Thursday, December 20, 2012
My New Years' Resolution, for Hollywood. Free of Charge.
Hey movie industry- don't take offense at this, ok? This is not coming from a place of anger. It's coming from the heart. And you really need to hear this. Consider it an intervention.
Please, for the love of G-d, make this pledge to yourselves, and to us, for 2013:
No more movies centered on the Pain and Suffering of Turning 40.
No more Seven Year Itch films. You know the ones I'm talking about: The "I love you, but you aren't as young as you used to be, this isn't as fun as it used to be" themes featuring actors in their mid-30s who look like they could still get work as underwear models.
No more Biological Clock films. I don't know anyone out there who enjoys watching women mope out discussing their changing biology in graphic terms on large screens. Hell, I don't know anyone who wants to hear this crap in real life. And while we are at it- PLEASE, no Women in Stirrups scenes. I know you've always thought the Crying/Screaming/Sarcastic/Possessed Heavily Pregnant Woman Struggling to Give Birth bit was comedy gold, but (again, as a friend) I really feel like I need to let you know- it's not. Never has been. Never will be.
If you must have little children in these films, stop trying to convince us that they are blessings who burp, vomit and scream for no reason at all. Because when they do that, they aren't blessings. And no, we aren't interested in seeing children give their parents headaches and then be Loved More Than Ever For No Reason at the end. Been there, DONE THAT.
And if you insist on giving us another year of this crap, at least do this for me: Have the whiny, pathetic, treacly-sweet family live in something other than a majestic suburban estate or Manhattan Apartment. Have them live in a trailer, or a crowded tenement in a crime-ridden neighborhood. Oh, and have them get hit by a bus in the final scene.
Come on. Give me SOMETHING for my efforts to help you out. Oh, and Happy New Year.