Movie reviews by Jason Edwards
Three movies have hit theaters this week, all with similar titles and themes. Has Hollywood become nothing more than an incestuous cesspool of ceaseless drivel, devolving ideas back to a single primordial ooze of consciousness, or is this just coincidence? Crackpot conspiracy theorists and elite critics, at least, can agree that this bumper-crop of sameness is nothing to be trifled with. Unless you eat your trifle with a fork and a knife!
First up is a movie called The Fault in Our Stars, about a young girl battling a terrible oxygen addiction. She walks around carrying a can of the stuff with her at all times, and is meanwhile wooed by a handsome, tall man who’s literally half of twice her age. She’s conflicted, however, because she read on Slate.com that people who read young adult novels should be ashamed of themselves, and her suitor reminds her of her stint as a pregnant high-schooler who’s senior project was to overthrow a corrupt government via virtual-reality dreams. Alas, terminally illness ensues, Mtv style.
Next is The Fault in our Stairs, a fictional-documentary about blind paraplegics fighting for better handicapable ramps to be installed next to government building steps. Look for the director’s signature “slow pain“ camera shots, a play on the word “pan” and, by coincidence, always featuring one young girl playing a boy dressed in green, tortured, and flying. Not your average art-house flick, but not for young or old or in-between audiences either.
Finally we have It’s Fred Astaire’s Fault, a film about a man who wakes up every morning and says “Good job, brain,” thanking his mind for getting him through the night unattended. Over time this practice creates a disassociation between the man and his brain, until the two become separate entities. Eventually the brain falls in love with the man, and tries to woo him by learning complicated 30s-style dance routines. The twist, of course, is that the man is a blind paraplegic. A hologram of Cream drummer Ginger Baker makes a guest cameo as Ginger Rogers.
Altogether these movies would make for a heck of a Red Box rental binge, although seeing them now in theaters would perhaps ruin such an orgy. Suffice it to say that if you only see one of these films, you won’t have seen the other two. That’s not tragedy in the Greek sense, unless by “Greek” you’re referring to the American Fraternity System. In that case, feel free to skip these and play beer pong. Pro-tip: ice keeps the beer cold and sometimes makes the balls bounce out. Peace.
