After blogging furiously in staunch support of mind-bogglingly over-the-top action flix, there was a resurgence in onscreen punches thrown, an influx of ass kickery, a renegade renaissance, a grown man green screen free-for-all. Action movies were again jump kicking through the confines of D-level budgets and Z-level acting.
Was it my lowly blog that sparked the change?
Of course it was.
When needed most, I was the symbol that action movies needed, and, incredibly similar to the Caped Crusader, I sparked change, drove off into the sunset in my action mobile—a Toyota Tacoma—and enjoyed the spoils of early retirement in my mansion—the room I rent.
But something happened. Sappy rom-coms started gaining steam—and not the really funny, curse-riddled, crass ones but the Orange Mocha Frappuccino Fridays-celebrating, absolutely-no-skin-is-bared, lets-all-hold-hands-type ones.
Things are different now. In my action blog days I was a lone wolf, typing to the furious beat of my own drum—I even used to throw punches in place of keystrokes (those blogs took much longer to produce). But now I have a girlfriend, and insanely awesome (and entirely normal) behavior like that is apparently no longer acceptable. To top it off, I’m now periodically exposed to the sappy cinema that is running rampant.
Something must be done. So to facilitate change, I’ll be blogging on the only type of movies that should be in theaters (action movies, obviously), but I’ll also occasionally try to make sense of this onslaught of onscreen romance and blog about, wait for it… romantic crap—even if it means my eyelids must be taped open.
(That last sentence was, by far, the toughest I’ve ever had to punch into my keyboard.)
One more thing: The fists scoring system will still be in place—the more awesomely action-packed a movie is, the more fists it garners.
But now a new scoring system will also be in place, a kind of counterintuitive one. For every sap fest I’m exposed to, I’ll write a blog and issue Frappuccinos as the score—the more fraps issued, the more intolerable it is.
So, in the timeless words of one Jonathan Wick, “Am I back? Yea, I’m thinking I’m back.”