We waltzed out of an Upper West Side diner – well, I shouldn’t glamorize, it was more like a Hell’s Kitchen bar – and put a question to ourselves: What should we see?
Given that half of Hell’s Kitsch’s Italian mob brass had hassled us for half an hour, it seemed only right that we see an action movie. My friend was fine with that, given her shared taste of commercialized danger.
We walked to 34th St.’s Loews. Looking up at those beautiful blinking/scrolling lights, we had limited choices. Eagle Eye!
No, dios mio, no.
Alright, I’d already had it out for Shy LaBuff, (how dare people describe “Disturbia” as a Hitchcockian film???!!!!) but COME ON! This kid has neither the brains nor the brawn to pass for a sex symbol, and he has no business heeding the words of some secret school of people telling him to duck or move or skate on ice. He just doesn’t, and to continue to cast him in roles where he should suffice as so – it’s unfair.
“You just have to get used to him,” I was told.
“No, they just have to stop using him,” I retorted.
Please, film friend-os, stop using him!!
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Golden Eye
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