Preemptive Critics

Pride and Prejudice

There are times when I wish – maybe more than anything – that I had a girlfriend.

Springtime, summertime, wintertime, autumn, Christmas, Yom Kippur, weekends, weekdays, boring Tuesday afternoons to name a few.

Of course, there are always those lonely November nights when it would be nice to have someone to talk to about the stresses of school, or how bad the new R. Kelly album is.

And then “Pride and Prejudice” hits theaters on a Friday and I realize that I’m single, and subsequently, I don’t have to pay $15 to fall asleep at Stadium 8.

There’s nothing like the 154th big-screen adaptation of a boring British novel, acted out by cheeky British actors – probably Hugh Grant, Collin Firth, David Beckham and the Spice Girls – to make you realize just how good you’ve got it.

Thank you, Jane Austen, for making me happy to be alone. I preemptively hate this film.

-by Aaron Falk/acf@cc.usu.edu

Zathura

Zathura, what could I possibly say about this movie that you haven’t already said to your buddies, seeing as the trailer has accosted every movie that’s been released since what seems like 1992?

Well, all “Jumanji in space’ jokes aside, this thing looks like a real turd sandwich.

You know what really chutes my ladders? These movies are so unrealistic. I mean, the kids have to finish the board game to avoid death. That would never happen. Kids never finish a board game.

No group of kids in the history of earth has ever finished a board game without cheating. You make up words, you sneak a peek in the small manila envelope to learn it was Colonel Mustard while your sister’s in the bathroom or – my personal favorite – you ‘accidentally’ bump the table, sending your Risk armies rolling all across Asia.

You know what? I wish that a game would come to life while I played it. I’d just make sure I was playing Candyland at the time; and then, after I get to Queen Frostine, I wouldn’t move my cupcake-lovin’ butt until I looked like the gumdrop guy.

But still, kids are the heroes of the film, which means that I’ll probably have to see it with my family over Thanksgiving break.

That makes me preemptively hate this movie.

-Steve Shinney/steveshinney@cc.usu.edu

Derailed

Everything I know I learned at the movies:

If you hear suspenseful music, run.

If you are a best friend in a war movie, you will die.

Don’t judge hookers. They’re rarely crack addicts and are often filled with quirky wisdom about life and love.

Mean people always lose sporting events.

Never be the last one to cross a rope bridge. Once you reach midpoint, you will die.

Whenever you check if you’ve knocked a villain out, they’re just waiting for you to bend over.

Never do bad things – you are likely being followed by a secret government agency, someone from Britain, or a homicidal costumed freak.

In “Derailed,” you’ve got typical businessman and family guy Clive Owen who meets fast-moving Jennifer Aniston. Continuing her “Friends” persona, Aniston happily hops into bed with the guy after one drink. The problem? They didn’t watch out for the adultery-punishing British guy and his inexhaustible supply of thug labor.

They can’t go the to the police, because, thank Hollywood for pointing this out, cops are inherently inept. So, instead they grab a few knives and take on their anglo assasin.

Will they lose? Will James Bond ever get shot?

Still, it’s got Jennifer Aniston. And violence. And British criminals. And suspenseful scenes with cell phones. So … I preemptively love it.

-by Matt Wright/mattgo@cc.usu.edu