If it’s true, as Kevin Smith noted in his lengthy introductory remarks at Sundance, that “failure is just success training,” then he should be in the best shape of his career after “Yoga Hosers,” an imbecilic, strenuously wacky helping of see-what-sticks juvenilia that finds the director continuing the “True North Trilogy” he began with 2013’s rather more endurable “Tusk.” Crossing a high-school comedy with a small-town gremlin movie, this cobbled-together live-action cartoon supplies an endless stream of Canada jokes in service of a plot about a hostile takeover by long-dormant Manitoban Nazis who take the form of sodomy-inclined sausages. The casting of Harley Quinn Smith and Lily-Rose Depp (the daughters of Smith and Johnny Depp, reprising his “Tusk” role here) as two endlessly sarcastic, butt-kicking teenage heroines helps the time pass more bearably than it might have otherwise, but really, to shackle two lovely and promising teenage actresses to material this dreadful could be reasonably construed as an awfully expensive form of child abuse. 
 
 Those who saw “Tusk” will remember the yoga hosers of the title, both of whom share the same first name, and are helpfully referred to throughout as Colleen C. (Lily-Rose Depp) and Colleen M. (Harley Quinn Smith). When we first catch up with these surly high-school sophomores, they’re taking a break from their stultifyingly dull jobs at a Winnipeg convenience store to perform in the back with their amateur girl band, which consists of the two of them and a heavily tatted 35-year-old loser named Ichabod (Adam Brody) on drums. 
 
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 The Colleens fit a comically exaggerated stereotype of modern teenagers by remaining glued to their phones, constantly texting, tweeting and introducing the other characters in the movie via photos and hashtags that they’ve uploaded to Instagram — or, as it’s known in these Canuck parts, Insta-Can. That’s about the level of wit to which Smith’s script occasionally rises (but never falls) as it trots out an array of uninspired and repetitive Great White North gags that make one long for the comparative wit of “Canadian Bacon.” Reopening their store after a long delay, the Colleens repeatedly murmur “Sorry ‘boot that” as their customers grumpily stock up on artisanal maple syrup and hockey-themed breakfast cereals (Pucky Charms, eh?). 
 
 The plot points that eventually materialize seem to have been written down on index cards and pulled randomly out of a toque. The girls despise Tabitha (Natasha Lyonne), the irritating new squeeze of Colleen C.’s hapless dad (Tony Hale), but they’re rather fonder of Yogi Bayer (Justin Long, sporting a beard and awesomely colorful workout pants), whose studio they visit regularly to learn such cutting-edge yoga moves as “the pretentious frog.” Then they meet up with two older high-school dudes (played by Austin Butler and Tyler Posey) who turn out to be knife-wielding Satan worshippers, though they’re happily taken out of commission when they’re anally penetrated and gutted from within by the aforementioned sausage-Nazis — each of which is basically a small bratwurst with Hitler-esque features and dressed in red Canadian Mountie garb (animated via deliberately crude f/x). 
 
 Viewers who have been paying close attention (though why they would is a mystery) won’t be terribly surprised by this development, since the Colleens earlier received an extended lecture from their history teacher (Vanessa Paradis) on the area’s latent Nazi population — as illustrated through black-and-white mock-archival footage of the villainous Adrien Arcand (Haley Joel Osment) trying to start his own Third Reich by blaming unemployment on “the fault of the Canadian Jew” and proposing the launch of “Le Solution Finale.” And so the Colleens must put their yoga moves to good work and stop the Nazis and their evil present-day commandant (Ralph Garman), forcing them to team up with “Tusk’s” beret-wearing manhunter, Guy Lapointe — again energetically played by Depp, unrecognizable as ever beneath heavy makeup, mustache and facial pock marks that seem to change location at random. 
 
 Harley Quinn Smith and especially Lily-Rose Depp have sufficient spunk, spark and chemistry (and they’re charming bopping through an end-credits cover of “O Canada”) that you long to see them in a starring vehicle that doesn’t look and feel like an on-screen underwear stain. Shot and edited with the sort of willful slovenliness that presumably fits the anything-goes grab-bag effect Smith was going for, “Yoga Hosers” looks as though it was probably pretty fun to make, though only the director’s hardcore fans and SModcast listeners are likely to find that pleasure in any way infectious. Yet while it’s hard to imagine the result landing even in the vicinity of “Tusk’s” disappointing $1.9 million domestic gross, the end credits blithely warn us that Smith’s franchise will continue soon enough with “Moose Jaws.” But really, he should just give it the ‘boot. ||||| Published on Jun 6, 2016 
 
 Yoga Hosers Official Trailer #1 (2016) - Johnny Depp, Justin Long Movie HD 
 
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 Two teenage yoga enthusiasts team up with a legendary man-hunter to battle with an ancient evil presence that is threatening their major party plans. 
 
 
 
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 Here at Fandango MOVIECLIPS, we love movies as much as you! ||||| Kevin Smith loves his daughter. That much, if nothing else, is clear from watching the starring vehicle he’s built for her. Harley Quinn Smith, 17, had one scene in his last movie, Tusk, playing a loopy Canadian convenience-store employee named Colleen. Her costar: Johnny Depp’s 17-year-old daughter, Lily-Rose Depp, who also played a loopy Canadian convenience-store employee named Colleen. The Colleens are back in Yoga Hosers, which expands their miniature buddy comedy to feature length, and whenever the two actresses are bantering—they don’t do much else, really—it’s possible to see why the writer-director thought their chemistry would be enough to carry a movie. His paternal pride illuminates every scene. And movies have been carried by less. 
 
 
 
 Trouble is, Yoga Hosers isn’t really a movie. It’s a quarter-to-1:00 a.m. SNL sketch, nightmarishly distended into oblivion. It’s a corny Canuck joke, told for 88 surreally unfunny minutes. It has a target demographic of one: He wears hockey jerseys and, again, loves his daughter. “I don’t give a shit about the audience anymore,” Smith announced at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, by way of introducing the thing. Maybe it’s dirty pool to bludgeon an artist with his own self-deprecation, or just foolish to believe that a filmmaker who’s lived and died on feedback could lose interest in it. (This is a guy, remember, who routinely apologizes for his own movies and rehashes old successes.) Yoga Hosers, however, makes it easy to take Smith at his word. No one who gives any shits about their audience would subject them to something so insultingly slapdash. 
 
 The film’s chief asset, maybe its only one, is its scion starlets. A little of their high-energy space-cadet routine goes a long way, but at least the two seem like real friends, even if the characters they’re playing rarely seem like real teenagers. The Colleens are a 46-year-old man’s idea of how adolescents talk and act: They call things “basic,” bury their noses in cell phones (expect lots of onscreen text and Instagram references), and generally behave like a parody of a parody of kids today. When not manning the front counter of their Winnipeg one stop shop Eh-2-Zed, they’re taking yoga classes with a Zen doofus (Justin Long) or jamming in the back room with a snarky older musician (Adam Brody). Smith’s faith in the pair is endearing. He just seems to have put little effort into anything other than showcasing their rapport. (Used to be that the director’s indifference extended chiefly to how he framed his shots.) 
 
 “I’m not even supposed to be here today,” one of the Colleens chirps, in a callback for the faithful. But this is no distaff Clerks, no return to the smutty conversational comedy of Smith’s youth—and not just because, in his desire to fashion his own anthem for a 17-year-old girl, the filmmaker has pulled his mind and mouth out of the gutter. Yoga Hosers has the strange problem of possessing both too much and too little plot. Half the running time elapses before Johnny Depp shows up, nearly unrecognizable under prosthetics and a bad Quebecois accent, to reprise the role of his Tusk detective. In that film, Depp’s sketch-comedy mugging ground the story to a halt. In this one, he seems to have been brought in to finally kick it into motion. The conspiracy our heroines half-heartedly unearth involves (wait for it) an army of Nazi bratwursts, all played by none other than the director himself. This allows Smith to chase his Human Centipede riff with a Gremlins clone—and to work in some of the year’s worst special effects. (The Shit Monster of Dogma looks like a Weta creation by comparison.) 
 
 There was honestly more movie to Tusk, a limp horror-comedy that began as a podcast freestyle and was voted into existence by listeners. (Would they have tweeted differently if they knew a whole dopey trilogy was the true cost of #WalrusYes?) What we mainly get from Yoga Hosers, the second of Smith’s three planned trips to the Great White North, is one tired Canadian gag after another. Did you know that they love hockey and maple syrup? And that they have funny accents? (“Sooree boot that,” goes the Colleens’ signature catchphrase, repeated ad nauseam, as though it were the height of hilarity.) Smith’s wit and senses seems to have escaped him, but his gooey heart is clearly in the right place; if Yoga Hosers has any redeeming quality, it’s the plain parental affection that inspired its conception. Why he thought anyone else needed to see this glorified family favor is a true mystery. ||||| Crawl of outlinks from wikipedia.org started March, 2016. These files are currently not publicly accessible. Properties of this collection. It has been several years since the last time we did this. For this collection, several things were done: 1. Turned off duplicate detection. This collection will be complete, as there is a good chance we will share the data, and sharing data with pointers to random other collections, is a complex problem. 2. For the first time, did all the different wikis. The original runs were just against the enwiki. This one, the seed list was built from all 865 collections. ||||| 'Yoga Hosers': Sundance Review 
 
 The teen daughters of Kevin Smith and Johnny Depp battle an army of foot-tall Nazis made of sausage. 
 
 Some fathers build their kids treehouses. Some daddies buy a pony for their little princess. Kevin Smith writes and directs a movie for his daughter to star in. And writes a part for her lifelong best friend. And, since that friend is Johnny Depp's daughter, he casts Depp as well — hell, let's get both the moms onscreen too, and give the kids some musical numbers to show off their inner rock star. In between the for-the-family fun, Smith's Yoga Hosers is something vaguely resembling a movie, one in which two girls who just want to go to a party with twelfth-graders wind up battling an army of knee-high Nazis made of sausage. Who love to kill strangers by crawling into men's rectums. Even fans who've stuck with Smith for two decades may draw the line at this outing, which offers ingredients just as inexplicable as those in Tusk (it's a sort of spinoff of that film) without the captivating weirdness that sometimes brought that midnighter to life. Commercial prospects are slim, unless it somehow strikes a chord with young girls. It is, after all, what Smith described in his introduction as "the movie I would have wanted to see back when I was a twelve year-old girl." 
 
 Harley Quinn Smith and Lily-Rose Depp play The Colleens, who reluctantly work behind the counter at the convenience store owned by Colleen C's dad. They're bored girls, always on their phones, who invent any excuse to put up a "temporarily closed" sign and go goof off in the back. Sound familiar? If only: After seeing what Smith comes up with to keep The Colleens occupied here, even moviegoers who once prayed he'd be able to move successfully beyond the Clerks universe may wish he'd simply rebooted the franchise with these two kids, Ghostbusters-style. 
 
 But no. After a few high-school-sucks scenes and an introduction to the strip-mall yoga studio the girls are obsessed with — run by Yogi Bayer (Justin Long), it teaches moves like "Pretentious Frog" and "Dissatisfied Customer" (and is not unfunny) — Smith slides into an action-horror plot he seems to have yanked out of the orifice his little sausage Nazis (make that "Brat-zis") so love to enter. The murderous little critters have something to do with the untold legacy of a Canadian Nazi party that almost got off the ground during WWII. If you're not following this, don't worry: There'll be a plenty-long exposition later, delivered by a Kraut scientist who communicates via impersonations of Al Pacino and Sly Stallone. 
 
 Canadian Nazi party, you say? Yes, Hosers is the densest embodiment yet of Smith's strange conviction that anything north of Niagara is good for a laugh. Shot in L.A. but set in Winnipeg, the pic offers more outrageously bad Canadian accents than a man named Gordon can shake a hockey stick at. Smith works "aboooot" and "soorry" into the script with as much frequency as "basic," the one bit of circa-2015 teen lingo he decided to adopt here. 
 
 The young leads seem to be having fun even if you aren't, but any acting careers they might go on to will not be the result of this film. Reprising his Tusk role, Johnny Depp acts as their bumbling chaperone throughout, under slightly better makeup and imitating Peter Falk a bit less than he did there. He gets a bit lost during the climax, as The Colleens have a 60s-Batman­-inspired fracas with a monster dubbed the "Goalie Golem" (don't ask). But odds are good he'll return if Moose Jaws, the sequel promised in the closing credits, ever comes to pass. 
 
 Distributor: Destro Films 
 
 Cast: Lily-Rose Depp, Harley Quinn Smith, Johnny Depp, Tony Hale, Natasha Lyonne, Justin Long, Austin Butler, Tyler Posey, Adam Brody 
 
 Director-Screenwriter: Kevin Smith 
 
 Producers: Liz Destro, Jordan Monsanto, Jennifer Schwalbach 
 
 Executive producers: Charles Bonan, Kim Leadford, Tim Nye 
 
 Director of photography: James R. Laxton 
 
 Production designer: Cabot McMullen 
 
 Costume designer: Carol Beadle 
 
 Editor: Kevin Smith 
 
 Composer: Christopher Drake 
 
 Casting director: 
 
 Venue: Sundance Film Festival (Midnight) 
 
 Sales: WME, CAA 
 
 87 minutes
– If you were planning to see Kevin Smith's Yoga Hosers this weekend, keep in mind that critics almost universally hate it. The movie has a low 22% rating at Rotten Tomatoes, though audiences are much kinder, at 63%. The movie is actually a family affair: Smith's daughter stars alongside Johnny Depp's daughter, and both sets of parents have roles. Here's what critics are saying: "I don't give a s--- about the audience anymore," Smith said at the Sundance Film Festival. His proof is this movie, writes AA Dowd at AV Club. Lily-Rose Depp and Harley Quinn Smith make it "possible to see why the writer-director thought their chemistry would be enough to carry a movie." But "Yoga Hosers isn't really a movie. … It's a corny Canuck joke, told for 88 surreally unfunny minutes." "Some of Mr. Smith's prior work made me laugh so hard that I cried; Yoga Hosers made me want to cry for different reasons," writes Glenn Kenny at the New York Times. "It all seems like something that was hatched during a particularly neuron-impaired free-association game." And Johnny Depp comes across as "more disturbingly peculiar than funny." Lily-Rose Depp "demonstrates a charismatic presence that jumps off the screen," but "the entire film has the strange feel of watching an elaborately produced home movie to be played at a holiday party rather than a movie theater," writes Katie Walsh at the Los Angeles Times. It also boasts "a clearly first-draft script, terrible editing, and continuity errors." "To shackle two lovely and promising teenage actresses to material this dreadful could be reasonably construed as an awfully expensive form of child abuse," as Justin Chang puts it at Variety. The plot, centering on "Manitoban Nazis who take the form of sodomy-inclined sausages," seems "to have been written down on index cards and pulled randomly out of a toque." "Even fans who've stuck with Smith for two decades may draw the line at this outing," writes John DeFore at the Hollywood Reporter.