes O'Hara's roommate. Meanwhile, thinking that he has stumbled upon the story of the millennium, O'Hara schemes to film the Martian and broadcast on the evening news...
...with a new self-titled record release, SP hit the stage first in the typically boring fashion of opening bands. They invariably touted their new album and their appearance on the She's All That soundtrack with their opening song "Sugar" to a thoroughly unimpressed crowd. Lead singer Jo Lloyd constituted the only bright spot in the repetitious repertoire with her wispy vocals, but the crowd's only reaction was the occasional crude whistling from some of the men in appreciation of Lloyd's tight clothing...
There is nothing noteworthy about this band's sound except that they are following the pack of clones who imitate superbands like U2, Nirvana and the Cranberries. Lead singer Jo Lloyd manages to merely mimic Dolores O'Riordan's vocal stylings from "Zombie," that frantic, slightly nasal guttural pitch. Backed by random noise fillers consisting of drums and guitar, each song is a blur of blah and blech. Forgettable lyrics of the usual uber-topic, love, in all its iterations nicely round out this disappointing disc. With the rise of this new crop of artificially-flavored pop bands, the music...