My subconscious wants this adventure to turn out like a season of the Real World. We'll all be gung-ho and happy-go-lucky at the beginning, but about 3 minutes into the second episode there will be lots of bleeps and blurs and someone will get their face smashed in. Or, it'll be smooth sailing the whole way and we'll be lauded across the land as yet another group of kooky kids who did something ridiculous to impress their peers. Then we'll find out they've created a new Nobel Prize because nothing else fit our accomplishment. Thankfully, there is a realist in me somewhere and I know the highs and lows won't be quite so, uh, ridiculous.
Looking at the empty counter of consumption in the navigation bar gives me hope, though. I know that they'll be a great story behind one of those bags of popcorns or boxes of Junior Mints. Maybe we won't have a group orgy while watching Strangers with Candy or be carried out on the shoulders of movie patrons after surviving Garfield: A Tail of Two Kitties, but someone else might and we'll be there to witness it.
I'm confident we'll make it out the other side and live to tell about it. Seeing nearly a hundred movies appears daunting, but I'm keeping the faith. Just promise me I won't have to see the Fast and the Furious 3: Tokyo Drift by myself.
Hello, this is Brontoburger aka Zerk Turdner signing on for duty. OK, now that you know my fake and double fake name I can relax...
They say summer is a great time for movies. Of course, the 'they' in this case are people who roll their eyes at movies about incest and love Kurt Russell.
OK, I don't mean 'people,' I meant myself. Kurt Russell has been my personal Jesus since Big Trouble in Little China. I love the summer movie gems, and I'm not at all disappointed when the gem turns out to be cubic zirconium. Shiny things are still entertaining. Here's my goal for the summer binge. I want to find the sublime, the shiny if you will, in each summer flick and pass it on, and to stop sweating.
Usually when Matty recommends one of his hair-brained and ill advised schemes to me ("Let's walk against the light, diagonally across this intersection!"), I try to ignore him. However, the challenge of going to see every movie released during the summer season and cataloguing it was too brilliant a scheme to pass up. Besides, with my usual intense movie going regime I'd probably end up seeing most of these things on my own anyhow.
Most people assume, before they get to know me that is, that spending two years in graduate school studying film plus writing about pop culture for a living would make my taste pretty high falutin' and rarified. Happily for a lot of Hollywood dreck, that is not the case. As much as I love a good subtitled costume drama or an obscure 3 hour Swedish comedy, I live for the spectacle that is the summer blockbuster. The buzz in the theater at a well-hyped star fest or high concept picture can be palatable. There's also that glee over seeing a really terrible movie be even worse than you expected. Plus, there are times in mid-July through August that the weather in Manhattan necessitates spending much of the day deeply air conditioned. A movie binge is perfect for all of that.
My biggest personal fear for this whole endeavor? Butt fatigue. Though it may be hard to believe, sometimes there can be such a thing as too many movies. Malaise can set in, plus the derriere can get too tired from sitting in those fold down seats. However, I have high hopes for the variety unspooling at a cineplex near me. Particularly if it involves either a talking cat going to London or Johnny Depp wearing an eye patch. Bring on the binge!
Mmm...sweet delicious movie binging. Summer movie binging has been a part of my DNA for some time--perhaps as far back as that glorious summer of 1985 when that adorable rapscallion of a nine-year-old Josh Horowitz returned from a hellish eight weeks of sleepaway camp (are you listening, mother?) to take in a triple feature of Back to the Future, Teen Wolf, and Real Genius in the dog days of August.
The poor youth of today...
What triple feature awaits them in the last days of August '06? If it involves Beerfest I weep for our future.
Ladies and gents I proudly donate my mind, body, and soul (or what's left of it since I saw Keeping Up with the Steins) to this glorious experiement. Let the games begin. I'll have the nachos and that seat on the aisle. No not the one next to the guy eating General Tso's chicken...the other aisle.
Sliding in stylishly under the wire before our first review, it's time to introduce myself: I'm Gene Parmesan. (AH! GENE!) Unfortunately, I will not be writing all of my posts in the idiom of the best private investigator ever -- (ed. note: Gene was far from the best) -- but I'm not above shamelessly stealing his moniker for a bit of pop-referential cred.
In my civilian identity, I work in what I refer to as "the chapbook industry" -- we publish richly illustrated fictional periodicals, a business model which most reasonable people might have expected to have died with Dickens. But no, the industry is alive and thriving, thank you very much, and in point of fact a "moving-picture" adaptation of a certain industry favorite is debuting tonight! (Yes, that's X-Men, if you're not following my tortured quasi-metaphor.) The whole Movie Binge gang is trekking out together to take in that particular film, but I'm pretty sure they won't save me a seat once they see the t-shirt I'll be wearing. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, your humble Gene Parmesan is a dork. A dorkity-dork dork-dork-dork. Somebody had to counterbalance all of these glamorous and sexy socialites whose cinematic (mis)adventures you'll be reading over the course of the next few months, and I'm afraid the task fell to me. But we can have fun together anyway! Here on this blog, we can be the best of friends. But if you see me in the hall and are afraid to be seen looking my way... I'll understand. I'll have my chapbooks to console me.
In any event, I'm looking forward to the massive Twizzler consumption that this summer will no doubt afford (hey mister Latin Snake sir, you said they count as tax write-offs, correct?), and although the whole sordid affair is probably going to bankrupt me, I can honestly say that I'm going to have a lot of fun. As long as I don't get assigned Little Man. Please, please, please do not make me see Little Man. Seriously. It's the only trailer I've ever seen that made me feel like I had actually just been molested. I didn't know that it was possible for a movie to touch you dirty, but I think that one did. Cinecultist may fear butt fatigue, but I'll gladly undergo a butt amputation before I'll submit to another breastfeeding joke...