Boys and girls, I think the time has come to have "the talk". I know your mother says you're still too young and it might be awkward and confusing for you, but you all have to hear about this sometime, and I'd rather tell you myself than have you hear it out on the streets somewhere. I believe you're all old enough and mature enough now to have this discussion. So put on a pot of coffee, slide into your bunny slippers, and get comfortable, kids.
Today we're going to talk about Star Wars.
WAIT! Please, hold on a sec here, don't exit this blog in disgust just yet. At least wait and hear out what I've got to say. I know that to most people these days, hearing the words "let's talk about Star Wars" sounds about as appealing as "let's talk about the ASTM standards for bias & precision in various applications". But what I want to tell you is a bit more serious than all of that.
See, with The Phantom Menace being re-released last month (in 3-D!!!!!!!!!!! LOOK AT THE KEYS!!!!!) I felt compelled to finally speak my peace about these movies, to say what I've been holding in since 1999. I feel the time is now right, thirteen years later, to get it all out in the open once and for all. My thesis for today's discussion, boys & girls, is this: I think the Star Wars prequels are just as good as the originals.
Again, WAIT! Remember, I believe you're all mature enough now to listen to this sort of thing without throwing a temper tantrum and stomping your feet. Please don't prove me wrong on that front. Give me a chance to explain my reasoning here. And no, I don't believe my words are going to change anyone's opinion. Trust me, you'd literally have better luck finding the Holy Grail than you would trying to change an angry nerd's opinion on any subject, least of all where Star Wars is concerned. I'm not out to play Oprah and sway anybody's allegiances here; all I hope to accomplish is to make you hear (and possibly even reflect upon) the other side of this incredibly one-sided argument.
So, to all those of you who have already started contemplating synonyms for the word "idiot" so you can creatively insult me the next time we meet, please lower your torches and pitchforks for a moment. The reasoning behind my seemingly "mad" statement is really quite simple. I'm not some hyper-intelligent man or anything: I didn't study or analyze the socio-political commentaries or underlying messages of the six Star Wars films and arrive at some previously unforeseen academic conclusion. I'm just a regular schmuck who happens to like Star Wars and who happens to have seen these movies in my own peculiar perspective.
I was first introduced to Lucas' sci-fi opus when I was 4. During a trip to Disneyworld, I saw a Darth Vader statue on display behind a glass case, complete with a sound chip that made him breathe when anyone got near. I thought he was a scuba diver. My mom quickly explained that I was in fact an idiot, and Vader was not a scuba diver but a Dark Lord of the Sith from a series of movies called Star Wars. Upon returning home, I eventually received the trilogy on VHS as a gift. I watched them one-by-one, each one about a month apart, and took in everything that I saw. Even though they were already 15 years old at the time, they still managed to resonate with me.
For whatever reason, I never got around to seeing the Special Edition when it was in theatres, but I was still obsessed with the movies. I devoured every novel, comic book, or informative guide on the subject that I could get my grubby little hands on. I was bouncing on my heels, eagerly awaiting the forthcoming prequels promised to us by that huggable flannel monster himself, George Lucas.
The abridged version of what followed: when I was 12, The Phantom Menace was released. Saw it. Loved it. When I was 15, Attack of the Clones was released. Saw it. Loved it. When I was 18, Revenge of the Sith was released. Saw it. Loved it.
But why? Why did I love them? Why did I harbor fondness for three movies that were so universally hated, you'd think the cast & crew were in league with Kony or something (relevant cultural reference: ZING!). Like I said, the answer is very simple. I loved them because they're just as good as the originals.
If you want to talk about the overuse of CG, that's fine. I get that. That's obviously the kinda movie Lucas wants to make, though, and had he held off on making the originals until 1999, they would have been full of CG, too. The creature puppets are fantastic, nobody can argue that. But CG's not what I'm here to talk about. If you hated the prequels strictly because you hate CG, then I hate to break it to you, friend, but that's not their fault: it's yours. Your tastes just ain't suited to a modern day film made by George Lucas. If you generally hate Chinese food and then complain that "that new Chinese food restaurant sucked"...sorry, but, you're digging in the wrong place.
The acting & dialogue? Now that's a big concern. And I'm not a completely blind idiot here: I'm defending the prequels, yes, but I'll be first to admit, there were times when the acting & the words being spoken made me cringe. But let's be honest with each other, kids: nobody remembers the originals for any stellar acting moments, either. I've had over two dozen different drama teachers in my lifetime, and none of them have ever asked me to read and analyze the intricacies of Princess Leia's "Help Me" monologue. Remember, these are the same screenwriters who made critically-acclaimed classical actor Sir Alec Guinness speak the words "I don't seem to remember ever owning a droid." But we still loved those movies.
Jar Jar Binks. ........................ Sorry, just wanted to let that set in for a moment and give people a moment to fume. Again, Jar Jar Binks. Annoying? Absolutely. Overused? Definitely. Strangely erotic? Hey, if you like, I'm not here to pass judgment. Is that so different from the Ewoks? Was Wicket W. Warrick annoying and overused? You bet. And apart from the Ewoks and the Gungans having roughly the same grasp on the English language, both of them aided our hero characters in leading a revolt against the antagonists. The only difference I can see? Ewoks have fur. But we still loved those movies.
How about the general silliness of it all? The ridiculous use of the word "younglings", the cheesy romance, the wacky alien creatures, the groan-worthy puns...the prequels had it all in spades, didn't they? But were the originals any less silly? Did everyone in 1977 really just sit back and think, "There's totally nothing strange about an 8-foot tall Wookiee who growls like a dog. I buy that."? Did anybody rise angrily out of their seats when the Emperor first started shooting lightning and yell, "Bullshit! That's way too absurd for me!!!"? For those of you who scowl with outrage whenever you hear the words "clone army" or watch the Podrace scene...you do know that laser swords are IMPOSSIBLE, right? That's why it's called science-FICTION.
I don't love everything about the Star Wars movies, kids. I don't love everything about the prequels, and I don't love everything about the originals. I can recognize good parts and bad parts and even awful parts, but I know a good story when I see one, and at the end of the day all of the positive outweighs the negative a hundredfold.
The playwright George Bernard Shaw once said something that I believe is the single most important quote in my life, literally the words I strive to live by day-by-day. Mr. Shaw said, "We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing." A majority of the people who hail the Star Wars prequels as the coming of the AntiChrist generally saw the original movies when they were much younger, as did I. But those people, in my humble opinion, "stopped playing". They grew up, took things like Star Wars a little more seriously than they should have, and as a result they lost out on experiencing three movies that deliver just as much excitement, adventure, and FUN (everyone who hated the prequels, please look this word up in the dictionary as a refresher) as the first three flicks.
Star Wars didn't change. It didn't get worse or stagnate. YOU did, kids. That doesn't make the prequels bad movies, and that doesn't make you bad people: all we have here are two factors that were once compatible, but no longer are. 8-year-olds in 1977 didn't give a flying fuck about "acting" or "dialogue" or "believability": those are ugly, boring grown-up words that adults say out loud in front of other adults in order to give off the appearance of being "mature" and "sophisticated". 8-year-olds saw lightsabers, aliens, robots, spaceships, and monsters, and that was pure perfection for them. If you liked lightsabers, aliens, robots, spaceships, and monsters back then...then the only thing preventing you from liking them again now is that now you have a mortgage and you're bitter because you found your first grey hair and you really want that raise but John from HR hasn't been returning your e-mails and you've been trying to save up to renovate the basement and...so on.
To me,the Star Wars prequels are as good as their predecessors because they did what we should all strive to do: they never stopped playing.
So go out there and have fun. Take your kids to the park. Take your wife out for ice cream. Wear a silly tie to work. Dance in the middle of your kitchen, even if there's no music playing. Use those alphabet magnets on your fridge to spell out dirty words. Roll around in the grass with your dog. Become a Jedi Knight like your father. PLAY.
May the Force be with you.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Credit Where Credit is Due
Pop quiz: what do the following movies have in common? The Dark Knight. The Mummy Returns. Inception. Hostel. How To Train Your Dragon. Avatar.
Give up? The answer is, every single one of these films lacks both opening credits and an opening title.
I have to admit, I'm a bit confused as to why this is becoming such a popular trend in filmmaking these days. Opening credits are the lifeblood of movies. If done well, a good opening sequence can get an audience extremely pumped for the movie to follow. Want a perfect example? Look no further than 007 himself.
Quality of content notwithstanding, the James Bond flicks have one great thing going for them: they know how to open a movie with just the right sort of bang. They start us off in the heat of an action sequence somewhere, with James Bond engaged in a death-defying mission that we (as of yet) know very little about. Something extraordinary happens. Bond escapes by the skin of his neck. Maybe an explosion or two occurs. James Bond basically looks at the camera and says something along the lines of, "This is all child's play compared to what's coming next, folks!" Then...BANG. Credits. And while we sit through some horrible Sheena Easton song and watch naked animated women dance around the names of the executive producers, we're squirming with anticipation to see what's going to happen to our hedonistic British hero.
That little bit of excitement preceding the opening titles is called a teaser. Teasers can be very, very good things. They excite & stimulate an audience. They turn the upcoming 90 minutes into not just a movie, but an event. I, for one, think teasers are the cat's meow. If given millions of dollars & a camera and left to my own devices, I would never make a movie that didn't have a teaser. Of course, I'm the farthest thing from a competent director, so my movie might end up being a horrible mess that is nothing but teasers, which would strain the physical limits to such an extent that the whole thing would achieve some kind of unpleasant singularity.
Now, leaving out the title...well, that's just plain rude! It's common manners. You introduce yourself to new people, that's how interaction works.
"Hello, movie, my name is Elizabeth."
"Hello, Elizabeth. My name is Gladiator and I'll be your movie this evening. Can I start you off with a teaser?"
There. Simple. Done. Sounds much nicer than:
"Hello, movie, my name is Elizabeth."
"Hello, Elizabeth. My name is go fuck yourself."
"But Question Mark", you might exclaim, "you're overlooking an obvious answer to your problems! Credits and titles are being omitted because they want to cut down the run time of movies for today's attention-impaired, Ritalin-popping audiences!" Fair enough, I would reply, except let me direct your attention back to the list of six movies that kicked off this article. Half of them are movies directed by Chris Nolan or James Cameron: two men who definitely have NO PROBLEMS WHATSOEVER with a film being a bit on the long side.
All I hope for is that opening credits don't disappear off the face of the earth, the way good scores and colour have. Imagine a world without the Star Wars crawl. Imagine a world without Danny Elfman's Batman theme. Imagine Austin Powers without all of the nude dancing. That's not the kind of world I want to live in.
Give up? The answer is, every single one of these films lacks both opening credits and an opening title.
I have to admit, I'm a bit confused as to why this is becoming such a popular trend in filmmaking these days. Opening credits are the lifeblood of movies. If done well, a good opening sequence can get an audience extremely pumped for the movie to follow. Want a perfect example? Look no further than 007 himself.
Quality of content notwithstanding, the James Bond flicks have one great thing going for them: they know how to open a movie with just the right sort of bang. They start us off in the heat of an action sequence somewhere, with James Bond engaged in a death-defying mission that we (as of yet) know very little about. Something extraordinary happens. Bond escapes by the skin of his neck. Maybe an explosion or two occurs. James Bond basically looks at the camera and says something along the lines of, "This is all child's play compared to what's coming next, folks!" Then...BANG. Credits. And while we sit through some horrible Sheena Easton song and watch naked animated women dance around the names of the executive producers, we're squirming with anticipation to see what's going to happen to our hedonistic British hero.
That little bit of excitement preceding the opening titles is called a teaser. Teasers can be very, very good things. They excite & stimulate an audience. They turn the upcoming 90 minutes into not just a movie, but an event. I, for one, think teasers are the cat's meow. If given millions of dollars & a camera and left to my own devices, I would never make a movie that didn't have a teaser. Of course, I'm the farthest thing from a competent director, so my movie might end up being a horrible mess that is nothing but teasers, which would strain the physical limits to such an extent that the whole thing would achieve some kind of unpleasant singularity.
Now, leaving out the title...well, that's just plain rude! It's common manners. You introduce yourself to new people, that's how interaction works.
"Hello, movie, my name is Elizabeth."
"Hello, Elizabeth. My name is Gladiator and I'll be your movie this evening. Can I start you off with a teaser?"
There. Simple. Done. Sounds much nicer than:
"Hello, movie, my name is Elizabeth."
"Hello, Elizabeth. My name is go fuck yourself."
"But Question Mark", you might exclaim, "you're overlooking an obvious answer to your problems! Credits and titles are being omitted because they want to cut down the run time of movies for today's attention-impaired, Ritalin-popping audiences!" Fair enough, I would reply, except let me direct your attention back to the list of six movies that kicked off this article. Half of them are movies directed by Chris Nolan or James Cameron: two men who definitely have NO PROBLEMS WHATSOEVER with a film being a bit on the long side.
All I hope for is that opening credits don't disappear off the face of the earth, the way good scores and colour have. Imagine a world without the Star Wars crawl. Imagine a world without Danny Elfman's Batman theme. Imagine Austin Powers without all of the nude dancing. That's not the kind of world I want to live in.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Peanut Butter Fanboy
Last week, I promised to make some nerds angry. Since doing so is about as easy as shooting fish in a barrel with a bazooka the same size as the barrel itself, here I am making good on my word!
Speaking of words, one in particular is going to be the basis for this week's little discussion. The word "fanboy": it gets tossed around quite a lot, doesn't it? But can anyone out there claim to really, truly know exactly what it means? I believe I do, and I'll try to define it in the easiest way possible so that from now on you will know a fanboy the moment you see one.
First things first: you can be a fangirl, too. This isn't an exclusive club like the Shriners we're talking about here. fans can be any gender, race, religion, or sexual orientation. And for the record, you can also be a fanboy of a gender, race, religion, or sexual orientation. It's funny that way.
So here's my ultimate definition of the term: being a fanboy is simply a indication that you are heavily invested in a certain thing to the point where it stops being casual interest and becomes nerd-like obsession. Someone who reads/analyzes a lot of comics and spends thousands of dollars a month on collecting and organizing them is a comic book fanboy. Someone who knows every line of dialogue in all six Star Wars films and owns every action figure of even the most obscure character from the movies or novels is a Star Wars fanboy. Someone who walks around wearing their favourite players' hockey jersey, memorizes goalkeeping stats, and goes to a bar every other night to watch the game with their beer buddies is a hockey fanboy (Yes, sports fans, stop kidding yourselves; you're all nerds too. You just prefer balls to lightsabers. Take from that what you will).
The thing that separates fanboys from just plain fans, though, is bit more complicated: it mostly involves elitism, aggression, and finding common enemies. Here's a helpful example to illustrate.
I really, really, really like Kraft smooth peanut butter. I like it to the point where I am a Kraft smooth peanut butter fanboy. I eat Kraft smooth peanut butter at least three times a day. I've bought it so many times that I know how many pieces of peanut butter toast I can get out of one jar. I can recite from memory every single one of the ingredients, as well as the recipes that they usually have on the backs of the labels. I have posters of Kraft smooth peanut butter hanging in my bedroom. I know the names of all the people who had a hand in inventing it, in what year they did so, and in which part of the world it happened. If you were to try to engage me in a conversation about a totally unrelated issue, like the BP oil spill or Obama's health care plan, I would somehow find a way to steer the conversation back into the waters of Kraft smooth peanut butter, to the point where you will be so annoyed with my obsession that you'll eventually just stop talking to me.
Let's bring a second person into the mix now. We'll call her Veronica. Veronica is a fangirl as well, except her obsession revolves around Kraft crunchy peanut butter. When Veronica and I are together, the two of us will inevitably start to bicker about our interests. In most cases, though, neither of us will harbor any malice towards the other; I respect Veronica's interest in a Kraft peanut butter product, and vice versa. Our arguments don't involve bashing one another, but rather boasting why we think our respective peanut butters are superior. Veronica thinks having peanut shells in every bite is fantastic. I think peanut butter should flow like liquid across the top of my toast.
Now, here comes a third person: Stuart. Stuart is a peanut butter fanboy. But Stuart doesn't like Kraft peanut butter. Stuart likes Skippy peanut butter.
Instantly, Veronica & I will put aside our small differences and gang-bang the hell out of Stuart's opinions. This time, we're not in it to convince Stuart how great our peanut butter is: we're in it to rag on how shitty his peanut butter is. Instead of using logical defense, Veronica and I resort to mockery and humiliation. For example, while our earlier conversations might have sounded like this: "Smooth is clearly better than crunchy. Having peanut shells in every bite cuts up the roof of my mouth", they now sound like this: "Stuart, you are a facking n00b! Skippy peanut butter is teh gay!" We actually take offense that Stuart has the gall to even consider any other peanut butter brand.
Oh, and jam? Don't even get us STARTED on jam.
Speaking of words, one in particular is going to be the basis for this week's little discussion. The word "fanboy": it gets tossed around quite a lot, doesn't it? But can anyone out there claim to really, truly know exactly what it means? I believe I do, and I'll try to define it in the easiest way possible so that from now on you will know a fanboy the moment you see one.
First things first: you can be a fangirl, too. This isn't an exclusive club like the Shriners we're talking about here. fans can be any gender, race, religion, or sexual orientation. And for the record, you can also be a fanboy of a gender, race, religion, or sexual orientation. It's funny that way.
So here's my ultimate definition of the term: being a fanboy is simply a indication that you are heavily invested in a certain thing to the point where it stops being casual interest and becomes nerd-like obsession. Someone who reads/analyzes a lot of comics and spends thousands of dollars a month on collecting and organizing them is a comic book fanboy. Someone who knows every line of dialogue in all six Star Wars films and owns every action figure of even the most obscure character from the movies or novels is a Star Wars fanboy. Someone who walks around wearing their favourite players' hockey jersey, memorizes goalkeeping stats, and goes to a bar every other night to watch the game with their beer buddies is a hockey fanboy (Yes, sports fans, stop kidding yourselves; you're all nerds too. You just prefer balls to lightsabers. Take from that what you will).
The thing that separates fanboys from just plain fans, though, is bit more complicated: it mostly involves elitism, aggression, and finding common enemies. Here's a helpful example to illustrate.
I really, really, really like Kraft smooth peanut butter. I like it to the point where I am a Kraft smooth peanut butter fanboy. I eat Kraft smooth peanut butter at least three times a day. I've bought it so many times that I know how many pieces of peanut butter toast I can get out of one jar. I can recite from memory every single one of the ingredients, as well as the recipes that they usually have on the backs of the labels. I have posters of Kraft smooth peanut butter hanging in my bedroom. I know the names of all the people who had a hand in inventing it, in what year they did so, and in which part of the world it happened. If you were to try to engage me in a conversation about a totally unrelated issue, like the BP oil spill or Obama's health care plan, I would somehow find a way to steer the conversation back into the waters of Kraft smooth peanut butter, to the point where you will be so annoyed with my obsession that you'll eventually just stop talking to me.
Let's bring a second person into the mix now. We'll call her Veronica. Veronica is a fangirl as well, except her obsession revolves around Kraft crunchy peanut butter. When Veronica and I are together, the two of us will inevitably start to bicker about our interests. In most cases, though, neither of us will harbor any malice towards the other; I respect Veronica's interest in a Kraft peanut butter product, and vice versa. Our arguments don't involve bashing one another, but rather boasting why we think our respective peanut butters are superior. Veronica thinks having peanut shells in every bite is fantastic. I think peanut butter should flow like liquid across the top of my toast.
Now, here comes a third person: Stuart. Stuart is a peanut butter fanboy. But Stuart doesn't like Kraft peanut butter. Stuart likes Skippy peanut butter.
Instantly, Veronica & I will put aside our small differences and gang-bang the hell out of Stuart's opinions. This time, we're not in it to convince Stuart how great our peanut butter is: we're in it to rag on how shitty his peanut butter is. Instead of using logical defense, Veronica and I resort to mockery and humiliation. For example, while our earlier conversations might have sounded like this: "Smooth is clearly better than crunchy. Having peanut shells in every bite cuts up the roof of my mouth", they now sound like this: "Stuart, you are a facking n00b! Skippy peanut butter is teh gay!" We actually take offense that Stuart has the gall to even consider any other peanut butter brand.
Oh, and jam? Don't even get us STARTED on jam.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Five-Seven-Five
The backlog of work this week has gotten a tad on the overwhelming side, and unfortunately I haven't had enough time to do the amount of preparation and research I usually do before writing one of these articles. Therefore, this week's entry is going to be like a very small cinnamon-chocolate cappuccino: short but sweet, with some froth on top. Don't worry, next week we're getting back to the heavy stuff; heavy stuff in which I might upset a few of the nerds out there...
This year, more than any other year, I've found myself parked in front of the TV set for several hours a day, catching up on the newest episodes of this or that. It only just occurred to me the other night how much my TV time has expanded from just last year alone. Usually, the only program I'd bothered to watch religiously week after week was LOST. Everything else I would just catch up with sometime later, or wait for the DVD.
However, things changed as soon as the 2011-2012 television season began. I don't know why it is, but there have been more shows this year capturing my interest than ever before. Since I'm an egotistical maniac and I'm under the assumption that everyone gives a damn what I think of things, I felt compelled to do a review of all the shows I've been watching since fall. Of course, doing so in full would take much too long and take up an enormous amount of space on this blog, space which could be better put to use being filled with Viagra ads or links to websites where you could win a free* iPad 2 as long as you just give some clammy, mouth-breathing hacker all of your credit card information and your mum's maiden name.
Hence: you've sifted through the froth, now this is where the short & sweet cappuccino part begins. I've reviewed all of the TV shows I'm enjoying this year...in the form of haiku poems. It's kind of like those little bite-sized pieces of Caramilk bars! Only, you know, in poem form.
Oh, and there are some spoilers ahead, so read at your own risk.
ALCATRAZ
Hurley and Merlin
fight time-travelling convicts.
(It's J.J., okay?)
COMMUNITY
Funniest show on
TV. Well, it was, until
NBC screwed up.
FRINGE
Alternate timeline
getting so damn confusing.
Need charts to keep track.
GAME OF THRONES
Hot naked ladies
covered in dragons. Do I
need to say more here?
ONCE UPON A TIME
Fairy-tale people
living in the U.S.A.
with sexy results.
PERSON OF INTEREST
Ben Linus & Christ
are basically Batman. They
use cell phones a lot.
THE RIVER
Amazon River.
Crocodile Hunter. Voodoo.
IT'S SCARY AS SHIT.
TERRA NOVA
Something by Spielberg
that's NOT about World War II.
About time, Stevie!
This year, more than any other year, I've found myself parked in front of the TV set for several hours a day, catching up on the newest episodes of this or that. It only just occurred to me the other night how much my TV time has expanded from just last year alone. Usually, the only program I'd bothered to watch religiously week after week was LOST. Everything else I would just catch up with sometime later, or wait for the DVD.
However, things changed as soon as the 2011-2012 television season began. I don't know why it is, but there have been more shows this year capturing my interest than ever before. Since I'm an egotistical maniac and I'm under the assumption that everyone gives a damn what I think of things, I felt compelled to do a review of all the shows I've been watching since fall. Of course, doing so in full would take much too long and take up an enormous amount of space on this blog, space which could be better put to use being filled with Viagra ads or links to websites where you could win a free* iPad 2 as long as you just give some clammy, mouth-breathing hacker all of your credit card information and your mum's maiden name.
Hence: you've sifted through the froth, now this is where the short & sweet cappuccino part begins. I've reviewed all of the TV shows I'm enjoying this year...in the form of haiku poems. It's kind of like those little bite-sized pieces of Caramilk bars! Only, you know, in poem form.
Oh, and there are some spoilers ahead, so read at your own risk.
ALCATRAZ
Hurley and Merlin
fight time-travelling convicts.
(It's J.J., okay?)
COMMUNITY
Funniest show on
TV. Well, it was, until
NBC screwed up.
FRINGE
Alternate timeline
getting so damn confusing.
Need charts to keep track.
GAME OF THRONES
Hot naked ladies
covered in dragons. Do I
need to say more here?
ONCE UPON A TIME
Fairy-tale people
living in the U.S.A.
with sexy results.
PERSON OF INTEREST
Ben Linus & Christ
are basically Batman. They
use cell phones a lot.
THE RIVER
Amazon River.
Crocodile Hunter. Voodoo.
IT'S SCARY AS SHIT.
TERRA NOVA
Something by Spielberg
that's NOT about World War II.
About time, Stevie!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Bland Boys
A while back, I happened upon a card in my mailbox that allowed me one free month of Netflix. I finally got around to starting it up, and I have to say, it's been a great way to get caught up on a bunch of movies and TV shows I've been wanting to see. Apart from watching every episode of Dollhouse, a few snippets of the X-Men cartoon, and the entire first three seasons of Breaking Bad, I also got around to watching 31 movies I hadn't seen before. Let me tell you, it was immensely refreshing to be able to watch a free movie online that didn't have obnoxious Korean subtitles taking up two-thirds of the screen.
Anyway, two of those Netflix movies are what I'd like to talk about today: a pair of action-driven, Michael Bay-helmed epics called Bad Boys and Bad Boys II.
What piqued my interest about these particular movies was the fact that everyone seemed to really like them, especially the second one. I remember the first one coming out and just being a quiet hit, but once the sequel released...everyone everywhere was talking about Bad Boys II. Friends, neighbours, fellow movie buffs, & casual movie fans alike all said it was a total must-see movie. I'd never seen either of the Bad Boys, but I love Will Smith (who doesn't?!) and I can tolerate Michael Bay films (mostly). I thought Armageddon was decent and I enjoyed the Transformers series. So I thought, hey, let's give Bad Boys a shot. From what I gathered through popular opinion, this franchise took a page from Chris Nolan's Bat-book, i.e., the first movie was a big success, but the twice-as-long, twice-as-hyped, twice-as-big, twice-as-expensive sequel was the true star of the series.
Fair enough, I thought. I'm all yours, Mr. Bay. Let's see what you've got.
Upon finally viewing these two movies, my verdict is...confused. Maybe I'm dyslexic and I've been horribly mixing up all of the hype surrounding this series, but Bad Boys II was way, way, WAAAAYYYYY worse than its predecessor.
The first Bad Boys had a really clever and cute little plot twist whereupon Martin Lawrence's character Marcus (a jittery, straight-edged family man) has to pretend to be Will Smith's character Mike (a smooth-talking, oversexed playboy) in order to secure a witness in a very important police case involving stolen heroin. That was neat, and totally not something I expected to see in a Michael Bay movie. It was fun to watch these characters struggle uncomfortably out of their element. It reminded me of the classic mistaken identity farces of Hollywood's Golden Age, and it really helped put an emphasis on the second half of that "action-comedy" nametag this series likes to wear proudly on its lapels.
Bad Boys II, on the other hand...well, I can actually review that movie without using a single word, simply by rolling my eyes and scoffing. But since you can't exactly see me doing that, here are some words.
Everything that made the first movie cool and funky and different and fun is gone. Bye-bye. Instead, prepare yourself for two hours and twenty-four minutes of non-stop, groan-inducing action movie cliches that are so in-your-face that I kept thinking I was watching a Wayans Brothers parody of a cop movie instead of the genuine article. It left we wondering if Bay and his writers had ever even seen The Last Action Hero. Literally every cop movie stereotype that The Last Action Hero makes fun of is in Bad Boys II, and they're not even being used ironically. Hero cop gets shot, but it's just "a flesh wound"? Check. High-speed car chase filled with explosions where a lot of innocent people get hurt but the cops don't seem too bothered by it? Check. Cops using flashy sports cars instead of standard-issue police cruisers? Triple check. Mismatched partners getting in silly arguments? Check. A police station that looks nicer than the main lobby of a Ritz-Carlton hotel? Check. A chief who spends every second of his screen time yelling at the two lead cops about how the Mayor is up his ass? Check. A lame, stock villain whose only character traits are "evil" and "drug lord"? Check. Slow-motion hero shots of the main characters firing their guns in a way that isn't practical at all, but it's okay because it makes them look "badass"? Check check check check che...well, you get the idea.
Are those cliches bad? Absolutely not. They're fun and exciting and delightful...in moderation. But considering that the first Bad Boys broke the mould a little bit and gave us something with a neat little spark of originality, you can understand how disappointed I was that the sequel decided to just take a shit all over that and play their safe cards from The Overused Buddy-Cop Stereotype Handbook for Dummies. What's especially puzzling is how everybody said they loved it so much more than Part 1.
Remember how I said that almost everyone loves Will Smith? Well, this movie doesn't just love him...this movie takes every single opportunity to get down on its knees, grab Will Smith by the balls, suck him off until he's satisfied, and then says, "Thank you, Will Smith, may I have another?" It was almost embarrassing to watch. I wouldn't be surprised if Bad Boys II's official movie poster was just Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam with the Fresh Prince's face superimposed over God's.
What, then, should Bad Boys II have been? Well, if you ask me, I think it was the perfect opportunity for a classic role-reversal. Take another popular movie series for example: in Toy Story, Buzz Lightyear had to deal with the fact that he was a toy. Woody kept trying to explain to him exactly what that meant, and was constantly reminding Buzz of his responsibility to Andy. In Toy Story 2, Woody was the one dealing with an identity crisis, and it was up to Buzz to bring him back. Buzz even went so far as to echo Woody's famous line from the first flick: "You are a child's plaything! You. Are. A. TOY!" If the first Bad Boys was about Martin Lawrence struggling to pretend that he was a man-whore bachelor, then Bad Boys II absolutely could have worked if it was about Will Smith struggling to pretend (for similar reasons, perhaps) that he was a happily-married suburbanite with three kids. And if they really wanted to stick to the Toy Story formula, then Bad Boys III could be about them being transferred to a different precinct, and then somehow they end up in a giant furnace room holding hands and accepting their inevitable fate, only to be pulled out of harm's way at the last second by Joe Pantoliano.
At the end of the day, what I'm most curious about is: why? Why was Bad Boys II so universally acclaimed while its superior predecessor goes largely unmentioned? Why does this mediocre sequel overshadow the better work that came before? Jaws 2 didn't overshadow Jaws. Terminator 3 didn't overshadow T2. The Return of Jafar didn't overshadow Aladdin (thank fucking Lord). Is Bad Boys II a "bad" movie? On its own, not at all. As part of the series that the first one started, though...yeah, a little bit.. What do YOU think of Bad Boys II? Perhaps this is one of life's mysteries that simply wasn't meant to be solved. Or maybe we're just better off not knowing, because the answer might turn out to be "People prefer dumb stuff". And that would just be sad.
Anyway, two of those Netflix movies are what I'd like to talk about today: a pair of action-driven, Michael Bay-helmed epics called Bad Boys and Bad Boys II.
What piqued my interest about these particular movies was the fact that everyone seemed to really like them, especially the second one. I remember the first one coming out and just being a quiet hit, but once the sequel released...everyone everywhere was talking about Bad Boys II. Friends, neighbours, fellow movie buffs, & casual movie fans alike all said it was a total must-see movie. I'd never seen either of the Bad Boys, but I love Will Smith (who doesn't?!) and I can tolerate Michael Bay films (mostly). I thought Armageddon was decent and I enjoyed the Transformers series. So I thought, hey, let's give Bad Boys a shot. From what I gathered through popular opinion, this franchise took a page from Chris Nolan's Bat-book, i.e., the first movie was a big success, but the twice-as-long, twice-as-hyped, twice-as-big, twice-as-expensive sequel was the true star of the series.
Fair enough, I thought. I'm all yours, Mr. Bay. Let's see what you've got.
Upon finally viewing these two movies, my verdict is...confused. Maybe I'm dyslexic and I've been horribly mixing up all of the hype surrounding this series, but Bad Boys II was way, way, WAAAAYYYYY worse than its predecessor.
The first Bad Boys had a really clever and cute little plot twist whereupon Martin Lawrence's character Marcus (a jittery, straight-edged family man) has to pretend to be Will Smith's character Mike (a smooth-talking, oversexed playboy) in order to secure a witness in a very important police case involving stolen heroin. That was neat, and totally not something I expected to see in a Michael Bay movie. It was fun to watch these characters struggle uncomfortably out of their element. It reminded me of the classic mistaken identity farces of Hollywood's Golden Age, and it really helped put an emphasis on the second half of that "action-comedy" nametag this series likes to wear proudly on its lapels.
Bad Boys II, on the other hand...well, I can actually review that movie without using a single word, simply by rolling my eyes and scoffing. But since you can't exactly see me doing that, here are some words.
Everything that made the first movie cool and funky and different and fun is gone. Bye-bye. Instead, prepare yourself for two hours and twenty-four minutes of non-stop, groan-inducing action movie cliches that are so in-your-face that I kept thinking I was watching a Wayans Brothers parody of a cop movie instead of the genuine article. It left we wondering if Bay and his writers had ever even seen The Last Action Hero. Literally every cop movie stereotype that The Last Action Hero makes fun of is in Bad Boys II, and they're not even being used ironically. Hero cop gets shot, but it's just "a flesh wound"? Check. High-speed car chase filled with explosions where a lot of innocent people get hurt but the cops don't seem too bothered by it? Check. Cops using flashy sports cars instead of standard-issue police cruisers? Triple check. Mismatched partners getting in silly arguments? Check. A police station that looks nicer than the main lobby of a Ritz-Carlton hotel? Check. A chief who spends every second of his screen time yelling at the two lead cops about how the Mayor is up his ass? Check. A lame, stock villain whose only character traits are "evil" and "drug lord"? Check. Slow-motion hero shots of the main characters firing their guns in a way that isn't practical at all, but it's okay because it makes them look "badass"? Check check check check che...well, you get the idea.
Are those cliches bad? Absolutely not. They're fun and exciting and delightful...in moderation. But considering that the first Bad Boys broke the mould a little bit and gave us something with a neat little spark of originality, you can understand how disappointed I was that the sequel decided to just take a shit all over that and play their safe cards from The Overused Buddy-Cop Stereotype Handbook for Dummies. What's especially puzzling is how everybody said they loved it so much more than Part 1.
Remember how I said that almost everyone loves Will Smith? Well, this movie doesn't just love him...this movie takes every single opportunity to get down on its knees, grab Will Smith by the balls, suck him off until he's satisfied, and then says, "Thank you, Will Smith, may I have another?" It was almost embarrassing to watch. I wouldn't be surprised if Bad Boys II's official movie poster was just Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam with the Fresh Prince's face superimposed over God's.
What, then, should Bad Boys II have been? Well, if you ask me, I think it was the perfect opportunity for a classic role-reversal. Take another popular movie series for example: in Toy Story, Buzz Lightyear had to deal with the fact that he was a toy. Woody kept trying to explain to him exactly what that meant, and was constantly reminding Buzz of his responsibility to Andy. In Toy Story 2, Woody was the one dealing with an identity crisis, and it was up to Buzz to bring him back. Buzz even went so far as to echo Woody's famous line from the first flick: "You are a child's plaything! You. Are. A. TOY!" If the first Bad Boys was about Martin Lawrence struggling to pretend that he was a man-whore bachelor, then Bad Boys II absolutely could have worked if it was about Will Smith struggling to pretend (for similar reasons, perhaps) that he was a happily-married suburbanite with three kids. And if they really wanted to stick to the Toy Story formula, then Bad Boys III could be about them being transferred to a different precinct, and then somehow they end up in a giant furnace room holding hands and accepting their inevitable fate, only to be pulled out of harm's way at the last second by Joe Pantoliano.
At the end of the day, what I'm most curious about is: why? Why was Bad Boys II so universally acclaimed while its superior predecessor goes largely unmentioned? Why does this mediocre sequel overshadow the better work that came before? Jaws 2 didn't overshadow Jaws. Terminator 3 didn't overshadow T2. The Return of Jafar didn't overshadow Aladdin (thank fucking Lord). Is Bad Boys II a "bad" movie? On its own, not at all. As part of the series that the first one started, though...yeah, a little bit.. What do YOU think of Bad Boys II? Perhaps this is one of life's mysteries that simply wasn't meant to be solved. Or maybe we're just better off not knowing, because the answer might turn out to be "People prefer dumb stuff". And that would just be sad.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Dimension Dimension Dimension
So the other day, Underworld: Awakening came out and a friend and I made plans to go and see it (I'll wait 'till the laughter stops on that one before I continue). Much to our chagrin, though, the movie was only playing in 3-D, which neither of us wanted, so we had to end up settling on Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Despite the comically enormous size of Gary Oldman's glasses, that movie was about as entertaining as watching people do paperwork for two hours. Honestly, for a movie about spies and secret double-agents and British espionage, it wasn't very intriguing. Just a word of friendly advice to the writers: when it comes to mysteries, having CLUES that the audience can identify is exponentially more interesting than just having Gary Oldman solve the whole thing himself by reading files.
But to get back to the point here, I want to talk about 3-D. Everyone who knows me already knows how I feel about it, but I think I should just lay all my cards on the table now. You see, Hollywood is a dear friend of mine. I've known him since I was a baby. I don't just care about Hollywood; I love the heck out of him. But I can't sit idly by and watch him kill himself any longer. So, Hollywood, old friend, consider this blog entry your intervention.
As always, Hollywood, the first step is admitting that you have a problem.
Hollywood, I want you to think back to the good old days, and by that I mean any day prior to 2009. Do you remember all of the fun we used to have together, you & me? We used to do everything: we'd play baseball with Tom Hanks, we'd take a 12-hour trip to Middle Earth, we'd run from killer cyborgs and go sneaking through the Temple of Doom. We blew up the Death Star, and then we blew up the second Death Star, and then we drove Miss Daisy around for a bit. We had a lot of great times together.
But then you changed.
I don't know what it was. Maybe you felt pressured. Maybe you spent too much time hanging around that psycho James Cameron. But whatever the catalyst was, the results were undeniable: you started using 3-D. At first it was just enough to make us concerned, but now...now, Hollywood, we're scared for you.
A couple of years back. I wanted to watch the last Saw movie with you, remember? But...you were on 3-D. And just this past Christmas, when the Tintin movie came out, I was overjoyed! I used to love the Tintin cartoon when I was a kid! I couldn't wait to see it on the big screen with you! But...you were on 3-D.
I understand that addictions are hard to kick, Hollywood. But the fact of the matter is, you need to quit. Maybe some unpleasant people want to be around you when you're on 3-D, but those people aren't your real friends. You may think you're more "fun" and "hip" when you're "using", but I'm afraid it's the exact opposite. I don't like wearing clunky glasses over my normal glasses. I don't like paying five extra dollars for a migraine. I don't like things popping out at me, Hollywood, because...that's not what our friendship is all about.
Let's say you have a baby, Hollywood. And you decide that you want to entertain that baby. You have a set of plastic Fisher Price keys that jingle and jangle in a very pleasant way. Now, you have two options here. Option 1: you can set the Fisher Price keys down in front of the baby and let her pick them up, let her rattle them around in her hand, let her inspect them and discover them and examine them with the sense of newfound wonder that babies have with everything they touch. Let her make connections and feel the keys beneath her fingers. Option 2: you can wave the keys back & forth obnoxiously in front of her face, saying, "OOoOoooOohhh, look at the keys! Look at the keys! Look at the keys! OOooOoOooOoOooO! Look at the keys! Look at the keys!" There's being entertaining, and then there's being patronizing.
Hollywood, remember back in the seventies when we went swimming together at that beach off of Amity Island, and then that crazed killer shark started attacking people? That was amazing! Everybody had so much fun that day! And remember how we went back to that same beach after a few years, and even though nothing new or original happened, we still had a ton of fun swimming around and running from that shark again? Good times were had by all! But when we went back a third time...you were on 3-D. And nobody had fun. Absolutely nobody. We all hated that day, Hollywood. You ruined it by being high on your stupid addiction. We just didn't tell you to your face because, well, frankly, we loved you too much to hurt your feelings like that. But we're afraid that if everything doesn't come out in the open now, it could do some serious damage. In hindsight, it's just as much our fault for not bringing it up sooner.
Trust us, this isn't the first time something tragic like this has ruined peoples' lives. Remember our old friend Amusement Park Rides? Even he struggled with a bad 3-D addiction. He was so stoned out of his mind on the shiny 3-D keys jingling in front of his nose that he didn't realize that good old-fashioned roller coasters and tilt-a-whirls produced a natural, healthy high that was ten times more exhilarating than anything you could buy off the streets. Slowly but surely, though, Amusement Park Rides is learning to kick his addiction. He knows that he doesn't have to rely on a synthetic substance to have a good time.
Our actions have consequences, Hollywood. You need to understand that, as cool or hip as you may think you are, your behaviour is having an extremely bad influence on your little cousin, Television. We walked into a Best Buy just the other day and...well, I know this is going to be hard to hear, but...we caught Television using 3-D, too. When we took the 3-D away and asked him why he was doing it, Television started crying and yelled, "It's because of Hollywood, okay?! I learned it from watching Hollywood!!!" I think that pretty much speaks for itself.
Frankly, we don't want to hang out with you anymore, Hollywood, because, in all honesty, what's the point? Why should we go out of our way to see you when you're so stoned off your mind that you treat us like toddlers? Why should we keep lending you money if you're just going to spend it on more 3-D? And don't try to lie to us, because we know that that's exactly where our money is going, isn't it?
Dear, sweet Hollywood: you have a serious, serious problem. But we're not here to attack you. We're here to help you. Next month, when Ghost Rider 2 comes out, I want to be able to enjoy it with you like we used to, without your addiction ruining the experience. You CAN have fun without resorting to 3-D, Hollywood: we used to do it all the time, remember? We can do it again. But this is a two-way street. Kicking this addiction is not going to be easy, but we'll be there for you every step of the way, as long as we know that you are actively trying to get better. We care about you, Hollywood. So please, PLEASE...start caring about yourself.
A NOTE TO THE READERS: If you or anyone you know is struggling with a harmful addiction to 3-D, there are ways to get better. You can visit the 3-D Addicts Anonymous website at www.3daa.org, or call their hotline at 1-800-321-HELP.
But to get back to the point here, I want to talk about 3-D. Everyone who knows me already knows how I feel about it, but I think I should just lay all my cards on the table now. You see, Hollywood is a dear friend of mine. I've known him since I was a baby. I don't just care about Hollywood; I love the heck out of him. But I can't sit idly by and watch him kill himself any longer. So, Hollywood, old friend, consider this blog entry your intervention.
As always, Hollywood, the first step is admitting that you have a problem.
Hollywood, I want you to think back to the good old days, and by that I mean any day prior to 2009. Do you remember all of the fun we used to have together, you & me? We used to do everything: we'd play baseball with Tom Hanks, we'd take a 12-hour trip to Middle Earth, we'd run from killer cyborgs and go sneaking through the Temple of Doom. We blew up the Death Star, and then we blew up the second Death Star, and then we drove Miss Daisy around for a bit. We had a lot of great times together.
But then you changed.
I don't know what it was. Maybe you felt pressured. Maybe you spent too much time hanging around that psycho James Cameron. But whatever the catalyst was, the results were undeniable: you started using 3-D. At first it was just enough to make us concerned, but now...now, Hollywood, we're scared for you.
A couple of years back. I wanted to watch the last Saw movie with you, remember? But...you were on 3-D. And just this past Christmas, when the Tintin movie came out, I was overjoyed! I used to love the Tintin cartoon when I was a kid! I couldn't wait to see it on the big screen with you! But...you were on 3-D.
I understand that addictions are hard to kick, Hollywood. But the fact of the matter is, you need to quit. Maybe some unpleasant people want to be around you when you're on 3-D, but those people aren't your real friends. You may think you're more "fun" and "hip" when you're "using", but I'm afraid it's the exact opposite. I don't like wearing clunky glasses over my normal glasses. I don't like paying five extra dollars for a migraine. I don't like things popping out at me, Hollywood, because...that's not what our friendship is all about.
Let's say you have a baby, Hollywood. And you decide that you want to entertain that baby. You have a set of plastic Fisher Price keys that jingle and jangle in a very pleasant way. Now, you have two options here. Option 1: you can set the Fisher Price keys down in front of the baby and let her pick them up, let her rattle them around in her hand, let her inspect them and discover them and examine them with the sense of newfound wonder that babies have with everything they touch. Let her make connections and feel the keys beneath her fingers. Option 2: you can wave the keys back & forth obnoxiously in front of her face, saying, "OOoOoooOohhh, look at the keys! Look at the keys! Look at the keys! OOooOoOooOoOooO! Look at the keys! Look at the keys!" There's being entertaining, and then there's being patronizing.
Hollywood, remember back in the seventies when we went swimming together at that beach off of Amity Island, and then that crazed killer shark started attacking people? That was amazing! Everybody had so much fun that day! And remember how we went back to that same beach after a few years, and even though nothing new or original happened, we still had a ton of fun swimming around and running from that shark again? Good times were had by all! But when we went back a third time...you were on 3-D. And nobody had fun. Absolutely nobody. We all hated that day, Hollywood. You ruined it by being high on your stupid addiction. We just didn't tell you to your face because, well, frankly, we loved you too much to hurt your feelings like that. But we're afraid that if everything doesn't come out in the open now, it could do some serious damage. In hindsight, it's just as much our fault for not bringing it up sooner.
Trust us, this isn't the first time something tragic like this has ruined peoples' lives. Remember our old friend Amusement Park Rides? Even he struggled with a bad 3-D addiction. He was so stoned out of his mind on the shiny 3-D keys jingling in front of his nose that he didn't realize that good old-fashioned roller coasters and tilt-a-whirls produced a natural, healthy high that was ten times more exhilarating than anything you could buy off the streets. Slowly but surely, though, Amusement Park Rides is learning to kick his addiction. He knows that he doesn't have to rely on a synthetic substance to have a good time.
Our actions have consequences, Hollywood. You need to understand that, as cool or hip as you may think you are, your behaviour is having an extremely bad influence on your little cousin, Television. We walked into a Best Buy just the other day and...well, I know this is going to be hard to hear, but...we caught Television using 3-D, too. When we took the 3-D away and asked him why he was doing it, Television started crying and yelled, "It's because of Hollywood, okay?! I learned it from watching Hollywood!!!" I think that pretty much speaks for itself.
Frankly, we don't want to hang out with you anymore, Hollywood, because, in all honesty, what's the point? Why should we go out of our way to see you when you're so stoned off your mind that you treat us like toddlers? Why should we keep lending you money if you're just going to spend it on more 3-D? And don't try to lie to us, because we know that that's exactly where our money is going, isn't it?
Dear, sweet Hollywood: you have a serious, serious problem. But we're not here to attack you. We're here to help you. Next month, when Ghost Rider 2 comes out, I want to be able to enjoy it with you like we used to, without your addiction ruining the experience. You CAN have fun without resorting to 3-D, Hollywood: we used to do it all the time, remember? We can do it again. But this is a two-way street. Kicking this addiction is not going to be easy, but we'll be there for you every step of the way, as long as we know that you are actively trying to get better. We care about you, Hollywood. So please, PLEASE...start caring about yourself.
A NOTE TO THE READERS: If you or anyone you know is struggling with a harmful addiction to 3-D, there are ways to get better. You can visit the 3-D Addicts Anonymous website at www.3daa.org, or call their hotline at 1-800-321-HELP.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
If TV Shows Were People...
If TV shows were people, 24 would be that paranoid redneck with a Confederate flag perched triumphantly on his front lawn, who owns more firearms than he does towels. He would have been quiet & reclusive up until 9/11 happened, at which point he could often be found on the streets shouting things like, "I never trusted them dang Eye-rak-ee-stannies, no sir, I did not!" He's probably one of the people who thought that the colour-coded terror alert system was a good idea. He's also the kind of man who wears camouflage attire to paintball twice a week, and smugly gloats to all of the other players when -surprise! -he just so happens to win every match.
Entourage would be that sharp-dressed white fellow who inexplicably talks like he's a young urban thug from the wrong side of the tracks, even though he grew up in a relatively nice suburbia with upper-middle-class parents and a good education. He puts on the allure of being this sexy, well-to-do, in-the-know kind of guy, but (aside from a few cryptic hints that he may be a deep-in-the-closet homosexual with serious commitment issues) he never really has anything interesting to say.
Two & A Half Men would be the charming, extremely charismatic politician whom everyone seems to really like. One day, though, he suffers a frightening nervous breakdown and is hospitalized for a few weeks. He eventually returns, trying his darndest to pick up his campaign where it left off, but he just doesn't feel quite like the same man anymore and sooner or later everyone just stops voting for him, regardless of how good his tax cuts would have been.
Lost would be that bizarre conspiracy nut who sits in a corner quietly muttering to himself while wearing a tin-foil hat. At first glance, you're a bit put off by him, and you may even feel a swell of fear whenever he's around. But the more you listen to what he has to say, the more intrigued you become by his wild fascinations, and before you even realize what's happened you're crouched in another corner with a tin-foil hat of your very own, hastily unscrambling the letters in your alphabet soup on the off-chance that they might end up spelling out the words "EIGHT-FIFTEEN" or something.
CSI, CSI: Miami, and CSI: New York would be that set of identical triplets whose mom thinks she's being cute by dressing them up in matching outfits. The triplets are constantly aching for independence and trying to assure you that they have individual thoughts and desires. You don't want to be rude, so you just smile and nod at them, even though inside you're laughing your ass off because they're basically clones.
The Simpsons would be that slightly nerdy though incredibly clever & insightful child everyone loved, because of how gosh-darned cute and smart he was. But eventually, he hit puberty and started getting acne, so his mom went ahead and had a new baby, whom she named Family Guy. The baby is not quite as clever as his big brother, but he's the cute new toy in the house, so everyone makes cooey faces at him and lavishes him with attention, while The Simpsons sits quietly up in his room continuing to do well on his homework assignments, his only crime being living past the age of thirteen.
Incidentally, Family Guy grows up into a loud child with a severe case of Attention Deficit Disorder. He occasionally spouts a funny remark or two of his own, but then he goes and ruins it with unnecessary non-sequiturs such as "I like pants!" or "Fuzzy farts!" He then proceeds to run around and around in a circle like a rogue tetherball until he collides painfully with the nearest wall.
Community would be that beautiful and extremely intelligent young woman who captivates everyone she meets. Her friends & family are relatively wealthy, so one day she is kidnapped by agents of a greedy corporation (oh, let's call them, the Nasty Bastard Corporation) who lock her away somewhere in a dark room. The kidnappers then inform all of Community's family and friends that if they ever want to see her again, they're going to have to give the Nasty Bastard Corporation all of their money and attention.
Jersey Shore would be the drunken frat boy who stands on a bench in the middle of a crowded shopping mall and proceeds to make a fool of himself by stripping down to his birthday suit and rambling about god-knows-what. Everyone in the mall pauses, hypnotized by this train wreck of a human being. This goes on for about 15 minutes before Jersey Shore falls off the bench and passes out in a puddle of his own vomit. All of the people who stopped to watch turn away, wondering why they stopped to watch in the first place and conveniently decide to never speak of it again to anyone.
American Idol would be that 350-pound man who is, quite literally, everywhere. He is munching loudly on popcorn in front of you at the cinema. He is occupying both of the seats next to you on an airplane. He is breathing down your neck in the line-up at the bank. He squeezes himself into the same small elevator with you before proceeding to break wind. There is no escaping this horrifying, bloated man. He is everywhere, all at once, always. He is legion. If left to his own devices, this man will inevitably consume the earth and everything in it.
Starting with your house.
And of course, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air would be Betty White. She may be outdated, and some of her jokes might not have aged well, but damn it, I can't think of a single person on the planet who doesn't like her.
Entourage would be that sharp-dressed white fellow who inexplicably talks like he's a young urban thug from the wrong side of the tracks, even though he grew up in a relatively nice suburbia with upper-middle-class parents and a good education. He puts on the allure of being this sexy, well-to-do, in-the-know kind of guy, but (aside from a few cryptic hints that he may be a deep-in-the-closet homosexual with serious commitment issues) he never really has anything interesting to say.
Two & A Half Men would be the charming, extremely charismatic politician whom everyone seems to really like. One day, though, he suffers a frightening nervous breakdown and is hospitalized for a few weeks. He eventually returns, trying his darndest to pick up his campaign where it left off, but he just doesn't feel quite like the same man anymore and sooner or later everyone just stops voting for him, regardless of how good his tax cuts would have been.
Lost would be that bizarre conspiracy nut who sits in a corner quietly muttering to himself while wearing a tin-foil hat. At first glance, you're a bit put off by him, and you may even feel a swell of fear whenever he's around. But the more you listen to what he has to say, the more intrigued you become by his wild fascinations, and before you even realize what's happened you're crouched in another corner with a tin-foil hat of your very own, hastily unscrambling the letters in your alphabet soup on the off-chance that they might end up spelling out the words "EIGHT-FIFTEEN" or something.
CSI, CSI: Miami, and CSI: New York would be that set of identical triplets whose mom thinks she's being cute by dressing them up in matching outfits. The triplets are constantly aching for independence and trying to assure you that they have individual thoughts and desires. You don't want to be rude, so you just smile and nod at them, even though inside you're laughing your ass off because they're basically clones.
The Simpsons would be that slightly nerdy though incredibly clever & insightful child everyone loved, because of how gosh-darned cute and smart he was. But eventually, he hit puberty and started getting acne, so his mom went ahead and had a new baby, whom she named Family Guy. The baby is not quite as clever as his big brother, but he's the cute new toy in the house, so everyone makes cooey faces at him and lavishes him with attention, while The Simpsons sits quietly up in his room continuing to do well on his homework assignments, his only crime being living past the age of thirteen.
Incidentally, Family Guy grows up into a loud child with a severe case of Attention Deficit Disorder. He occasionally spouts a funny remark or two of his own, but then he goes and ruins it with unnecessary non-sequiturs such as "I like pants!" or "Fuzzy farts!" He then proceeds to run around and around in a circle like a rogue tetherball until he collides painfully with the nearest wall.
Community would be that beautiful and extremely intelligent young woman who captivates everyone she meets. Her friends & family are relatively wealthy, so one day she is kidnapped by agents of a greedy corporation (oh, let's call them, the Nasty Bastard Corporation) who lock her away somewhere in a dark room. The kidnappers then inform all of Community's family and friends that if they ever want to see her again, they're going to have to give the Nasty Bastard Corporation all of their money and attention.
Jersey Shore would be the drunken frat boy who stands on a bench in the middle of a crowded shopping mall and proceeds to make a fool of himself by stripping down to his birthday suit and rambling about god-knows-what. Everyone in the mall pauses, hypnotized by this train wreck of a human being. This goes on for about 15 minutes before Jersey Shore falls off the bench and passes out in a puddle of his own vomit. All of the people who stopped to watch turn away, wondering why they stopped to watch in the first place and conveniently decide to never speak of it again to anyone.
American Idol would be that 350-pound man who is, quite literally, everywhere. He is munching loudly on popcorn in front of you at the cinema. He is occupying both of the seats next to you on an airplane. He is breathing down your neck in the line-up at the bank. He squeezes himself into the same small elevator with you before proceeding to break wind. There is no escaping this horrifying, bloated man. He is everywhere, all at once, always. He is legion. If left to his own devices, this man will inevitably consume the earth and everything in it.
Starting with your house.
And of course, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air would be Betty White. She may be outdated, and some of her jokes might not have aged well, but damn it, I can't think of a single person on the planet who doesn't like her.
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