Come summertime, while they’re busy taking holidays or making Christmas-time release masterpieces, we’re stuck with a slew of shlock. Aside from some family fun flicks, it seems all that’s out there are duds, suitable only for the dreaded demo: boys 8-18. Boys with a penchant for no-brainers. Boys with silly, gross-out toilet humour sensibilities. As for the rest if us, it’s like it or lump it. For the most part.
Like everybody else, I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean. Unlike everybody else, I went kicking and screaming. We all know Johnny Depp is hot. But Johnny Depp mincing about in drag? More like luke warm. Yeah, he’s funny. Yeah, he’s still watchable, eyeliner and all. And yeah, he does a mean Keef Richards. But I still didn’t want to go. The charms and derring do of ‘Lando Bloom were no match for the enormous pain in the butt that is Keira Knightly. Yeah, she’s gorgeous (open-mouthed smiles aside). Yeah, she’s British and yeah, she – or her agent – has good tast when choosing roles. But she’s the next Winona. And is that a good thing? You tell me. Alas, I went and we watched and yo ho ho and swashbucklers forever. It was a summer flick. And that means ish.
Want another example? The Brothers Wilson. What were they thinking, doing such lame-ass pics? More importantly, what was I thinking? I fell into the it’s-a-chick-flick-but-how-bad-can-it-be trap. The one that gets you every time – ‘cuz they’re always THAT bad. I confess, I saw both My Super Ex-GF AND You, Me and Dud-pree. And to make matters worse, I went for the back-to-back double header! I snuck into the second flick, so at least I didn’t have to pay. But karma has a way of paying you back: the freebie, like it’s paid-for counterpart, blew. Sure the Wilson boys are hot. And their ladies were hot. And after all the gushy interviews I wanted to look for signs of chemistry between Ms. Hudson and O. Wilson. (there was none with Matty D. Not a drop…in interviews or on film) And now that Katie is newly single, who wants to bet she goes for the gold? Or the – ahem – butterscotch? Crow or Stallion: who would you choose?
But I digress.
Kiddie flicks and stoooopid boy humour aside, there are a small handful of pics worth leaving the patio for. But the only one I’ve actually seen is Scoop. Y’know, the not-so-new Woody Allen flick? Finally saw it yesterday. A matinee. What a truly fine bit of afternoon delight it was. Re-ow!
In two words: Hugh Jackman.
Hugh?! Who knew?! Beneath the board-treading Wolverine lies something truly divine: Hugh Jackman. My gal pal and I were breathless at the sight of him. And who wouldn’t be? Charm? Check. Passable Anglaisy accent? Check. Clothes that look magnificent on and off his crazy cut chiseled bod? Check check check. The man is the definition of tall, dark and handsome. Plus, he’s sex on a stick. He turned us into drooling, slobbery fools. He turned us into lovesick teens. He turned us into….BOYS!
The movie was good, don’t get me wrong. It was delightful and de-lovely. Not the most complicated of flicks, but so what? Totally worth seeing. Even aside from ever-so-hot Hugh. Woody was less pervy lech and more funny fatherly. Grandfatherly, but who’s counting? Throw in some Scarlett for the boys and everybody’s happy. It’s sharp and funny and set in London. Add it up and it’s well-worth the price of admission.
And have I mentioned Hugh Jackman? Apparently, the more mature ladies have known about the Jackman charms for years. Not me. I didn’t get it. Not at the Tony’s, not on stage, not in that cheesy Meg Ryan flick, and certainly not with all the facial hair.
But girls, it’s all about Hugh. That’s the real scoop.