Oh My Sweet God, Please Make it Stop

So Mike thinks that I have a problem when it comes to picking out movies. Basically, the movies I pick either depress him for a week (see: Atonement) or they make him question my intelligence (We stopped Anchorman about fifteen minutes in because he was whining so much, he refused to acknowledge the brilliance that is Sixteen Candles, and I still haven't gotten over the fact that he didn't like Vacation. As a child of the eighties, how do you not like National Lampoon's Vacation?).

The thing is, I have recently come to a very grave conclusion: we just might not be comedy movie-compatible. Sure, he hated The Hangover but I was laughing my ass off. That is, until we left the theater, upon which I realized that I had just spent two hours in a darkened room, but really couldn't remember what transpired. Really. I felt like I had lost hours of my life, but couldn't recall how or why.

That's kind of how I feel about the movie we watched last night.

Granted, I know that this movie was a huge hit when it was released, making millions. When I think about the movies that this "film" spawned (Scary Movie, Epic Movie, Date Movie... the horrid list goes on and on), it makes sense. Movie-goers today like to skewer topical, easy targets, and spoofing other movies and celebrities is both an easy laugh and a great way to forget about the worries of the world.

So what movie did I watch, realizing during the opening credits that I would never reclaim the hours to follow, as that time would be painfully ripped from my soul?

Hot Shots.

GOD, did it SUCK. Charlie Sheen and Cary Elwes are pretty to look at, but beyond that, the only running gag that actually made me laugh was "the admiral is senile" joke. Well, that and the fact that people kept sitting on chihuahuas. It was ridiculous. Sure, Top Gun is an easy movie to spoof, and that's fine. But while watching Hot Shots, all I could think about was how I would much rather be watching Top Gun, even knowing that Goose would die, and I would be sad, and the hot scenes with Kelly McGillis would be so much more confusing knowing now that she was totally faking it.

I know that it sounds like I am just too good for satire, and you know what? Yes. Maybe I am. I'm a complete movie snob. I see nothing wrong with this. Life is just too damn short to deal with movies that let your intelligence evaporate out through your ears.

Luckily there are funny/stupid movies that Mike and I can agree on, and those are any Mystery Science Theater 3000 flicks. (One of our favorites, Devil Fish, is on youtube in its entirety. Thank God.) And we like the same dramas. He even sort-of enjoyed the succubus of all movies, Twilight. So all is not lost.

But the next Netflix movie, per Mike? Masters of the Universe. Kill me now.

OH MY GOD, here's the trailer. Oh Courteney Cox.



(*Mike is still convinced that I liked and enjoyed Hot Shots. He mistook my pity laughter for actual enjoyment, and that annoys me to no end. There is no amount of denying that will change his mind.)