I hate going to the movies and try to avoid it at all costs. Living in LA, this means that I'm sort of a freak of nature, the kind of person who just sits there and stares as everyone gushes about Brokeback Mountain because I a) have no idea what they are talking about and b) don't care. At one point, I actually was something of a movie buff, but that changed when I realized that movie theaters were not only a waste of money I could be spending on concert tickets, but a waste of my time.
That said, every few months, I do make it out to a theater. Sometimes I leave with a bit of faith in the future of storytelling (documentaries, foreign films, rare Hollywood picture) but, more often, I leave engulfed in the stink-cloud of self-disgust. Why did I spend $8.50 (with a student discount) to sit through twenty minutes of commercials and watch a piece of crap that tries with little subtlety to sell me Starbucks and Cingular wireless plans? (Note to Hollywood: I know you're trying desperately to get people to return to the theaters in droves. Please take my advice and start making some movies that don't suck.)
Last night, Reagan and I decided that we were going to the movies. We sat on the phone trying to figure out what we were going to see. I suggested the new Bettie Page biopic, she suggested Take the Lead. Since I picked out the last movie we saw (Bride and Prejudice, about a year ago), we went with the latter.
Fortunately, we got so wrapped up in discussing Tom Jones and how our lives will not be complete unless we actually see him in Vegas someday, that we showed up at the theater late enough to miss the commercials. We did sit through a host of previews, including one for a new Adam Sandler film revolving around a remote control purchased from Bed, Bath and Beyond (talk about product placement). Take the Lead has some great dance scenes and I'm a sucker big dance numbers. But, when the film ended and Reagan said, "Well, that was cute" and we spent the rest of the ride back to my place discussing everything other than the movie (and, by everything other, I mean Tom Jones), I understood that dance scenes don't necessarily make for great movies.
Now, I'm under the impression that this movie was supposed to send a message about finding hope in the inner city. All it really did was play into a bunch of stereotypes about kids from low-income areas. I watched the movie and immediately imagined the pitch, "It's like Dangerous Minds meets Strictly Ballroom meets Bring it On." Then I imagined the powers-that-be figuring they could add more urban realism by including a romance story between the prostitute's daughter and the drunk's son who previously hated each other because their brothers are both dead as the result of some vaguely explained gang rivalry or drug deal gone awry or something like that. Then there is the naive white girl from the wealthier part of town who starts to hang out with them because she feels out-of-place in her own neighborhood. The inner city kids come to accept her, even though they resent her at first. Back to the girl, though. She actually walks into the detention room at a public high school wearing her school uniform. Apparently nobody working on this film ever wore a uniform to school because, if they had, they would know that this would never, ever happen. I spent twelve years in uniform and learned that the first rule of private school is that the minute the final bell rings, that uniform comes off. If you are smart, you wear a t-shirt under your blouse and carry a pair of jeans in your bag to make the quick switch. There are three very important reasons for this: 1) if you misbehave in a public place in uniform, someone will know which school you are from and will proceed to call the deans; 2) wearing a uniform skirt in public is the best way to get unwanted attention from sleazy old men who like to whistle and shout things like "I love them Catholic school girls;" 3) you are basically asking to get your ass kicked (my friends and I learned this the hard way at the Northridge Public Library in seventh grade). The best part (and I mean best at making one cringe) is the end, when there is a notation that the film is "inspired" by actual events. We probably should have rented Mad Hot Ballroom instead.