Serenity (review)
Damn you, Joss Whedon, you *hwoon dahn*! Damn you and your honesty and integrity and unwillingness to succumb to Hollywood bullshit and–
Damn you, Joss Whedon, you *hwoon dahn*! Damn you and your honesty and integrity and unwillingness to succumb to Hollywood bullshit and–
Welcome to *THX 11-Michael Bay*! It’s not a science fiction movie, but an incredible simulation!
Oh my, but we’ve been spoiled for comic book movies these last few years, haven’t we, with *X-Men* and *Spider-Man* and *Hulk* and *Batman Begins.* I just get all warm and squishy and totally turned on thinking about anguished, neurotic, potentially psychotic, not-at-all-well superheroes who need desperately to be hugged and coddled and, ahem, comforted after indulging their angsts and neuroses while beating the living crap out of bad guys bent on world domination or somesuch. What girl doesn’t?
Here’s what you have to do in order to survive *The Star Wars Holiday Special*: Don’t watch it. If you must, then 1) Have alcohol or some other inebriating substance close to hand — a rock to bang against your skull will do in a pinch. And 2) Remember that your tender 10-year-old self probably witnessed this atrocity the one time it aired on TV to unsuspecting, nay, *eager* audiences, and suffered such psychological trauma that your brain blocked off the memory in order to spare you further harm; know that you may suddenly experience violent flashbacks to Christmas 1978 as that mental wound is viciously reopened.
That teaser trailer — you know the one I’m talking about — with the fat old ex-superhero struggling to get into his spandex costume? It left such a bad taste in my mouth whenever I contemplated the film that must go with it. I imagined a gang of former masked crusaders called out of happy retirement, reluctantly huffing and puffing their way back into action, replete with very unfunny cracks about getting fat and old, and probably with an even more unfunny getting-into-shape-a-la-*Rocky* sequence thrown in for good measure.

I mean, who, precisely, said you couldn’t have a zombie romantic comedy? Why can’t the male lead express his undying devotion for his ladylove by bashing dead people in the head with a cricket bat?

Compulsively compelling, in the same way that you just can’t help but glance through the Weekly World News while you’re standing online at the supermarket checkout.
Why do slasher movies make us laugh in the instant after we jump and scream? When comedy works, it’s for the same reason that horror does: It surprises us, and laughter and screams emanate from that same primitive lizard part of our brains, one that reacts before we can think.

I kinda would have liked to be able to toss off a ‘it’s not easy being green’ quip about *Hulk* and be done with it, but damn if Ang Lee hasn’t gifted us with a film that I don’t want to be flip about. Yeah, it’s about a rather enormous green guy who smashes stuff… except that’s like saying that *Hamlet* is about this college kid who goes crazy.
Yeah and yee-ha! but this is good old-fashioned pulpy, popcorny B-movie fun only with real science and no giant radioactive mutant anythings.