So here we are. In the great saga that is my life story, there are a few stains that have marred my youth (that’s youth in the ZANU-PF sense, of course … up to 35).
Of these stains, the most terrible have been afflicted by writers in the teenie-horror-fantasy genre. The people who brought you Hairy Plotter and Twilight.
That these literary monstrosities would be turned into films was inevitable from the start. That the greatest crime against movies has finally ended is a blessing.
The Hairy Plotter series of films was painful to experience, and thanks to my darling Mouse, I had to watch every single one of them.
Every. Single. One.
But finally it’s over; the whole business of Hairy and Blambidore and BaldOrNot and Whore-crotches is done. Forever (touch wand).
Twilight is one film away from ending, too. Yes … the vampires who sparkle (I mean, really, WTF). I had to watch the first part of the series finale this last Sunday (yes, I was chained to the couch) and wooooooow. Wow. It was slow. Ponderous. Excruciating.
And there’s one more to come. I don’t know whether I should be happy that there’s only one more to come, or pissed-off that there’s actually ONE MORE TO COME.
Please make it stop. It’s gone on too long. Like James Bond and the new Dallas and Wipeout and remaking Total Recall … it’s all so unnecessary.
I need this pain to stop. I need people to make real films again.
I need the Hobbit.