I walked out of yet another abomination the other day as a friend enlisted me to watch “The Heat”. I had successfully avoided it the first time around, but now my hostess was eager to watch her new Netflix arrival with eager Hump Day relief. As a rule I avoid Mark Wahlberg, Nick Cage, post Moonstruck, and, most adamantly, Sandra Bullock movies, period! While I enjoyed “Gravity” I spent most of it with my digits plied to my ears whenever Sandra screamed (which was the dominant sound and dialogue track throughout). It’s not so much her screaming, but her nasally whine in general. What was clear in “The Heat” was the complete void of any semblance of a storyline which relegated the talented Melissa McCarthy to little more than improvise Old Stooge antics, ad nausea. As of this writing, you won’t be surprised to learn that the director Paul Feig just announced “The Heat 2” for 2014! Oh JOY!
As for me, I am catching up on some great documentaries I missed over the past few years, and writing my own movies. As a screenwriter I get to do that– even when there’s very little hope of selling anything in today’s Hollywood I have the pleasure of watching them unfold on paper exactly as they might on screen. When I’m done I’ll probably have watched it 200 times in IMAX 3D Sensaround, and while I can’t exactly eat popcorn, or neck in the back of the theater, during the viewing, lest I gum up the keyboard, it’s a perfectly satisfying way to watch films– especially sans the ubiquitous and ever nauseating Mark Wahlberg, Sandra Bullock, Nick Cage, and that latest addition to mind-numbing screen presence, Channing Tatum. See you at the movies, or, um, probably not…
Radical Imaginism 