The Avengers

(If you need an IMDb link for this, then I can only say: we're glad you finally got out of your coma!)

Big Hollywood films have become like, well, pretty much anything else out of the US.
Let's compare this film with any fast 'food' chain:

It gives you what you want, it's a quick fix. You're hungry/desperate and in a moment of weakness you decide to spend your money on it, knowing it's not a good idea, but also thinking: 'Well, what else can I do?'

You get your fix. You get full from that sweet, sweet corn syrup and additives and non-animal meat, or your ears get full of super HD true-to-life 23-D super-surround bass experience. Your eyes are full of super computer-generated stunts and your brain gets fooled into thinking that A: you've eaten all the food you needed for today or B: you've got your art-fill for the day.

But you haven't. You've just ingested empty calories and empty mindless shit.

You get lots of good actors, lots of bad actors people have seen somewhere or other and lots of hot actors, so that everyone can find a reason to go see a piece of absolute drivel.
The money is spent on said-actors and visual effects, while no money goes to the screenplay, because God forbid the story would make sense in any way whatsoever.
Your brain gets bombarded by loud noises and flashy colors and Scarlett's tits and you think you've just had a good time. But you haven't. It's like a Super Menu: You're happy for about 10 minuets, then the nausea and the diarrhea set in. Sad thing is, just like after a bad hangover -when you tell yourself you'll never drink again- well, a week later you're back at the multi-super-duper-cineplex to puncture your eardrums, spend 20 bucks on popcorn and fool yourself into thinking you're watching something entertaining.

Because when you spend more than 10 bucks on anything, you feel it has to be good. So you watch 'The Avengers' and think it's entertaining because the loud noises, the explosions, and/or Scarlett's tits gave you a raging hard-on. But the fact is: it's all fake (the jury is still out on Scarlett's mammary glands). They're getting paid more money you'll ever make in your entire life to pretend like they give a shit. Meanwhile, the studios are charging you more money you can afford so you can pay the people who don't give a shit about you and treat you like children by dangling something shiny in front of you, just so you can paw at it while gobbling down subpar popcorn (and if it's a 3D film, then this is quite literally true).

It's time to wake up and smell the fake butter! There are 2 more shitty sequels of this shitty shit. And you're all gonna flock to it because you're gonna think you have to because you'll see 28 commercials a day for it, see billboards in the streets and pictures on the sides of buses and your favorite fast food joint will have the picture of the big-titted/drug-recovering actors (who wouldn't be caught dead in a fast food place since crack's healthier than the so-called burgers they sell) on the extra-large cups of sugar-water you'll be buying.

Now, just to be clear, I am not blaming the actors. Most of them I like, all of them I understand. If someone told me: 'I'll give you millions to not act and wear a funny costume,' I'd be the first to take the money. I blame us. The public. We get brainwashed so easily. We don't want acting, we don't want a story. We want to be... ooooh... 'entertained!' And that, apparently, means loud noises, tits, and guns. If on top of that it could be 3D, so we could get a massive headache and make us feel as if we'd just drank 15 cocktails, without the giddy feeling we'd normal get, we're even happy to pay extra!
Fair enough. I guess. But don't start slagging off the WWE (which was the WWF before panda lovers went ape-shit) as soon as you get back home and feel the need to be morally-superior to somebody. We're all morons.
Some need oiled-up men full of steroids, pretending to be superheroes, to fight one another to some insane rock music. While others watch WWE. To each his own.

I know, you're thinking: 'But so what?! If we're entertained, who cares?!' Well, that's what brainwashing is all about! You're not entertained, you're being made to THINK you're being entertained! And if you're truly, honest-to-God entertained by this, well then, here's a rope. Hang yourself and be a dear Darwinian for us all, won't you, pet?
Put on any rock album you own. Play it REALLY, REALLY loud. Then do anything while listening to this. You'll think you're entertained. 'Oooh, I vacuumed to The Rolling Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil." Chores are fun!' 'Hey, I just removed fluff from my conjoint twin's belly button while listening to "Kashmir." Awesome!'

We're all fucktards. And Hollywood are the fucktard puppet masters.

I know it's based on a comic book, which proves that selling-out is nothing new. But as a 'screenwriter' (if I drink enough I sometimes fool myself into thinking I am one), if someone said: we'll give you 1000 dollars (because, really, that's the most a screenwriter's been paid in Hollywood. Ever.) to write something
commercial, I'd be all over it! Zorro, Wonder Woman, Teo Roosevelt (you need some American patriotic bullshit, always), Pif the dog (to draw in the overseas market) and Beyonce (because she wants to be in a film again and Jay-Z's threatened a producer) are in a superteam of superheroes and they supersave the world against the superbad guys (played by a stereotyped Russian, a stereotyped Somali dude and a stereotyped Iranian. Or Iraqi. Or Turk. Some kind of Middle-Eastern darkie).

Don't get me wrong (or do, what the fuck do I care at this point?!), I enjoy being entertained, I just don't enjoy being taken for a retarted horny, 5-year-old, marmoset.
Explosion! Tits! So-called repartee! Boom! Woohoo!

No. Sorry, but: no.

I did enjoy the 'Iron Man' films, by the way. I don't know why, but I did (NB: at the time if this writing I still haven't seen the third installment), but when you mix everything into one pile of goop, you get... well... goop.

It's like: I love Nutella, and I love Lagavulin and I love steak and I love ice cream. Mix all four and you got a problem.
Then again, coming to a Hollywoof multi-mega-cineplex near you: A new snack! 'Filet mignon with its single malt chocolate ice cream sauce. Why go to a fancy restaurant when you can eat in the dark and trick your brain into thinking you're being entertained?!'

I'm gonna induce vomiting and flip through the yellow pages to find a lobotomy clinic now. Because I won't be able to cope with the PTSD this film has induced.