After spreading my hilarious gift at 50 Mason with some other comics (you’re welcome, audience) cohort Joe Gorman and I decided to indulge in a burrito and going to see the manliest of manly movies to man its way into theaters this week, “The Grey.” 

Maybe we interpreted the trailers incorrectly, like when women decide the latest Katherine Heigl movie won’t insult their intelligence or when Tyler Perry audiences think Madea won’t be all sassy and crazy (awww yes she will, child!) but we were kinda expecting it to be two hours of Liam Neeson gruffly beating the shit out of some wolves with tree branches and flight-sized broken whiskey bottles.

What we got instead is a Jack London-esque glimpse of man vs. nature in a bitter test of will that lead even the halest and heartiest of men to question their faith in god and themselves as they glimpse into the deepest abyss and wonder if they have what it takes to persevere.

Which isn’t to say that it wasn’t good - it is - but if you’re expecting “Crank,” except with an Irish dude instead of an English one and in the woods in winter instead of some city filled with crazy Russian mobsters who explode things with car batteries, you’re walking into the wrong movie.

Now excuse me, I’m going to drink some chocolate milk and watch “Looney Tunes” under a blanket for a few hours.