I rented a bad movie a couple of days ago. A really bad movie entitled Setup.
I managed 20 minutes of viewing time before I packed it in.
My wife tells me that I will watch anything and it is almost true.
I have watched old Tarzan movies with Johnny Weissmuller from start to finish, Charlton Heston part the Red Sea at least six times, even sat glued to the screen as Steve Reeves fought the cyclops and other monsters in a series of Greek mythology movies from the early-60s. But I had to draw the line with Setup.
When I think about how lengthy and expensive the movie making process is, I am amazed that bad movies are ever made.
One would think that somewhere during the initial planning, someone would raise a red flag and there are many in this one.
When the script is derivative for example, like this clone of the great Brad Pitt, Jason Statham film Snatch. Or when the central producer, Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson (a rapper) wants to be the star of the film also and bring along a number of his buddies to play various roles.
Or when the script, laden with wooden, clichéd dialogue, lurches forward, then backward, through a number of time shifts announced through on-screen messages, then one would think that at least some of the 14 executive producers listed in the credits might decide to pull out.
Perhaps they wanted to lose money for tax purposes.
I suppose there is a lesson to be learned here. The wealthy can afford to inflict their bad acting and unwatchable films on an unsuspecting public through film rental stores and latenight TV.
My uncle used to do the same thing to family and friends with his slide shows of summer vacations.
After watching Setup, I vowed never to inflict my own home movies on any of our friends. It is sort of too bad, because I have about six hours worth of fabulous videos taken over the last 20 years and after watching what passes for entertainment on YouTube, I’m confident that my movies are far superior.
Still, I have often complained that we are all too concerned about our own petty little thoughts and activities, tweeting and twittering to one another about nothing, so I will quietly watch my own movies by myself. Alone. In the dark.
Just call me “Nickel.”
– Jim Holtz is WEEKENDER columnist and former reporter for the Grand Forks Gazette
