We’re two weeks past the 2015 Oscars and already most movie lovers have forgotten who won Best Picture (it was Birdman, by the way), who got robbed (it was a tie between Michael Keaton and non-nominee The LEGO Movie) and perhaps, even the name of the host (it was Neil Patrick Harris, FYI). Now, as the festival circuit starts introducing new titles into the pre-pre-pre Awards Season lookout for 2016, it’s time to reflect on a sad, singular fact: the Academy Awards is on life support and, if something doesn’t change soon, it may become nothing more than a novelty in the near future.
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When the returns came in for The Fault in Our Stars, two studios must have been beyond happy. 20th Century Fox financed the film version of John Green’s popular YA novel, and were glad to see their old fashioned disease of the week tearjerker bring in over $48 million at the box office opening weekend. By the time the end of Summer rolls around, it will easily have banked more than $271 million worldwide.
This should have been good news for Warner Bros. as well, seeing as how it bet on another YA weeper, If I Stay, to further commercialize, and therefore capitalize on the trend. Prior to the 22 August release date, industry pundits had it easily winning the box office war, what with the nine years in the making Sin City sequel and a faith-based football title, When the Game Stands Tall, it’s only real competition. Surely it could mimic The Fault in Our Stars‘s success while beating back any lingering love for a bunch of mutant ninja turtles and a dancing tree creature and his pals.
I was 13, and a budding cinephile. The Marquette Mall Theater in Michigan City, Indiana had become a second home, a relatively short bike ride away from the Gibron “estate” and a holder of hundreds of motion picture mysteries. None of them were more potent than the weekend Midnight Movie.
Even as a introductory teenager, the notion of staying up that late was still a tad ‘foreign’. On those rare occasions when we were traveling out of, or into, town at said hour, I would always crane my neck to see the crowds lining up at the box office. I wanted to know who was still awake enough to watch a movie, what manner of human had it in them to, at that late hour, keep alert enough to enjoy any entertainment whatsoever.
Let’s talk about sex, shall we? Frankly. Honestly. Without adolescent snickers or contemporary Puritanical embarrassment. Let’s talk about the biological act, the physical intimacy between two people. Let’s not throw gender or orientation into the mix. Instead, let’s focus on the real issue at hand: the recently released teaser trailer for the upcoming big screen adaptation of British author E.L. James’ bestselling Fifty Shades of Grey.
Born out of that most incendiary of literary laughing stocks, fan fiction, it is the oft-criticized scribe who is now giggling, all the way to the bank. And it’s a book about sex. Sort of.
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