Todd in the Shadows once said that he defined the worst hit song of the calendar year as a song being the absence of good. At the time, I didn't really understood what he meant when he chose "Tonight Tonight", by Hot Chelle Rae in 2011 and "Roar", by Katy Perry in 2013.
Last night, I finally understood what he meant. Because, I, too, have seen a movie that's the absence of good. Todd meant that a song could make you angry, the beat could drive you insane, the lyrics could be insulting and simply lazy, but, in his eyes, those two aforementioned songs had nothing going for them. Nothing lyrically, nothing catchy, nothing offensive, nothing that could make you feel insulted, angry or simply seeing red, because there's literally nothing about it that can make you feel anything.
That movie belongs to Bland, Weepy Teen Melodrama, thelatest attempt to suck money out of teen girls....I mean, young adult novel by Second Rate Nicholas Sparks that became a best-seller with the teen market, and has now become a film adaptation because 20th Century Fox thinks they can make a shit load of money with a modest budget...sorry, because the studio wanted to tell this cliched story of girl meets boy, girl falls for boy, tragedy ensues-type predictable storyline...dammit, I mean tell this heartbreaking and romantic tale of star-crossed lovers.
Pretty Girl Lovebird (Shaileen Woodley) is dying of terminal lymphoma cancer. She spends her time reading Morbid Book That Will Tie Into the Plot and going to cancer outreach groups at the behest of Constantly Overbearing Mother Who Means Well (Laura Dern). She despises going to these things because they just don't understand how she's feeling. Not the guy who has cancer in his balls and has become a Jesus freak, nor the other patients who are going through chemotherapy, or who, like her, are currently awaiting the day when the Grimm Reaper comes to collect. Everyone except Pretty Boy Love Interest, who's funny, incredibly handsome and has a deep philosophy about life has a clue about what she's going through. They bond over Morbid Book That Will Tie Into the Plot over the story ending in mid sentence, and, through sheer perseverance and persistence, are given a full-expenses paid trip to Amsterdam to meet Recluse, Bitter Author (Willem Dafoe). The trip gives our Doomed Lovebirds time to fall madly in love with each other and say Swoon-Worthy Romantic Dialogue like, "I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable...and I am in love with you", that makes your heart go pitter-patter and not, in any way, wonder what two-bit hack came up with pretentious garbage like this.
Ok, I'm going to drop the thick-heavy sarcasm and say, bluntly what I thought of The Fault In Our Stars. It's so bland to look at because there just ins't much originality outside the leads going though illness and connecting because of it.You want to roll your eyes each time you hear Gus talk to Hazel Grace because the words flowing out of his mouth come off as some pretentious twat who's just trying to get inside her pants. Worst of all, this film is nothing more than an exercise in crafting a film that will hit all the right buttons of the female demographic and make a lot of money for the Hollywood machine. I hate what this film: a studio that thinks that their target audience will watch anything that speaks to them and their romanticized version of first love, regardless of the film's lack-of creativity. It's Hollywood cynicism at it's most blatant, and you know the sad part in all of this? This weekend, they were proven right: the John Green YA novel made $48 million over the three-day weekend, while inventive and interesting summer flicks like the Tom Cruise vehicle Edge of Tomorrow struggled to make $30 million over 72-hours. That's right: an empty, soulless exercise in making teen girls swoon and making money opened at no.1 at the box office. And we fell for it, hook, line and sinker. It's not so much giggling at us, as they are clutching their sides in fits of howling laughter while clutching their earnings to the bank.
* star our of ****
Last night, I finally understood what he meant. Because, I, too, have seen a movie that's the absence of good. Todd meant that a song could make you angry, the beat could drive you insane, the lyrics could be insulting and simply lazy, but, in his eyes, those two aforementioned songs had nothing going for them. Nothing lyrically, nothing catchy, nothing offensive, nothing that could make you feel insulted, angry or simply seeing red, because there's literally nothing about it that can make you feel anything.
That movie belongs to Bland, Weepy Teen Melodrama, the
Pretty Girl Lovebird (Shaileen Woodley) is dying of terminal lymphoma cancer. She spends her time reading Morbid Book That Will Tie Into the Plot and going to cancer outreach groups at the behest of Constantly Overbearing Mother Who Means Well (Laura Dern). She despises going to these things because they just don't understand how she's feeling. Not the guy who has cancer in his balls and has become a Jesus freak, nor the other patients who are going through chemotherapy, or who, like her, are currently awaiting the day when the Grimm Reaper comes to collect. Everyone except Pretty Boy Love Interest, who's funny, incredibly handsome and has a deep philosophy about life has a clue about what she's going through. They bond over Morbid Book That Will Tie Into the Plot over the story ending in mid sentence, and, through sheer perseverance and persistence, are given a full-expenses paid trip to Amsterdam to meet Recluse, Bitter Author (Willem Dafoe). The trip gives our Doomed Lovebirds time to fall madly in love with each other and say Swoon-Worthy Romantic Dialogue like, "I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable...and I am in love with you", that makes your heart go pitter-patter and not, in any way, wonder what two-bit hack came up with pretentious garbage like this.
Ok, I'm going to drop the thick-heavy sarcasm and say, bluntly what I thought of The Fault In Our Stars. It's so bland to look at because there just ins't much originality outside the leads going though illness and connecting because of it.You want to roll your eyes each time you hear Gus talk to Hazel Grace because the words flowing out of his mouth come off as some pretentious twat who's just trying to get inside her pants. Worst of all, this film is nothing more than an exercise in crafting a film that will hit all the right buttons of the female demographic and make a lot of money for the Hollywood machine. I hate what this film: a studio that thinks that their target audience will watch anything that speaks to them and their romanticized version of first love, regardless of the film's lack-of creativity. It's Hollywood cynicism at it's most blatant, and you know the sad part in all of this? This weekend, they were proven right: the John Green YA novel made $48 million over the three-day weekend, while inventive and interesting summer flicks like the Tom Cruise vehicle Edge of Tomorrow struggled to make $30 million over 72-hours. That's right: an empty, soulless exercise in making teen girls swoon and making money opened at no.1 at the box office. And we fell for it, hook, line and sinker. It's not so much giggling at us, as they are clutching their sides in fits of howling laughter while clutching their earnings to the bank.
* star our of ****
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