Hey! Did you see that great movie about the wealthy alcoholic? The one with the classical actor who played a stoically hysterical second banana? The movie so perfect it should have been locked in a time vault? Did you see the remake? Did you want to press charges of grand theft?
One day I came out of Grand Central Terminal and saw the familiar sight of movie lights, scaffolding and scruffy little hipsters with headsets known as PAs (production assistants) scurrying about making sure everybody knew a picture was being filmed.
Then I saw the massive Rolls Royce. I had stumbled onto the set of the remake of Arthur starring Russell Brand and (God forbid) Helen Mirren in the (God forbid) role which won John Gielgud an Oscar (thank You, God).
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I immediately blessed myself and did the very un-Christian thing and prayed for the failure of this infamnia. Sure enough it went down in flames and is now on everybody’s Worst Remakes list.
And it’s never the lousy films. Hollywood never blows the dust off a failure which had potential.
Noooooo, they brazenly pull perfection off the shelf, toss the DVD to some hotshot director and tell him to do it better.
Over and over again, major classics such as “The Poseidon Adventure,” “Get Carter,” “The Italian Job,” “Planet Of The Apes,” “The Taking Of Pelham 123” (this is MY opinion piece) and “The Pink Panther” have been shown no respect and summarily ruined.
It’s not only remakes where sins are committed. There are also instances where Hollywood will take an established franchise and make substantial changes for no good reason other than they have no respect for the fans or indeed motion picture history!
Daniel Craig may cut a mean figure in a speedo (my wife reads MY opinion pieces), but I like my James Bond clean cut, flawless after a fight and drip dried within seconds of waking out the ocean. Hollywood took my coiffed, calm 007 and gave him jagged scars and mommy issues.
James Bond doesn’t have issues! Issues rhymes with tissues! And with all this political correctness, I wouldn’t be surprised if his Aston Martin sprays a recycled frying oil slick.
Batman used to be campy, colorful escapism with silly bad guys and BIFF! BAM! POW! fight scenes leaving you wanting more.
Now The Dark Knight is a brooding downright depressing series of films which leave the viewer contemplating the doomed fate of mankind. What do you want on your popcorn? Butter or Xanax?
Take for example this latest incarnation of “Superman.” Many in the Comic Con crowd are up in arms over the new gritty Man of Steel. Gone is the Bryl Cream and horn rimmed Clark Kent.
The stretchy royal blue tights have been replaced by dark waffled body armor.
Gone is the aw shucks, introverted superhero. There’s no Kryptonite, no Fortress of Solitude and no Jimmy Olsen!
Matter of fact, there’s your metaphor! There’s no more Jimmy Olsen in ANY of these latter day flicks.
Jimmy was the nerdy, golly jeepers photographer who represented every one of us who idolized the superheroes.
Jimmy was the every-victim. The little bird who just wouldn’t leave the nest until Superman showed him everything was gonna be okay.
Now the superheroes are the victims! The guys with the capes are the ones reaching for a Kleenex and suffering self doubt.
Hey! Hero guy! What’s with the “woe is me” garbage? Shake it off! You can FLY!
I’m not gonna shed a tear for a guy who can go to the beach with X-Ray vision! How dare you?
Where’s the inspiration? Where’s the up? Where’s the color and fun and romance? Right now some Hollywood dolt would tell me, “That’s not reality.”
Neither is leaping over tall buildings in a single bound!
Please. On behalf of Dudley Moore, just leave perfection…alone.
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