Take Paul McGuigan's Push as the most recent example. I'm not stupid. I know this movie is going to be a steaming pile of celluloid, but I see a telekinetic gunfight in the trailer and buy the tickets anyway. Next thing I know I'm standing outside the theater trying to straighten my crumpled blouse feeling dirty and used.
The parallel continues for any action movie.
Seriously, just put some jersey's on these guys and it's the 12th grade all over again. I'm so easy all it takes is an explosion on the cover to get me alone in a darkened room. I don't learn my lesson either. Next time some vampire fare walks by and flashes a little Ethan Hawke at me I'll be in that position of degradation again before long.
To be fair, Push isn't that bad, but it's certainly not good. It suffers from lackluster directing, a contrived plot, and typical hollywood disneyland morals. You can't help but see the potential squandered here. If you're a whore like me and plan to watch this movie anyway, I recommend you don't drink, or, if you do drink, I recommend keeping the room free of any sharp objects.
Worthwhile things! Dakota Fanning, in following with Spielberg-chosen-girl tradition, appears to have developed a serious cocaine habit and ceased to age.
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