I have gorged myself on summer movies. I have binged in a way that is almost inexcusable. In eight days I’ve seen five movies. I have the trailers memorized. My blood is mostly popcorn and expensive bottles of water. And I’m pissed off.
When I was a kid, way back before they invented the interwebs, summer movies were something to behold, adventures that had you holding on to your seat, characters you wanted to take home and hang out with, smart scripts, perfect execution, total escape. Think Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Alien One AND Two, Speed, Men in Black, Batman (the old one), Terminator, Back to the Future and, of course, Jaws. I still can’t go in the ocean without some Xanax on board.
But something has happened. Summer fare has gone soulless. These movies aren’t smart. They’re not even clever. And they make no sense whatsoever. Instead of trying for a story that is at least this side of comprehensible, studios simply crank up the volume and blow up Manhattan. Or the White House. Or the Golden Gate Bridge. Who’s writing this shit? A bunch of monkeys locked in a box? Of course that’s unfair to the innocent monkeys. Maybe the folks at the wheel just assume I’m an idiot and won’t notice their Grand Canyon sized plot holes.
But worst of all, folks, these movies are just not FUN. No. They are the stuff of anti-fun. A giant black hole of fun-ness. And I think somebody better get on this before we all retreat to our collective coaches, close the curtains and binge on the glory of summers gone by until the sun comes up again.