NAME: Harrison Ford
AUDIT DATE: June 16, 2003
EXPERIENCE: 38 films since 1966
Way back in the Pleistocene Era of 1999, we were developing the concept of the Galaxy of Fame as a celestially-themed round-up of celebrities's ups-and-downs. If someone was far out on the fringes of the galaxy, that meant his fortunes were falling; closer to the sun indicated an upturn in his affairs. (This all made perfect sense at the time; I think we'd all just recently seen Lake Placid and were left disoriented for several days, as though we'd taken bad acid.)
Anyhoodle...the point is that we needed to find a sun. Someone whose career was so rock-solid, his legacy so assured, that he was, essentially, immune to falling and rising fortunes. Someone no scandal could capsize. Someone who, above all others, was guaranteed to live on for future generations as one of our era's preeminent screen idols, in the way that Cary Grant or Humphrey Bogart or Audrey Hepburn survive for us today.
We picked Harrison Ford.
That was before he got mixed up with Ally McBeal.
In fact, it was before K-19: The Widowmaker, before What Lies Beneath and before (or, at least, concurrent with) Random Hearts.It was definitely before Hollywood Homicide, Ford's new film, which is getting very mixed reviews. (We saw it. We don't usually venture forth with reviews; suffice to say it's the kind of movie where the bad guy, a multimillionaire rap mogul, will yell, "I'm not going back to prison!" and then try to avoid this fate by engaging two L.A. cops in a running gun battle through downtown Hollywood, as opposed to, say, surrendering quietly, getting a really expensive lawyer, and then getting acquitted.)
By the way, you’ll want to check out this movie review site if you want to save yourself some time and know which films out know are actually worth watching. We know we’ve definirely suffered through some painful duds because we didn’t do this sooner.
We're not saying that Harrison Ford has tarnished his legacy beyond repair. We're not saying that he won't live on as the late twentieth century's answer to Humphrey Bogart.
No, we're saying something far, far worse. We're saying that he just might be jeopardizing his place as the Sun in the Galaxy of Fame. Hey, you fool around with Lara Flynn Boyle at your peril.
Ford's current status among stars is illustrated by a running joke in Hollywood Homicide. Ford plays the partner to a young cop played by Josh Hartnett. Both cops have part-time jobs on the side: Ford sells real estate, while Hartnett is a yoga teacher. But what Hartnett really wants to do is act.
Ford, of course, scoffs at his partner's fruity acting aspirations, and that's the first level of the gag: Ha, ha, Harrison Ford, famous actor, is dumping on acting.
But the joke works on a second level: The whole film can be read as a master class in movie stardom, with Ford as the professor and Hartnett the student.
Because while Ford may not be much for acting, but he's got the movie-star thing down cold. Since his breakout in Star Wars, Ford has earned an unimpeachable movie-star cred. This is largely due to the fact that, early in his career, he had the good fortune to land two iconic roles -- first Han Solo, then Indiana Jones -- and the good talent to make sure that these characters stuck in our imaginations for good.
Unfortunately, Josh Hartnett isn't quite up to the lesson. (Sorry, thirteen-year-old girls!) In the movie, not only is Ford's character irritated by Hartnett's character, but Ford doesn't seem to be thrilled with Hartnett either. Ford reminds you of a dad trying to teach his son to throw a football. Come on, kid, Ford seems to be saying. Just watch me. It's not that hard.
You can't blame him for being frustrated. Ford's been Hollywood's preeminent leading man for going on twenty-five years. And who's come along to unseat him? Tiny, squeaky Tom Cruise? Self-righteous Tom Hanks? Ego-blinded flop magnet Kevin Costner? Greasy, bloviating Alec Baldwin?
When Ford took over the role of CIA spook Jack Ryan from Baldwin after The Hunt for Red October, he seemed to be showing the upstart just how it's supposed to be done. Then Ford ceded the role to Ben Affleck in last summer's The Sum of All Fears. Ben Affleck! What did he bring to the part, save for a chin dimple?
Listen closely, and you can almost hear Ford exclaiming: Do I have to do everything around here?
Ironically, Ford's secrets aren't so hard to unravel. He certainly hasn't been the kind of depth-plumbing actor whose technique needs to be unfolded and decoded like a cryptic treasure map. The publicity for Hollywood Homicide describes Ford's character as "weary but tenacious," though the description could well fit Ford's whole onscreen persona. Sure, he's charming; yes, he's rugged. But has there been a modern actor who does weariness so well?
Ford has made a brilliant career of playing reluctant knights in ill-fitting armour. Forget saving the damsel; Han Solo and Indiana Jones looked like they barely wanted to get out of bed. They had to be talked into every good deed. Every action, every punch, every thrust into hyperspace or swing across a chasm seem preceded with a huff and a weary "Oh, all right."
Think of Indiana Jones pulling the gun to shoot the menacing swordsman in one of Raiders of the Lost Ark's most famous moments. Legend has it that the scene was originally a choreographed fight, and that Ford suggested the change because he was suffering from diarrhea. (Once again, diarrhea changes the course of western culture.) True or not, that moment has come to define Ford's career, and his appeal.
Don't forget that in Raiders of the Lost Ark, the only reason Indy and his lady friend survive, while the Nazis get cooked into bloody exploding biscuits, is that he has the good sense to squeeze his eyes shut at the climactic moment. As heroes go, this is not exactly Errol Flynn dashing in on the torn mainsail, swinging his sabre at the bad guys.
In his more recent roles, though, the self-deprecating oafishness of Indy and Han Solo has been replaced by an impatient humourlessness. The best moment in Hollywood Homicide is when Ford's character bellows at this poor little girl, then steals her pink bicycle. All of Ford's characters these days seem so damned inconvenienced by their film's plots. What? You think I killed my wife? What? I have to dodge the cops and find the one-armed man myself? What? There are terrorists aboard Air Force One -- and I have to kick their asses? Can't you see I'm the President? Aren't there other people who can do that for me? What? Now I have to pretend to be in love with Anne Heche?
Geez, he really does have to do everything. Who can blame him for being a little P.O.ed?
So instead of saying that Harrison Ford doesn't make good movies anymore, it's better to say that no one's making good movies for Harrison Ford. Sure, he hasn't made a Raiders of the Lost Ark in a while, but then again, when's the last time you saw an action movie as good as Raiders of the Lost Ark?
And don't think of Ford's career as faltering; think of it as a well-deserved movie-star semi-retirement. He makes his one movie a year. Sure, he plays the same part over and over again, but that's because no one's stepped up to replace him. He's like a shift worker, except the guy who's supposed to relieve him called in sick. (I can't come into work! I've got chin dimples!)
P.S. To preemptively ward off any ill-tempered emails of the "But I can't believe you didn't mention..." type, please pay close attention:
That is all. Thank you.
Current approximate level of fame: Tom Cruise
Deserved approximate level of fame: Gary Cooper
Handed a year where the top nominees are the likes of Letters From Iwo Jima (huh?) and The Queen (zzzzz), it's hard to get that excited about the films. Fortunately, we can still work up some passion for the fashions -- or, at least, what we are guessing the fashions will be like.
And if you want to know what movies are actually worth your time, visit Hollywood Insider for the best movie reviews.
JENNIFER HUDSON: Any time a woman manages to achieve some level of fame without starving herself down to grey-alien-like creepy translucence, she is fêted for flaunting her curves, admired for staying true to herself, and scrutinized mercilessly for her choices in formalwear. Past Oscars have featured Kathy Bates and Queen Latifah as the standard-bearers for carb consumption, but this year that mantle falls on the shapely shoulders of Best Supporting Actress nominee Jennifer Hudson. Heavily (no pun intended) favoured to win in her category -- having basically swept every other ceremony leading up to the Academy Awards -- Hudson must go with a gown that will show off her assets not just on the red carpet, but on stage as well. She has yet to make a sartorial misstep we've seen (we're still daydreaming about the navy number she wore to the Golden Globes), so there's no reason to think that her Cinderella story will end with her in anything that doesn't look like it was lovingly assembled by singing cartoon mice. (In a good way.) ODDS: Even
MAGGIE GYLLENHAAL: In the past, she's had some problems. Well, she's had two problems. Two droopy, unsupported problems dangling pendulously in her bodice. ...Boobs, people. Yes, as if the double-a in her surname stood for "Always Alfresco," Gyllenhaal has been photographed with her boobs hanging low, wobbling to and fro, and so forth. However, two things have changed. (a) Gyllenhaal gave birth late last year to her first child, and as even the most modestly endowed lady knows, once nursing has become part of one's lifestyle, so too must a supportive brassiere. (b) Gyllenhaal was denied a nomination for her widely praised work in Sherrybaby, so she's got something to prove. (c) Gyllenhaal was tapped as the host for the technical awards, meaning she'll need to sparkle and shine both in the outfit we see her wearing in clips from that ceremony as well as in the dress she wears to the "real" Oscars we'll be watching. We trust that she's surrounded by people who know the importance of making a good impression with one's outfits -- you know, now that her brother's broken up with Kirsten Dunst. ODDS: 3 to 1
RYAN GOSLING: Some of us have known for years that the boy is both scary talented and one tasty piece of bitch, but this is his first chance to demonstrate at least half of that to the world. Sure, he's made statements with his clothes before -- we seem to recall a Darfur t-shirt at the MTV Movie Awards a couple of years back -- but nice Canadian boys don't choose international awards-show telecasts to draw attention to their artistic integrity and iconoclasm with some queer doubleknit orange tuxedo or calculated scruff. This is Gosling's chance to break out as a celebrity on the world stage, and the best way to do that is to dress as if you were playing a young George Clooney; if this pays off, Gosling will have years ahead of him to grunge it up, Depp-style. ODDS: 5-2
HELEN MIRREN: We're not here to run down Oscar's silver foxes: Mirren is hot; we hope our rack looks half as good as hers does when we're in our sixties. But the rack has been sort of an issue. Perhaps out of fear of further reprisal -- such as that following her "ass over tit" crack at the Emmy awards last fall -- she's erring on the side of frumpy caution, swathing the redoubtable dames in too much fabric, thus drawing attention to their magnificent heft. We also wonder if she might need a proper bra fitting...but we digress. Mirren is a lock to win Best Actress, but we're not so sure she'll be Best Dressed. ODDS: 4 to 1
PATRICIA FIELD: Well, this one is just too easy. This crazy mofo is the one responsible for the ridiculous get-ups Carrie Bradshaw wore in Sex & The City -- hot pants with suspenders with a tube tops with cowboy boots, topped off with a glen plaid cloche hat with a teal felt flower pinned to it, and okay, we might have just made up that example, but you're probably picturing it and thinking we're not that far off from reality. Now she's nominated in the Costume Design category for dressing the catfighters in The Devil Wears Prada. It seems like a no-brainer that she'd just pick out a tasteful gown from...you know, Prada. But our idea of a no-brainer is never in line with Field's, so we're going to put our money on her grabbing something from Emily Blunt's movie wardrobe, touching up her screaming-orange hair, and scaring children all over the world. ODDS: Even
CAMERON DIAZ: Look, even under the best of circumstances, Cam doesn't acquit herself too well. The year of Gangs Of New York, she was all crunched-up hair, too much eyeliner, and a crazy hippie necklace worn as a belt. And her gig presenting at this year's Oscars aren't the best of circumstances: she's just broken up with Justin Timberlake, and her star is in rapid decline. She could have the best revenge by showing up looking gorgeous, but since fellow presenter Reese Witherspoon will already be doing that, Diaz is more likely to fulfill her destiny as our generation's Sally Kellerman. A boob pop-out may not be out of the question. ODDS: 3 to 1
MELISSA ETHERIDGE: Let's not mince words: Best Song performer Etheridge is going to be the night's second-most-famous (out) lesbian at the Kodak, and she's not going to want to pull focus from host Ellen DeGeneres. But since DeGeneres is already on the record as saying she'll be performing in a nice tuxedo, Etheridge may try to prove that not all lesbians follow the same fashion playbook by rocking a tastefully elegant gown -- or even a coloured pants suit. Then again, she may just try to out-dyke DeGeneres in an outfit sponsored entirely by REI.
EDDIE MURPHY: You would think that Murphy wouldn't risk his Dreamgirls-led comeback by showing up in some outlandish ensemble. But then, you would also think that Murphy wouldn't risk his Dreamgirls-led comeback by following Dreamgirls with Norbit, and here we are. All we're saying is that the man's in good shape: that red leather suit from Delirious might still fit.
BEYONCÉ KNOWLES: Overlooked Dreamgirls chanteuse Knowles is so very hard to pin down. Lord knows she can wear a gown, and she isn't afraid of bling, bright colours, busy prints, spangles, sequins, crystals, high-cut slits, low-cut bodices...look, she's just not scared. And if the outfit she happens to be wearing was designed by her crazy-ass mother, it might encompass all of the above. Also, did we mention that Knowles is not just appearing at the awards to support Dreamgirls, but will be performing one of its nominated songs as well? That means she'll have at least two gowns: two opportunities to screw it all up. Please let her stay out of the House of Dereon.
SACHA BARON COHEN: Nominated in the Best Adapted Screenplay category for the Borat movie, Cohen has received a signal honour extended to few comedic talents. The question is, will he try to surpass the spectacle provided by Trey Parker and Matt Stone the year they were nominated for the South Park movie? Remember? They came in drag. If Cohen decides to go with his real-life persona, he'll make a fine showing as a handsome young gentleman. If not, get ready to see that droopy grey suit again. Of course, it'll all be worth it if he can somehow contrive to make Joan Rivers smell it.
Nia Vardalos came on like gangbusters when her robust ethnic romantic comedy My Big Fat Greek Wedding took audiences by storm. This wily actress was a breath of fresh air whose exuberant spunk and injection of cockeyed confidence helped propel her name on the tip of people’s tongues with a chipper chick flick that captured her funky spirit. Well, Vardalos still tries to go this route once again as a beloved sass with a bubbly outlook but the derivative material she’s asked to spice up just doesn’t keep up with her frothy stamina.
In director Michael Lembeck’s disjointed gender-bender musical comedy Connie and Carla, the mediocrity oozes out much like the intolerable sounds from a rusty trumpet. With a scattershot script and nary an original or fresh idea in sight, Connie and Carla is an empty-headed drag of a buddy-buddy feminine flick that’s too cutesy and routinely bland for its own good.
No doubt the inspired nuttiness behind the staid Connie and Carla tries to recall the classic recollections of the treasured films it’s awkwardly ripping off such as Some Like It Hot and Victor/Victoria, etc. Lembeck and his star Vardalos valiantly try to instill some feel good wackiness into this gently vapid venture. But the movie is unimaginative and disposable to even realize its potential as a lightweight farce in the satirical sense of paying homage to the raucous creativity of filmmakers Billy Wilder and/or Blake Edwards. Vardalos, in particular, seems to be desperately winking to the audience as if to suggest we automatically buy her predictable and quirky on-the-run romp as a heavenly hoot. However, Connie and Carla feels so recycled and conventional that one is instinctively indifferent to the kooky concoction it mixes up in a hollow and dissolving manner. Chalk this one up to a potential Vardalos lackluster effort entitled My Big Fat Drag Queen Disappointment.
Vardalos and Toni Collette (Muriel’s Wedding, The Sixth Sense, Shaft) star as the title characters Connie and Carla, Chicago-based lounge singers that waste away in oblivion by playing dank venues. Both women are avid enthusiasts of dinner theaters and show tunes are etched in their thin blood. The pair of close pals enjoyed performing and the on-going singing gigs will have to fit the bill for the meantime. Soon, Connie and Carla will depart their cozy surroundings without any choice in the matter as a result of some murderous occurrence they accidentally stumble upon.
When a local drug lord (Robert John Burke) commits a murder against the diva duo’s boss while they are witnesses to this homicidal deed, the entertainers immediately flee the scene from the Windy City. In protecting their livelihood from the crazed pusherman, Connie and Carla hastily take their act on the road as they head west. Appropriately, the Ann Miller wannabes end up in the off-kilter utopia of West Hollywood. There, the twosome will try to resurrect their lounge show routine and hope to remain inconspicuous in the process. Unfortunately, West Hollywood is not known for their dinner theater accommodations. Hence, the songbirds must come up with another way to partake in the familiar realm of song and dance.
Feeling the pressure mounting, Connie comes up with a quick concept: why not pose as drag queens and develop their craft in a nightclub? It may not be what they had in mind when they abruptly left Chicago but it should do the trick for the time being. As Connie and Carla perfect their stage presence and become skilled as talented showstoppers, the “women masquerading as men in drag who return are dressing up as women” end up being a crowd-pleasing sensation. Of course this is rather clumsy of them to shine a spotlight on themselves especially when they’re supposed to be keeping a low profile from the riff raffish element they escaped from the Midwest. Also adding to the confusion is the fact that Connie has the hot feeling for Jeff (David Duchovny), a straight guy who’s a brother of one of working drag queens in the nightclub. Naturally Connie cannot disclose her real identity as a female to Jeff without compromising the safety of her and Carla.
And so the high jinks ensue in typical madcap fashion. See Connie and Carla look over their dainty shoulders as they embrace the fame they always wanted but haplessly duck and dodge the attention with the bad guys out to skin their hides. See poor Jeff trying to shoo off Connie’s admiration for him as a presumed “gay guy” without realizing he/she’s an attractive woman underneath with whom he probably would fall for if it weren’t for the twisted circumstances. See the chaotic kookiness of inquisitive mobsters and hammy musical numbers that lumber about in a numbing stance. See the usual sight gags and in-house jokes about the peculiarities of the L.A. lifestyle. See the flamboyance of drag queens strut their stuff and come to the realization that they aren’t necessarily the oddball deviants to laugh at—remember, they’re human and have a need to exist as well!
Nia Vardolas and Toni Collette do conjure up some witty moments as the cabaret cuties caught up in a fish-out-of-water scenario. However, the shoddy script—written by the film’s star Vardolas—has difficulty balancing its seesaw priorities by serving up a half-hearted session of goofy charm while attacking the romantic poignancy with a choppy approach. The message in Connie and Carla is simple and clear in that people should be who they are in terms of being true to themselves. This musical misfire had its ambitious mode in tact but the slight and deflating heft of this offering doesn’t quite gel enough to elevate Connie and Carla beyond its rudimentary boundaries.
If only there was a shrewd and audacious tone to this unpolished comedy, Connie and Carla would have benefited from being a bouncy vehicle that was considered thoroughly wry and challenging. But the movie doesn’t have the momentum to be shocking or subversive because the transparent gimmick of using drag queens and hokey musical scores as a prolonged punchline takes away from what could have been a solid and sincere look at a misunderstood subculture of non-mainstream entertainers. Plus, the demanding need for tolerance in how drag queens (or struggling obscure lounge singers for that matter) perform and how they are viewed could have been exploited for legitimate laughs. Instead, we’re treated to a lukewarm dud that squanders its opportunity for durable, dandy insights. Lembeck’s questionable direction is utterly incoherent as he allows his players to prance around in all their frenzied madness without attaching a concrete purpose to the method of this very same madness.
Connie and Carla may be on the run in search of stardom and love but ladies—whatever you decide to do in the inevitable sequel to this meager musical mishap, we implore you to please keep on running.
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Have you ever noticed that a good SF movie will make you wonder at the end “What if ?” that plot is possible , that plot may happen. Well, I’m here to tell you that Surrogates is one of those movies that is 100% on the spot and it's a clear picture of where we are heading towards at this rhythm. The movie depicts a near future in which the world is a much better place , low crime rates , no more minority persecution and everyone looks perfect. But you may ask at what price? Well that is a very high one , the price of our souls, it turns out that by using more and more advance equipments we finally turned out full attention and at a certain point researchers reached a point in which they were able to make robots , perfect copies of ourself or “our dream self”, being manipulated by us while we sit at home in the safety of our room. It may not seem a big thing at the moment but as the movie unfolds we also see the bad part of being stripped of everything natural … everyone being a fake copy , a lie as you may say. The movie's cast is a well known one with names as Bruce Willis , James Cromwell, Ving Rhames and a lot more ; as you probably figure Bruce Willis is the main character , he plays a FBI detective investigating a freak accident involving the destruction of surrogates. But as they go forward with the investigation they soon find the operators of those surrogates dead, turning it from an accident to a possible homicide.
The most interesting part is that until then the death of an operator was unthinkable, since almost all people on earth had a surrogate this would be a very bad outcome if the technology would fall into the wrong hands. The movie follows Willis and his relentless effort in catching the culprit , the movie having a bit of everything in it but not excelling at any point. The plot is somewhat nice and you can see that the directors really wanted to put more in this but they just didn’t match up with the different styles they were used to. From the start Willis is beginning a journey from the totally surrogate dependent man to beginning to doubt that they are good for us until a final stage when he realizes that it's a lie he was living and he discards his surrogate. At the final step of his journey he will be put into a position that he will have the power to “save” humankind as he knows it or to shape everything and give humans the potability of experiencing the world yet again throw their own eyes and not by a machine.
All in all this is a good movie to watch and it offers a glimpse of what is to come, I am sure that the future depicted here in this movie is one that will happened. It's not a possibility, it's just a matter of time, of when it will happen.
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In my adolescence, I once thought that THE TRANSFORMERS: THE MOVIE (1986) was one of the best films ever made. Age and access had not yet tinged my moviegoing experience. Such is youth, forever sentimentalizing our early lives and its subjects. Many of us who grew up on these Hasbro heroes still hold them in reverie, regardless of the profound silliness of it all. But we’ve all been young, and boys will be boys in love with their toys.
For followers of the series, how much you love Michael Bay’s TRANSFORMERS will depend on how much you have grown up (and probably how many decibels your eardrums can take). It seems natural that many of us who collected toy autobots and decepticons might have had great interest in the fields of science, as the mechanics of how these robots transform required inquiry during our younger years. So if you’re like me, watching this movie may not only reveal an onscreen battle between good and evil, but also one's own personal battle between nostalgia and common sense.
I know that I shouldn’t be applying logic against a concept that was never meant to be logical. Optimus Prime, Megatron and their ilk were not meant to be opposing leaders of a mechanical alien race set against a space epic. They’re cool toys representing the fanciful idea of having normal everyday vehicles transform into humanoid mechas. That’s killing two birds with one stone in toy marketing.
The problem is that the level of detail and seriousness the film initially builds up begs us to consider its plausibility. The movie’s opening sequence of where a decepticon infiltrates a US military base (apparently in the Middle East) is well-executed and as convincing as can be. Explanations on how these mechas are able to speak English are humorous but (barely) believable. And the initial electronic strategies the decepticons use to hamper US defense systems make sense.
But when the deeper questions are asked, the house of cards falls apart. These robots transform to blend into earth’s general populace, but why did they ever need to transform in the first place? Was there an evolutionary advantage that morphing gave them in their home world or are they just God’s toys? Why do they speak to communicate as they are electronic beings? If they can reach the earth through space, why do they travel slowly as grounded transport? Couldn’t they all have chosen aircraft functions to replicate? And why in one inexplicable scene are they reduced to comedic stooges hiding from a kid’s parents in his backyard?
Surely these and other queries are supposed to be ignored, but my inquisitive side keeps on tugging on my id. If your inner child wins out however, there are worthy sights to behold. The transformers themselves have been bravely redesigned, which is refreshingly the correct choice as opposed to keeping their original forms. Though some characters from the cartoon series will be familiar, the vehicular alter-egos have been totally revamped to fit current tastes (and toy franchising needs). Mecha battles engaged in Los Angeles are at times breathtaking, none more than Starscream’s low-flying dogfighting maneuvers. Fans will likely warm to some in-jokes (a decepticon police car motto), a jab at “My Little Pony” (a fellow Hasbro franchise), and surely, hearing Peter Cullen’s voicing of Prime.
Speaking of which, this gloriously authoritative father-figure lacks presence and warmth. Animated characters by their very nature more stylized and symbolic; highlighting their traits to an almost elemental level. How ironic that Optimus Prime in all his CGI glory projects less heroism and gravitas than his hand-drawn version. Perhaps it is our youth that taints our view, plus the all-to realistic detail of the film’s special effects makes him look more of a machine and less of a hero (or maybe it’s because now we can see his mouth move?). Shia LaBeouf, as the young Sam Witwicky who stumbles onto the robotic conflict, is the only well-rounded character worth following. He keeps it interesting, but can only do so much.
From a cinematic view, Michael Bay was born to direct this movie. He just loves toys, as not one of his films to date has had an unexploded vehicle. In filming convincing human dynamics however, he hasn’t got a clue, as evidenced in one scene where he tries miserably and awkwardly in getting us to feel bad for an autobot’s capture. His methods have deteriorated as he irritatingly refuses to stop using shaky camera movements during conflict, and dozens of slow motion sequences, mistaking disorientation and distraction for a frenzied perspective. For the life of me, I don’t understand why he cannot just let the action speak for itself.
As you can see, I’ve grown up a bit too far from my guilelessness to enjoy TRANSFORMERS. I do not disdain this kind of entertainment. Truth be told, its writing is better than I thought it would be, but its fancy façade can’t hide its flaws for those who want more substance. I find Prime deserving of better treatment, but considering its source, this might be as good as it gets. So enjoy it if you can. I tried and couldn’t.
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I am Jack's insane mind.
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