Wednesday 29 February 2012

Colossal Waste of Time

I decided last night that following a fairly gruelling day, I deserved to tuck myself into bed with a movie. Now, I am in no way a film buff. My criteria is this: I like a good Romcom or Drama or Action Thriller with just enough intrigue to keep me engaged, but not enough weirdness to get the real film buffs excited (that is the point where I fall asleep).

Also, if I am to watch anything, my preference is for it to be from the comfort of my sofa at home. I don't understand why anyone would want to sit in a dark room with hundreds of strangers, very many of whom are unsavoury, and all of whom are potential obstacles blocking you from the fire exit, should you ever need to use it in an emergency. I do however love popcorn and have been known to buy the popcorn and skip the movie. This is not to say that I never go to the cinema; just that it is not my favourite place in the whole wide world to be. I prefer to watch stuff at home, where the possibility of smug, fat rats scuttling up the walls isn't at 80% and I don't have to wonder about the virulent bacteria that proliferate in places like cinemas that shun the occasional, redeeming light of day.

But now at least you understand how I don't turn to film by default the way some people do, and how I despise going to the cinema. So the opportunity cost is huge for me if I decide that I will watch a film, rather than read the ever growing pile of books I am eager to get through.
So you can imagine my disappointment when I watched Karate Kid (with the little Smith boy) for the first time yesterday. Is this really what people have been raving about? Glad I didn't pay to see that in the cinema!

Oh what poorly rendered characters. How simplistic and underdeveloped they were. Why was the mother so stereotypically African American, whoopin' and hollerin' every other minute? Why did the kid have to be called 'Dre AND have such a foul personality? And how insulting that they would have us believe that his great internal discipline was learnt by being made to pick his jacket up a few times by the random Kung Fu gentle giant down the road. It was an inadequate acknowledgement of the need to break his obstinacy, and the transformation of his character was no where near sincere enough. How immature the pen that wrote the script; where 'Dre's eulogistic glory came from winning the very first tournament he ever competed in. I mean really? We all know his character needed to have been broken a few more times, defined by a few more challenges.

Maybe it could have worked as a silent film for spastics (very basic plot, inconsequential dialogue and one dimensional characters) but not really my cup of tea, thanks.
What a colossal waste of time and it wasn't at all worth the ache in my neck and arm from propping myself up in bed to watch it. That's two hours of my life I won't ever get back.

Jackie Chan my dear, the despairing, tortured character thing isn't really your style. Here is one situation in which you need to #staywithinyourcomfortzone. I like you much better when you're doing happy kung fu! And the little Smith boy has a ways to go before he is ready to be a convincing actor.

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