This past two weeks were way too stressful. First they commit a serious felony of making Ben Affleck the next Batman, like it wasn’t enough to ruin one comic book franchise; and I’m thinking, maybe we’re out of loop. Maybe this year, they want to do a Batman spoof. Spice things up. My bad! Then they try to commit another misdemeanor going on felony of trying to make Charlie Hunnam Christian fucking Grey? Excuse me, 50 Shades of Jax Teller? And what’s up with that 50 Shades fuckery, anyways?
You know how they say the world is ruled by powerful men? Well Hollywood is ruled by teenage pimply girls, my friends. Quote me on that. No matter how many great, quality screenplays lie on producers’ tables around town, most of them will never get made (unless your name is Wentworth Miller). Where the screams are, that’s where the money goes. Quality? Don’t be daft.
Hey I’m all for flash of feminism disguised as girl power; but this particular one, I quit. It’s just too subordinate for my taste. The equation is very simple. It’s all about sex, really. There’s pre-teen girls. They don’t have sex. There’s middle age moms. They have barely, routine or no sex. Girls scream loud and publicly. Moms scream quietly, in the privacy of their homes when the kids are asleep. An actual sex, a planned sex or a pretend sex, it’s what moves the fucking planet! And the type of sex that moves it the most – THE ONE YOU DO NOT HAVE. The one you long for. The safe one, the one you WATCH on screen or READ about; there’s no rejection there, its exactly the way you imagined it.
No sex equals screams. Screams equal cash. Cash equals projects being made. And all together, they create phenomenons. Best sellers. Movies that make 300 million, books that sell 100 million. Who’s screams are they trying to please with the Batfleck fiasco? Minivan, middle age in dire need of their own mainstream man in tights? How about 50 Shades of Grey fuckery? All this motherfucking search for Christian damn Grey? Not even the original work but Twilight’s weird ass fan-fiction turned midlife crisis mom porn? Poorly 5th grader like written material with no artistic value other than taking the clothes off the actor women get most hard for and make him pretend kinky fuck?
It’s all about sex, Hollywood, we get it. Great, we accept. But then lets make some sense, motherfuckers. Why Charlie Hunnam? Why ruin the cult of Jax Teller? Cuz we need to see his butt? Onscreen sex? On Sons Of Anarchy, Charlie fucks his girl next to a dead dude he just killed, in the bathroom during a porn party, in the shower, he screws a stripper from behind, and let’s not even go towards Queer as Folk where he regularly got sprayed on from another dude (a glorious Aidan Gillen, no less). There’s plenty of onscreen sex and Charlie Hunnam. We’re good, thanks. Fuck someone else’s career, if u must.
Stressful week, I tell you. What is one to do when the whole parallel universe called entertainment goes mad? Go to the theater, of course! Wash down the fuckery with other stuff, hopefully something great that will avenge all the bad shit. Undo it. The Butler? PLEASE go see it. Jobs? I will NEVER walk into the Apple Store the same way again. Mortal Instruments: City of Bones? What dafuk is that? Theater people say; it’s very popular, miss! Hmmm, lets see; I like the poster, there’s shit flying around, there’s creatures in the back, people on it have this serious save the planet face; there’s team work vibe going on; sold! Lets do it.
For crying out loud, It’s like everyone and their mother wants to write another Twilight! A chick, two boys. Love. Lust that never becomes. I google the shit quickly to the dismay of the nice decent movie goers around me, and voila – the scream formula. 5 books, 6-th coming. A movie. Fangirling. A phenomenon. Teen girls and their screams that fuel the cash machinery. Mortal Instruments: City of Bones? Fuck that. Let’s take it from the top. CITY OF BONING. I decided to rename it.
What did we say above? Sex moves the world. Specially the kind of sex you do not have! The recipe for these books/movies and around 90/100 mill they make is so simple and absolutely brilliant. First rule, it has to be a fantasy. It’s a must. You can’t be making any real love stories, get it together! If you have your leading man wake up, eat breakfast, snort, fart and do all these annoying real human shit, hey! It can not reach a phenomenon level if it’s real. In needs to be a fantasy, where no one has time to eat or sleep, they are fighting demons or vampires or werewolves or whatever supernatural shit the author decided to google that day, (who ever our heros are, the others are enemy). They bust shit around, they run, they scream, woman can never look clingy or needy, for christ sake, she is discovering all that supernatural shit, she’s running for her life, she does not HAVE TIME to be an annoying little bitch. She can’t text him why he didn’t text her, he’s out there saving her life! Also, there’s always 2 guys. One is no brainer who we all cheer for, usually in the second book/movie the other one appears, in the third she’s in doubt, and by the end of the saga, what we all knew it would happened happens, but we payed them 300 mil in theater tickets to find it out!
Hey, I’m not complaining. I loved CITY OF BONING. I loved the flippancy of the author who created the enemy so broad and indescribable both verbally and physically and put them under demon folder! They turn into some mush, there’s shit coming out of their necks, her, they roar and they look ugly! They must be DEMONS! Fuck it! I loved the fact they wore the badassest leather shit I ever saw (not the demons, our protagonists), au-contraire to Twilight and their beige and light blue J-Crew shit that made the whole vamp story the kind Bram Stoker would twist in his grave if he laid eyes on. The clothes gave me orgasms; men’s knee length leather sleeveless west = serious hard on. And I love the spin and obstacle in the relationship between the two leads that needed to be a killah since there’s 6 god damn books all together – SPOILER ALERT – they are freaking brother and sister, hahahaha. Fuck it, it’s brilliant. Let me guess, by book 3, they actually aren’t?! Brill, I tell you.
But hey, don’t listen to me. I’m way too easy. All you’ve got to do with me is throw in a blond Brit, plaster some leather on him, and I’m sold.