Sometimes Even Critics Are Right

Do you know why I don’t listen to movie critics? Because most critics are unreliable, period. Everybody’s different. What you may deem offensive, I may find hilarious. What you may think of as funny, I may find dumb. Who’s to say what critic suits my way of thinking? I mean even Siskel and Ebert, once a reliable source of information, have given appendages to movies like “Eraser,” or even worse, “Kingpin.” Maybe it’s just me, but these guys need a vacation. Too much popcorn, guys.

And as far as Kenneth Turan’s recent attack on Tony Scott’s “The Fan” is concerned--he was writing, I might add, about one of my all-time favorite action directors--that’s your opinion, buddy (“Buy Some Peanuts and Cracker Jack--or Else,” Calendar, Aug. 16).

Fine, maybe you’re not one to crave the energy and hair-raising experience of a good action flick. But let me be the first to say to you that action movies are not supposed to make you think. They’re made to entertain. So forgive me for not jumping on your bandwagon, but I’d rather see for myself. Maybe you approached the film wrong. I dunno. You see, you can’t just watch action flicks in just any old theater. I myself looked in the paper for just the right one.

Wow, will you look at that, a two-page ad! These guys at TriStar sure do know how to get your attention. Here we go, Century City 14. Now that’s my theater, Kenneth. It’s got THX, SDDS, you name it, I like it. Seven fifty!! Do I get a beer with this? No matter, this is a Tony Scott film. You ever hear of “Top Gun,” Kenneth? How ‘bout “True Romance”? No? Yes? Maybe? Anyway. How ‘bout De Niro? Bobby to those who adore him. A man’s man. King of swing. In my opinion, one of the best actors of our generation. Well, I love Bobby, Kenneth.

Anyway, the movie’s about to start. Bobby, wow. And look at Wesley; man, are you pumped! Benicio del Toro, ole to you my brother. Wow, I can’t hear myself think in this theater. I make a mental note not to sit next to the speaker next time. Maybe if I move to the middle. “What, lady? I don’t see a sign that says you can’t change seats once the movie starts.” Much better. Now we’re talking. I love Bobby. Wait a minute. How did he know that kid was. . . ? I must’ve missed something during my move. Who cares? De Niro, baby!

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The man in front of me is taking a nap. How dare he? Does he have no respect? Nah, it can’t be. I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out this man’s suffered a heart attack. I mean, what’s the deal with the volume? Maybe he can still be saved. Maybe if I kick the. . . . Nope, he’s alive all right. “Sorry, brah.”

Back to the movie. You’re kidding me. That’s it? Did I miss something? Where’s the rush? For some reason I don’t quite feel like kicking someone after this movie, except maybe myself for coming to see it. I don’t get it. This is a Tony Scott movie, isn’t it? Bobby, what happened? I feel more like a victim. What am I supposed to do now, Tony? Whom am I to turn to for some good action? Am I left with no choice but to see movies with titles like “Welcome to the Dollhouse,” and liking them?! I mean, my girlfriend is happy though. She thinks it’ll help bring out a sensitive side to me. I hope so. I make a mental note to listen to this guy Turan more often. The man may know what he’s talking about after all.