“Your butt looks really wide in those,” my roommate declared, “And they look like pajama bottoms. You can’t wear striped linen pants to a movie premiere.”
“Why would you tell me that?” I was scandalized. “My only other outfit is dirty.”
I suppose I did. And while a harsh perspective is my roommate’s very apparent trademark, in this instance she was correct. I’m glad the other shirt passed the sniff test; I wouldn’t have wanted to be grouped alongside that mother/daughter pair fresh off the Ft. Lauderdale boardwalk. They were hardly fit for a sit-down dinner, much less a red carpet soiree.
“Soiree?!” you say? Okay, alright, not quite, but that’s kind of what we were expecting. I guess when your invitation is printed on a 4×10 sheet of orange computer paper and a machine accepts your R.S.V.P. you shouldn’t really anticipate strolling up the same crimson pathway as the film’s stars.
I don’t think we caught a glimpse of it, actually. Not a sliver. No, even though the lady dispensing the fluorescent slips assured me our admittance was all but guaranteed, it’s lucky we arrived as (uncharacteristically) early as we did or we wouldn’t of even been able to clomp up the concrete side alley and into the overflow theater.
That’s right, no Katherine Heigl, no Gerard Butler, not even a peek of Cheryl Hines (who would illicit more of a shriek from me, anyhow). Not between the cracks of our temporary civilian ghetto, not from the back of the Cinerama dome. Some of our fellow peons may have made the cut and they bought off the rest of us with complimentary popcorn and soda (of which my roommate took two – you show ‘em Kara); but as none of the stars could bask in our applause and we weren’t asked to fill out a comment card, I’m unsure of the pertinence of our attendance.
Were they simply quelling our uproarious indignation at standing in one place for more than 45 minutes? There weren’t a whole lot of fat people there. Should we view this outcome as fortunate, consider ourselves grateful for the charity of their pro bono screening? Maybe. Or perhaps “The Ugly Truth” here is that they needed us more than we desired them.
I had been anticipating this film for months, since the appearance of the first online trailer. It seemed as though a fresh perspective was en route, an explicit (R rated) voice with which both sexes could identify. Alas, as I hoped for something resembling the collision of “Knocked Up” and “27 Dresses” all we got was another incarnation of Katherine Heigl’s stock character.
Here she is again, the beautiful, sensual woman hidden beneath the guise that she is above it all when really, it’s nothing more than a smoke screen for her fear of failure. Although it doesn’t say much for her versatility, Heigl’s an ace in this role. In fact, keeping the genre in mind, all of the actors performed admirably. The fault of “The Ugly Truth” lies not in the performance, but the production. Sure, instead of mouthing off about the parts she herself signed on for, Katherine Heigl might want to consider taking greater risks, but the same can be said for the Hollywood machine.
This weekend brought the release of “G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra,” delivered fresh to the people of America without the potentially harmful additives of entertainment critics. The heads of Paramount spin this subversion in favor of the greater good, telling The Huffington Post they “want audiences to define this film.” In other words, they anticipate hordes of mouth breathing rubes to swarm theaters, boost the box office, and spew undiscerning promotion from their yaps. Even I can taste my own elitism here, but I imagine that’s exactly what Columbia Pictures hoped would come from my gratis viewing of their latest romantic comedy.
I may only have two presentable outfits, but I believe we should expect more than just a few bangs, proverbial or pyrotechnic, for our bucks. Yes, it’s likely that last year’s writer’s strike may have influenced the green light on Columbia Pictures’ latest romantic comedy as well as Paramount’s third toy inspired action flick, but then what’s to excuse the heap of horribly written films currently spilling out of DVD bargain bins in discount stores across the globe? Instead of simply catering to the ignorant masses, greedily inhaling their had earned, yet poorly allocated dollars, let’s attempt to sway the common opinion, puff up the fluff. If Disney and Pixar can continue to roll out animated children’s films with intelligent, adult-oriented subtext, how difficult could it be to inject any other genre, every other script with a bit more character driven substance? Let’s get on it, fellow aspiring entertainers.
My first premiere experience may have fallen short of my expectations, but no virgin’s ideals are wholly realized upon their first foray. Whether laser printed or embossed, I shall gladly accept Columbia Pictures or any other studio’s invitation in the future. I like to think it can only get more cinematic from here. After all, if “The Ugly Truth” can make it to the big screen, then there is hope for my career as a screenwriter, yet.