Posted on

19: You see a movie.

You see a movie, and contemplate the cruel truth that you cannot unsee something once you have seen it, and you cannot get a refund no matter how much you yell at the movie poster. You are a considerate enough human that you know it’s not fair to yell at the ticket window, because plastic is just a material, albeit a slightly toxic one. And you didn’t yell at the ticket sellers either because you know, deep, deep down, that it’s not their fault that the movie sucked.

But honestly! Who is to be held responsible for such awfulness!? Will your hate mail ever make it all the way to the director? Will that envelope you angrily coughed into make its way to the hands of the producers? Will the studio feel the shame your abstract painting was meant to make them feel? Will the actor die in an explosion? No, his stunt double did though. Harsh.

You expected better! Sure, the trailers were garbage, the costumes looked ridiculous, and whatever story you managed to glean in advance was a terrible one at best. But you expected better from [big name director] and [big name actor] and [big name studio] and [concession stand]. And instead, you got that drivel that made you want to puke from your eyes.

“WHAT WAS THE POINT OF IT ALL?!” you wail, wishing back the last two hours of your life. You could have gone jogging or fishing or ridden a camel or something. You could have done something IMPORTANT. You could have not gazed at the face of Bad Screenwriting and had it chuckle meanly at you. Even though IT HAD A ZIT.

Well, that’s enough of that. You move on, you get over things. There are other movies, after all, and many look far more terrible. And then there’s that one that you hope will redeem every cinematic experience of the year.

“IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR A GOOD STORY?!” you sob.

I hope not. I’ve made a lot of effort for you, punk!

About moriwriter

Do you want to know about me? Of course not! You're far more interested in what I know about you. In fact, you're a little concerned with what I know about you... because how do I know that? It's no matter. To understand would require a brief swim in the murky depths of my mind, and you didn't bring your swimsuit and also you don't like getting wet. Never mind me. Let's talk about you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s