A mere two days away from graduating from high school in 1996, I ran–not walked–RAN to opening night of Twister. I emerged from the cineplex gnashing my teeth that I endured every scene and not one fucking time did Helen Hunt exclaim to Bill Paxton or Jamie Gertz, “Right hand, blue!” or see Philip Seymour Hoffman and Alan Ruck locked in a contortionist’s nightmare before falling on the ground cackling with glee. Not once. Just some stupid cow flying through the air, whoopdee woo.
Fast forward 21 years later, and I was delighted that an industry friend invited me to an early screening of Geostorm, starring Gerard Butler as “Guy Trying to Do American Accent Again” and directed by Dean “Also Makes Bad Movies, Not Just My Creative Partner Roland Emmerich” Devlin. Again, what the fuck with this movie. Gerard Butler spent more time in a hoity toity spaceship than he did a car, much less one even MADE by Geo! I mean… don’t misunderstand me, I’m glad that the movie wasn’t called Geometro or Geoprizm or, even worse, Geotracker. But SPOILER ALERT: There are no shitty cars from the 1990s in this film. Like, anywhere. Instead, it’s about weather murder or something.
And NOW, we have Solo: A Star Wars Story. I AM COMING OUT OF MY SKIN with anticipation to see how Ron Howard righted this ship. It’s no secret that Lucasfilm axed Phil Lord & Chris Miller for attempting to make the film all about this cute backstory of some arrogant smuggler person. I’m now waiting with baited breath for Ron Howard’s telling of what exactly it is that the brilliant Donald Glover’s Lando Calrissian will actually be fucking drinking from the crimson nectar-bearer. May 25th can’t come soon enough.
-R F S