I arrive at just before 7:00 p.m. and Paul is already in line. Well, technically he’s not in line. Technically he’s just sorta hanging out in front of Target, minding his own business. He’s not lining up for Force Friday, no sir. He wouldn’t do such a thing, especially since management came out and made it very clear to everyone that there would be no lines until 8:00 p.m., asking the early arrivals to disperse disperse. Paul’s just another customer. Ignore his Ewok shirt. Ignore his fiancee’s Darth Vader-themed outfit. This is not the line you’re looking for.
Movies are fixed. Their meanings are not.
Hitman: Agent 47 came and went this past weekend, vanishing in a box office fizzle; the cinematic equivalent of ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. It’s not the kind of bad movie that really makes you angry, just one that’s completely forgettable. It’s a nothing of a movie.
In the summer of 2013, my wife and I watched the first season of Orange Is the New Black in seven days. In the summer of 2014, we watched the second season of Orange Is the New Black in eight days. This summer, we watched the third season of Orange Is the New Black.
When you type the words “Jesse Eisenberg bad interview” into Google, you get over 2 million results.
Imagine the most inhospitable landscape in the entire universe. A desolate place of horror, pain, and misery. This is Planet Zero.
Josh Trank’s Fantastic Four reboot hit the box office with a thud this weekend, dead on arrival as foretold by a readily apathetic internet contingency that eagerly dismissed the film before it even headed into production. Following Tim Story’s disastrous previous outings in 2005 and 2007, it seemed no one was interested in another reboot, even from the studio that’s found recent success — both critical and commercial — with the X-Men franchise. Maybe there’s just no good way to make a Fantastic Four movie.
It’s funny, fitting, and sort of cruel that Ant-Man’s version of the Wasp is named Hope.
San Diego Comic-Con. Hall H. Land of excitement, exclusives — and absurdly long lines. All weekend, thousands of geeks waited to get into one of Comic-Con’s famous Hall H panels. By Thursday, the line stretched almost a mile and a half across the waterfront. Meanwhile, tucked into an obscure corner of the San Diego Convention Center with no line whatsoever, a panel took place that explained exactly why all those fans were waiting in the first place.
Last night, I saw a comedy, Judd Apatow’s Trainwreck. And the man sitting next to me clapped 24 different times.