Tuesday, 10 February 2009

Condemned Sight Unseen

As I've said before, I don't like romcoms. I don't like them for a variety of reasons, but you can check out the link if you want to know why. No time to go into all that now!

Because, you see, there's a new one out that looks like a new low. Even the posters look half-arsed: everyone, down to the PR boys, seems to know that this is desperately Tab A to Slot B.

I was first alerted to its existence by an advert on the side of a bus. There is a school of thought that says that anything advertised on the side of a bus is by definition going to be cack, but I don't hold to it: Hot Fuzz was advertised on the side of a bus, if my memory hasn't become completely corrupted.

However, the composition was a dead giveaway. It looked like it deserved to be on Photoshop Disasters for no other reason than its laziness. It used the Rom Com font (the only genre to still use Times New Roman in italics), the Rom Com colour scheme (pink and white) and the simpering photos of the stars - looking like they'd just phoned it in. It probably speaks volumes that those were the best publicity shots they could coax out of Jennifer Aniston.

Anyway, I notice that someone called Tanya Gold has written a rather spiffing piece tearing the original source book a new rear waste disposal point (yes, today is 'Grauniad Column Lazy Blogging Inspiration Day).

She points out some aspects of it which not only confirm my expectations of it to a startling degree (not to mention my prejudices), but confirmed the prejudices of Sidney Lumet from 1976.


This is dating for little girls. Anything less than the childish fantasy of the perfect ever-loving father should be shunned and, because we are indeed those little girls, Greg sets us some homework. "Write down five reasons you have a good reason to call him ... Now put your dialling finger away," he says. And never be cross when it's over. "Always be classy, never be crazy," says Greg. He really means - never be angry. Because angry isn't hot.

Max Schumacher (about Diana Christensen): I'm not sure she's capable of any real feelings. She's television generation. She learned life from Bugs Bunny.

Max Shcumacher (to Diana):
It's too late, Diana. There's nothing left in you that I can live with. You're one of Howard's humanoids. If I stay with you, I'll be destroyed. Like Howard Beale was destroyed. Like Laureen Hobbs was destroyed. Like everything you and the institution of television touch is destroyed. You're television incarnate, Diana: Indifferent to suffering; insensitive to joy. All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality. War, murder, death are all the same to you as bottles of beer. And the daily business of life is a corrupt comedy. You even shatter the sensations of time and space into split seconds and instant replays. You're madness, Diana. Virulent madness. And everything you touch dies with you. But not me. Not as long as I can feel pleasure, and pain... and love.

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