Must...control...fist...of...death....

Okay, so I know it's not Monday yet, but I felt the need to share something with you. As some of you know, I love movies. The art of film is a way to tap into the hearts, minds, and imaginations of people everywhere in ways not possible in other media. I love classics like The Maltese Falcon, Citizen Kane, Touch of Evil, and Psycho, but I'm also into modern movies like the Star Wars series, The Matrix, Spider-Man, and Toy Story. Heck, I'll even sit down and watch an Austin Powers flick once in a while. Whether it's for intellectual consideration or entertainment, I really love a good movie. So you can imagine my reaction when I saw this trailer:
Disaster Movie


I'm not sure if there is even a word to describe my rage. The fact that Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer (the directors of Disaster Movie) are still alive is enough to make my blood boil, but knowing that they're still making movies makes me want to fly to Hollywood with nothing but duct tape and a shovel so I can...well, the rest is far too graphic to post publicly.

Right now you might be thinking, "Why are you so mad, Jim?" Well, Friedberg and Seltzer are responsible for such monstrosities as Date Movie, Epic Movie, Meet the Spartans, Scary Movie 4 (they're only partially responsible for this one), and Superhero Movie. They didn't actually contribute to that last film, but I still blame them for it.

If you want a decent portrait of a Friedberg/Seltzer film, imagine Scary Movie and Scary Movie 2. Then take out everything that was good about them. Then imagine the writers playing "Mad Libs" with 20 different scripts from popular movies, then rearranging the pages in a random order. Then picture a cast of actors, models, and celebutantes (or whatever people like Kim Kardashian are called) getting completely hammered and wreaking havoc on a movie set for a couple of hours.

In fact, I bet I could write a review for Disaster Movie right now, without having even seen it:

"First, a guy dressed like a superhero got hit in the crotch with a blunt object. I chuckled a little. Then he got hit in the head. Then he got hit in the crotch a few more times. After that, some meteors came and actors who vaguely resemble other actors got squished. Kim Kardashian showed up a few minutes in and I threw up in my mouth a little. When Carmen Electra made an appearance, I died a little inside. Luckily, I had my flask with me, so I decided to drink until the movie was good. That plan backfired, since I had forgotten that I'm an angry drunk. I walked out of the movie after twenty minutes in a drunken stupor and drove recklessly to the hardware store. I came to the cinema with a dozen tanks of propane and burned it to the ground. The police let me off with a warning."

I'll end this post with a plea to Mr. Friedberg and Mr. Seltzer: for the sake of filmmaking, your integrity, and my local movie theater, stop making movies.