The Borscht is Strong With You
In about 4 hours I'm going to be sitting in a seat with cup holders and a reclining back. It will be midnight and I will most likely watch several previews for various sundry sci fi movies. I will be eating some combination of rasinets, M & M's, and twizzlers in between stuffing my face with popcorn. And most amusingly, I will be surrounded by a pack of dorky (but at least one very cute) males who will be very, very excited.
Yes, when Star Wars Episode III makes its debut in Philly, I will be there to ring in the first showing.
Now, I'm not going to bash Star Wars. Aliens, outer regions of the galaxy, space travel. I was a big nerd with the best of them. Yoda and Jabba the Hut are painted on my wall in my childhood home. Granted images from the X-Files are greater in number. Leia and Luke may have had me as a fan but Mulder and Scully was a way of life for me. And my heart still goes pit-a-pat when I think of David D in a speedo. But whether or not they take the number one spot in adolescent obsessions or not, the original trilogy and even the re-release money making extravaganza that followed were big. I liked them. I liked them a lot. I have the Greedo action figures to proove it.
However, when I heard tell of a new set of movies, suped up this time with the biggest and baddest technology George Lucas could get his grubby paws on, I was ambivalent. I wasn't sure that I was going to like what was coming. I already knew the prequel story. It was writ large in my imagination. Was there anything that actually illustrating it was going to add. I doubted it. But still I held out hope. I wished against the odds that they would be great. I wanted them to be good. I even pretended like I thought they would be.
And not so suprisingly my expectations were not even nearly met.
First off, I hate Portman, we've covered this before. I don't like her and I don't like that she's stealing my movies. And while Samuel Jackson and his purple light saber are cool, Matrix Yoda makes my soul want to die. He doesn't need to jump around! He's not a cat toy! That's why he has the force! I'm sorry, but come on, that was stupid. Not to mention the fact that he looked to young, was no one paying attention to the fact the timeline doesn't match up!? He wouldn't have that big an age difference in the lifespan of just one human. It just doesn't make sense!
Ok, seriously, I'm stopping. Deep breaths. In and out.
After the episode one came out I almost cried. Why? I wanted to plead with Lucas Why do this to my childhood? You're taking what I loved and making it boring. At least if you made it evil I could disagree with you. I could hate it, but at least I'd feel. This, this was just... baby food. It was pea flavored baby food. It was mushy and bland and it didn't have any texture. Except for the lumps in the middle that were ill defined. Bleh.
We're not even going to talk about episode II. It made me want to hurt Ewan McGregor. And I really like Ewan Mcgregor. He's so small and earnest. And he sings the pretty songs in Moulin Rouge. So if you can do that to poor Ewan, something must be really wrong. So like I said, we do not speak its name. So why do you ask, am I such a glutton for punishment? Why can't I get it through my head that you can't go home again...
Truth is, I don't know. But Mr. Za za zoo offered me a ticket, and while it may be a bargain with the devil, call me Faust, I have to go. I'm going to be annoyed. I'm not going to like it. But I'll be there.
At least I'll get a sugar high.
Yes, when Star Wars Episode III makes its debut in Philly, I will be there to ring in the first showing.
Now, I'm not going to bash Star Wars. Aliens, outer regions of the galaxy, space travel. I was a big nerd with the best of them. Yoda and Jabba the Hut are painted on my wall in my childhood home. Granted images from the X-Files are greater in number. Leia and Luke may have had me as a fan but Mulder and Scully was a way of life for me. And my heart still goes pit-a-pat when I think of David D in a speedo. But whether or not they take the number one spot in adolescent obsessions or not, the original trilogy and even the re-release money making extravaganza that followed were big. I liked them. I liked them a lot. I have the Greedo action figures to proove it.
However, when I heard tell of a new set of movies, suped up this time with the biggest and baddest technology George Lucas could get his grubby paws on, I was ambivalent. I wasn't sure that I was going to like what was coming. I already knew the prequel story. It was writ large in my imagination. Was there anything that actually illustrating it was going to add. I doubted it. But still I held out hope. I wished against the odds that they would be great. I wanted them to be good. I even pretended like I thought they would be.
And not so suprisingly my expectations were not even nearly met.
First off, I hate Portman, we've covered this before. I don't like her and I don't like that she's stealing my movies. And while Samuel Jackson and his purple light saber are cool, Matrix Yoda makes my soul want to die. He doesn't need to jump around! He's not a cat toy! That's why he has the force! I'm sorry, but come on, that was stupid. Not to mention the fact that he looked to young, was no one paying attention to the fact the timeline doesn't match up!? He wouldn't have that big an age difference in the lifespan of just one human. It just doesn't make sense!
Ok, seriously, I'm stopping. Deep breaths. In and out.
After the episode one came out I almost cried. Why? I wanted to plead with Lucas Why do this to my childhood? You're taking what I loved and making it boring. At least if you made it evil I could disagree with you. I could hate it, but at least I'd feel. This, this was just... baby food. It was pea flavored baby food. It was mushy and bland and it didn't have any texture. Except for the lumps in the middle that were ill defined. Bleh.
We're not even going to talk about episode II. It made me want to hurt Ewan McGregor. And I really like Ewan Mcgregor. He's so small and earnest. And he sings the pretty songs in Moulin Rouge. So if you can do that to poor Ewan, something must be really wrong. So like I said, we do not speak its name. So why do you ask, am I such a glutton for punishment? Why can't I get it through my head that you can't go home again...
Truth is, I don't know. But Mr. Za za zoo offered me a ticket, and while it may be a bargain with the devil, call me Faust, I have to go. I'm going to be annoyed. I'm not going to like it. But I'll be there.
At least I'll get a sugar high.
posted by A at 8:37 PM
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