I will never ever ever ever again go to a Sci-Fi Movie. I have been burned (almost literally if you count how close you seem to the explosions when viewing the 3D versions of these films anyway), too many times. Tonight was just another example of why I try really hard not to go to these. I always seem to get sucked in though.
I am just not a Sci-Fi person. Not only do I already know that there is going to be some manly man who scoffs at people, and offers well timed quips that amble across his mouth surrounded by an impeccably groomed five-o-clock-shadow. Which is, in and of itself, an oxymoron. Aside from the thirty something protagonist, there is always a chick in a skin tight suit who predictably sucks his face. I can deal with the soft character development and the predictable story, but the ruthless explosions and impossible CGI are relentless. So much so, that I am actually lulled to sleep. The meter of the booms, flash, and swoosh begins to meld into the low hum not unlike a washing machine and I begin to yawn. How can you be yawning at a time like this!! “They’re trying to save the earth!” my husband yells over the din. My eyes are heavy, my head leans on his shoulder and I begin to dream. You see, I SLEEP AT ALL SCI-FI MOVIES. IT IS A PHENOMENON THAT I CANNOT CONTROL. Aliens vs. Cowboys, SLEPT.
Any Nicholas Cage movie nowadays SLEEP. Men in Black 3….you guessed it. I SLEPT! Don’t even ask about Harry Potter. You must be joking if you think I didn’t SLEEP!
You see I am in fact, the polar opposite of the Sci-Fi enthusiast. I don’t want to be the good guy, I don’t want to find, crush or remove the bad guy. I don’t want to save the world or bite my nails hoping that someone else does. Why? because I know it’s not real and it, in fact, doesn’t even look plausible to me. Will Smith flying around as a homeless superhero in Hancock, was maybe legendary, but I couldn’t get over the fact that Will Smith WAS FLYING THROUGH THE AIR! and I’M SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THAT? I’m sorry. I have my limits.
I don’t like continuous crashing and swooshing and zipping and whirring. It is not normal and pretty soon all that stuff just melds into white noise and I sleep. I enjoy real suck face life. I enjoy the weird moments, the indecision, the bad endings, hanging on the edge of a word. I buy real emotion. And of course the real hard won positive stuff that comes with documentary, docu-drama or full on dramatic interpretation. Lincoln as a vampire? really? that’s another post because not only is this TOTALLY UNBELIEVABLE, it’s almost sacrilegious. I smell a protest on that one. Comon’ America. Don’t swallow that. His memory is one of our national treasures and now he’s gonna join the ranks of Team Jacob and Team Edward? Really? Somehow Team Abe just does not ring well.
Tonight I scratched all my nail polish off to the screeching and drippy sounds of Prometheus.
I watched a woman pull an octopus out of her stomach. I gazed at enough tubelike worms that I know know what H.R. Geiger’s wet dreams look like. Unfortunately, the movie relied on a patchwork process of taking winning scenes from other sic-fi movies and jumbling them around so that they were almost unrecognizable from the movies from whence they came. Okay, it was pretty much a patchwork copy with some obvious low brow CGI. There is so much panting and sweat, that I wondered if I wasn’t in my evil woman’s boot camp class.
Unfortunately I found myself wishing I was. Sometimes It looks as though some of the women are in enough pain that they actually FEEL LIKE a twenty pound gooey H.R. Geiger razor toothed octo-alien is going to erupt from their bellies, but it’s just the burpies and the crunches.
I have now found my motivation to continue my women’s boot camp. I want to be fit enough to survive an alien invasion, to outrun zombies. If a real life invasion is any where as confusing, underwhelming and unimaginative as Prometheus, I should only need a few classes.