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I'm sure I've talked before about being hip. And I said once my only claim to fame at Scarecrow is that the guy behind the counter almost fainted when I asked for Zardoz. This totally beats that.
Last night, after a thrilling conversation that began and ended with nostalgia over Escape to Witch Mountain, I was compelled to rush to Scarecrow to look for a movie I saw once as a small child and have been searching for ever since. It's a Western that shakes out just like every other Western, with the guy in the white hat, and the guy in the black hat, and the girls in the saloon and the love and the guns, only all the people in the movie are kids. I don't remember there being any backstory, or even any acknowledgement that they're all kids. It was extremely creepy. I am extremely interested to know whether that holds now that I'm not five. Anyway, (the last time I began a conversation with a cute little hipster boy with the words "Are you in the mood for an obnoxious question?" worked out pretty well, so) I asked the first guy I ran into.
Long story short, after half an hour of internet database searches and failed stretches, he thought he'd found just the thing—something he and his girlfriend had watched just nights before; a new release of old material; not the movie itself, but a DVD collection dedicated to the worst television blunders of all time.
I think asking for a movie you care about and being handed a mashup called "TV Mania" (only half-heartedly retitled from the original "TV Turkeys") is made worse only by the fact that the show I'm looking for actually isn't on this disc, which is itself less worse than the fact that some of the shows in this collection look like they might actually have been interesting (calling to mind a discussion I had the other day about Mystery Science Theater and about how the joke of making fun of something gets really old when you start to suspect that the people doing the making fun are the ones missing out).
In conclusion, why do I suddenly and consistently feel like the character in the movie who's been rehearsing a conversation in the mirror only to realize that she's actually delivering a poorly written monologue and there's someone listening?
Finally, the point is, why does it seem like everyone is either mean or pandering, and why can't that balance between kind and unsentimental be more pervasive?
Last night, after a thrilling conversation that began and ended with nostalgia over Escape to Witch Mountain, I was compelled to rush to Scarecrow to look for a movie I saw once as a small child and have been searching for ever since. It's a Western that shakes out just like every other Western, with the guy in the white hat, and the guy in the black hat, and the girls in the saloon and the love and the guns, only all the people in the movie are kids. I don't remember there being any backstory, or even any acknowledgement that they're all kids. It was extremely creepy. I am extremely interested to know whether that holds now that I'm not five. Anyway, (the last time I began a conversation with a cute little hipster boy with the words "Are you in the mood for an obnoxious question?" worked out pretty well, so) I asked the first guy I ran into.
Long story short, after half an hour of internet database searches and failed stretches, he thought he'd found just the thing—something he and his girlfriend had watched just nights before; a new release of old material; not the movie itself, but a DVD collection dedicated to the worst television blunders of all time.
I think asking for a movie you care about and being handed a mashup called "TV Mania" (only half-heartedly retitled from the original "TV Turkeys") is made worse only by the fact that the show I'm looking for actually isn't on this disc, which is itself less worse than the fact that some of the shows in this collection look like they might actually have been interesting (calling to mind a discussion I had the other day about Mystery Science Theater and about how the joke of making fun of something gets really old when you start to suspect that the people doing the making fun are the ones missing out).
In conclusion, why do I suddenly and consistently feel like the character in the movie who's been rehearsing a conversation in the mirror only to realize that she's actually delivering a poorly written monologue and there's someone listening?
Finally, the point is, why does it seem like everyone is either mean or pandering, and why can't that balance between kind and unsentimental be more pervasive?
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