They seem like fun things. Everybody else seems to enjoy them. But my brain has to go ahead and just ruin it for me. Very often when I watch a movie, that relentless little teacher’s pet inside my head has to ask the perfect question to blow it.
Has there ever been a real live human woman like the heroine in a rom-com?
She’s an orphan who works as a volunteer in an animal shelter, yet lives in a 2000 square foot, professionally decorated apartment in Greenwich Village that looks like it should be in Architectural Digest. She dresses in a mix of haute couture and vintage designer. She has what looks like a $500 haircut with perfect highlights but cuts it in her bathroom with a pair of nail clippers.
She wears a size 0, and the only workout she gets is running a bath in her giant porcelain, clawfoot tub. She also eats like a frat boy; pizza, wings, and lots of ice cream when she’s bemoaning her barren romantic life to her slightly less attractive, funny best friend.
How exactly, does a musical work?
There are two possible answers to this question: the highly choreographed song and dance numbers are occurring only in the main character’s imagination. In which case, he probably should either go into the music business or adjust his medication.
Or, this is an alternate universe where people burst into song and random strangers off the street join in, with crisp, intricate dance moves, and background singing in harmony while inexplicably knowing all the words. They also carry just the right, matching props, coordinating costumes and similar hair and makeup.
Honestly, musicals make me highly uncomfortable.
To all the people in horror movies: what is wrong with you?
It’s never a good idea to wear five-inch heels on a camping trip, and then keep them on when trying to outrun a crazed killer. Maybe the car you drive to a creepy old supposedly haunted mansion shouldn’t be out of gas, or have almost flat tires, or be a hooptie (a hooptie is a dilapidated jalopy which is not long for the road).
There are no such thing as coincidences and it isn’t just your “imagination” in a horror movie. That headless corpse you see in the mirror is just that; a headless corpse. It is not a trick of the light. The power didn’t go out because of the storm—somebody did it on purpose.
And the first time one of your companions are horrifically murdered, don’t split up and search the attic and basement. Stick together and GET OUT!
In monster movies and superhero flicks, there is always a final, exciting battle between hero and villain. Giant primates or reptiles stomp around the city, flattening buildings with the flick of a tail, or the swing of an arm. Evil supervillains turn masonry into dust or brittle frozen heaps of rubble. Whole neighborhoods fall into the crevasse created by draining the ocean, or transforming all the metal into rubber, or turning the ground under buildings in the Cretaceous period. Streets are either missing or impassable due to tons of rubble. Thousands are homeless.
After they get finished vanquishing evil, the good guy kisses the girl, high-five their comrades, and after uttering a pithy catch phrase rides off into the sunset leaving the still-smoking shell of a once thriving city.
And as the movie ends and the lights come up, I sit there full of anxiety and completely unable to enjoy the victorious ending. Because all I can do is wonder…
Who’s going to clean up this mess?
Thanks for your time.
Contact debbie at firstname.lastname@example.org.