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penfield"In order to acquire a growing and lasting respect in society, it is a good thing, if you possess great talent, to give, early in your youth, a very hard kick to the right shin of the society that you love. After that, be a snob."
- Salvador Dali
This past weekend I saw the movie Stepbrothers. (I won't go into all the reasons why I hated it. (I'll just say this: it was like watching a movie made by and for 12 year-olds. I can't say that if you liked Talladega Nights, you'll like Stepbrothers. But if you didn't like Talladega Nights, you will absolutely HATE Stepbrothers.)
I had a feeling, almost clairvoyant, that I was going to hate the movie. Upon seeing the various promos, commercials and advance press reports, I experienced a deeply certain, prophetic feeling of superiority over the film, as if it was something I had just blown into a Kleenex.
It reminds me of the old MovieNight, a defunct tradition among a group of friends here in DC. Each week, usually on a Wednesday, one person would host the screening of a DVD, followed by thoughtful comment and criticism. It was sort of like a "book group" for idiots. The host would nominate several movies and the rest of the group would vote on them, or alternatively, the more opinionated group members would factionalize and badger or bludgeon the minority into submission.
It's sort of amazing that MovieNight lasted as long as it did -- nearly a year, I think -- when you consider the participants: DIL, who regarded every movie title and/or premise with the kind of deep suspicion usually reserved for federal prosecutors; JRR, who disdained violence and dark themes but who nevertheless seemed drawn to inscrutable films that made everyone else strangely uncomfortable; and MLR, whom JRR once described as "loving every single movie since the invention of the talkie." And then there was me, so thoroughly self-righteous that I indignantly lashed out at the suggestion that any of my nominations should be rejected. I can remember several times saying, "just trust me," as if my taste was beyond reproach.
Maturity has silenced this disease somewhat, but it has not cured me. Indeed, it's becoming more and more difficult for me to go see movies in the theatre. Beyond the obscene ticket and concession prices and the swollen masses encroaching on my armrests and legroom, there is my own personal issue with movies: If I've already decided that I'm not going to like it, I'm not going to like it. And if I think that I'm going to like it -- especially if people will not shut up about how great it is -- it inevitably ends up disappointing me. The rare occasions in which I walk away satisfied are those in which I either find a relatively obscure quality film that no one else is talking about or I take a liking to a movie that everyone else already hates. To wit: the two movies I want to see this summer -- The Dark Knight and Tropic Thunder -- are getting such good buzz that the backlash has already started in my own head. If this keeps up, I'm eventually going to have to resort to underground, independent Ukranian propaganda films.
Even when MovieNight was a rhetorical battle of wills, it was still cute fun and an excuse to spend time with pals. But the movie theater experience has become such an investment that my minimum standards are higher, and my standards were already so high that I am now an impossible companion. But if you ever need an excuse not to see something, anything: I'm your man.
- Salvador Dali
This past weekend I saw the movie Stepbrothers. (I won't go into all the reasons why I hated it. (I'll just say this: it was like watching a movie made by and for 12 year-olds. I can't say that if you liked Talladega Nights, you'll like Stepbrothers. But if you didn't like Talladega Nights, you will absolutely HATE Stepbrothers.)
I had a feeling, almost clairvoyant, that I was going to hate the movie. Upon seeing the various promos, commercials and advance press reports, I experienced a deeply certain, prophetic feeling of superiority over the film, as if it was something I had just blown into a Kleenex.
It reminds me of the old MovieNight, a defunct tradition among a group of friends here in DC. Each week, usually on a Wednesday, one person would host the screening of a DVD, followed by thoughtful comment and criticism. It was sort of like a "book group" for idiots. The host would nominate several movies and the rest of the group would vote on them, or alternatively, the more opinionated group members would factionalize and badger or bludgeon the minority into submission.
It's sort of amazing that MovieNight lasted as long as it did -- nearly a year, I think -- when you consider the participants: DIL, who regarded every movie title and/or premise with the kind of deep suspicion usually reserved for federal prosecutors; JRR, who disdained violence and dark themes but who nevertheless seemed drawn to inscrutable films that made everyone else strangely uncomfortable; and MLR, whom JRR once described as "loving every single movie since the invention of the talkie." And then there was me, so thoroughly self-righteous that I indignantly lashed out at the suggestion that any of my nominations should be rejected. I can remember several times saying, "just trust me," as if my taste was beyond reproach.
Maturity has silenced this disease somewhat, but it has not cured me. Indeed, it's becoming more and more difficult for me to go see movies in the theatre. Beyond the obscene ticket and concession prices and the swollen masses encroaching on my armrests and legroom, there is my own personal issue with movies: If I've already decided that I'm not going to like it, I'm not going to like it. And if I think that I'm going to like it -- especially if people will not shut up about how great it is -- it inevitably ends up disappointing me. The rare occasions in which I walk away satisfied are those in which I either find a relatively obscure quality film that no one else is talking about or I take a liking to a movie that everyone else already hates. To wit: the two movies I want to see this summer -- The Dark Knight and Tropic Thunder -- are getting such good buzz that the backlash has already started in my own head. If this keeps up, I'm eventually going to have to resort to underground, independent Ukranian propaganda films.
Even when MovieNight was a rhetorical battle of wills, it was still cute fun and an excuse to spend time with pals. But the movie theater experience has become such an investment that my minimum standards are higher, and my standards were already so high that I am now an impossible companion. But if you ever need an excuse not to see something, anything: I'm your man.
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Movie Nights
Date: 2008-08-11 07:24 pm (UTC)Let this post be my apology for inflicting "American Movie" on all of you. The AV Club gave it a positive review.
And, if "About Schmidt" was my choice, I apologize for that, too.
Re: Movie Nights
Date: 2008-08-12 08:31 pm (UTC)All that said, I don't think MovieNights were a bad idea. At least, not for me. But I suspect that a lot of the time, at least half the group was miserable. Perhaps the amazing thing is not that we were able to agree on this stuff over the course of a year, but rather the fact that we're all friends in the first place.
Re: Movie Nights
Date: 2008-08-12 10:47 pm (UTC)Re: Movie Nights
Date: 2008-08-14 05:05 pm (UTC)I do remember hating it, though.