Okay. Here’s today’s plan: I’m going to a movie I actually want to see with my esoteric, had-to-be-talked-into-it friend Julie, instead of attending the bust ’em up comic-book flick ‘Watchmen‘ with Rachel and Billy.
I just can’t give a flying fuck about Watchmen. My inner comic geek won’t rise to the occasion, though she rose for X-men and Spiderman, and even a painful showing of Elektra. Watchmen is supposed to blow one’s mind with its curious darkness and explosive action. I just… really, really don’t want to see that film.
I tried to induce my wayward g.f. and her funny honey to switch plans and attend Nicholas Cage’s new disaster flick ‘Knowing’. That film had me fascinated from the first preview, and it’s always good to have Billy along, cus if a movie gets boring you can count on him to create a booby-trap in the next seat over with chewed bubble-gum, or at least pepper the coiffes of the people in front of us with popcorn.
But from the comic-book extravaganza they would not be moved, so I had to talk Julie, who is basically a bowling buddy, (if barely-bowling people can actuallly have bowling buddies) into coming to see this film. Cus basically, I’m a big, huge chicken-shit. I read the critic’s reviews in a woebegone fashion, and then I read the *people’s* reviews on IMDB, and I was intrigued that they all said the critics were snivelling, snarky stupid-heads (that’s paraphrased). I was also a little unnerved that person after person mentioned ‘excessively disturbing scenes’.
I don’t get that. None of the sick-fucks who flocked to Saw 22 talked about disturbing scenes. (Like to just take a moment here and pause over the fact that our society is so disgusting, there’s been ongoing demand for sequels to this franchise) Although, that might just be cus it would be a fairly redundant observation. Nobody attends a torture movie for the aesthetic aura or spiritual uplift.
‘Knowing’ is rated P.G. 13, and there’s no parental warnings that site excessive gore or anything, just a lot of be-waries regarding intensity in reference to large-scale disasters. So I will drag Julie along, all 4’11” of her, and hope that our bowling relationship doesn’t suffer too much strain if I hafto bury my face in her miniature shoulder, or heave into the popcorn or something. I like being surprised and captivated at a film, but rather deplore Hollywood’s trend of traumatizing.
Are you listening Summit Entertainment? My afternoon is in your hands. Try not to make it a gutterball.