It’s interesting. I work night shift and sleep during the day. My sister works evenings and sleeps during the night. I work two weekends a month. My sister works three weekends a month. We never have the weekend off together, so there’s really only one weekend every month that we’re both working . . . and yet Netflix has somehow managed, once again, to pick that precise weekend to release Jessica Jones, ensuring that it would take much longer than our little geek hearts would like to marathon the shit out of it.
I think what I’m trying to say here is, “Screw you, Netflix.” But also, kind of not? Cause while Jessica Jones isn’t perfect, it’s still pretty damn awesome.
So, at the end of every calendar year, I make my annual list of Book Superlatives and Movie Superlatives. But the thing is, I watch TV too, like, a lot of TV. So, I decided to try something new this summer: My Geek Blasphemy’s first TV Superlatives.
Unfortunately, I only came to this decision a few months ago, so I’ve been wracking my brain trying to remember shit that happened on shows I watched, like, eight months ago. Because the TV Superlatives are going to work a little differently than the my other lists, as TV is a total pain in the ass medium that you judge season by season — and those seasons might begin in fall, winter, spring, or summer, and may or may not be contained in one calendar year.
So. Shows qualifying for the 2014-2015 TV Superlatives will have to have premiered somewhere between June 2014 and June 2015. This will cover all normal fall and winter TV shows. As far as tricky spring/summer shows go, well, Game of Thrones Season 4 will not qualify because it premiered in April of 2014, but Season 5 will, because it aired in April of 2015, even though it didn’t end until after June. Meanwhile Season 4 of Teen Wolf will qualify, but not the currently airing Season 5 or the previous Season 3B.
Everybody got it? Excellent. Let’s begin.
It’s 10:00 p.m. Thursday night. I’m sitting in an aisle seat at the Roxy Theater and the Marvel credits have just started to play. My little hands are clasped loosely together. I can actually feel the childish hope written all over my face.
Ignore Spider-Man. Spider-Man is a lie.
Overall, Avengers: Age of Ultron is fast-paced, funny, and pretty enjoyable, especially for a movie that’s 2 1/2 hours long. Despite that, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed with the finished product.
Oh, Agent Carter. I miss you already.
Now don’t misunderstand me — I really like Agents of SHIELD. If you’re looking for likeminded haters, look elsewhere because it’s one of my favorite shows on TV right now, and I’m super excited it’s back. (Fitz, in particular, has been incredible this season.) But AoS’s return means Agent Carter’s departure, and despite the near universal praise its received, its return to television is no sure thing. This saddens me.
I wish I’d thought to write down some notes along the way for a Season 1 review, but alas, I did not, in fact, have my various (rubber) ducks in a row. So today’s review may be brief as well as characteristically late. But, hey, it’s something, right?
So, I have this ongoing quest: I would like, just once, to go see a movie when my friends and I are the only people in the theater. I don’t know why this is my quest, considering there are approximately 78,000 other goals that are my worthy of my time and energy, and yet, here we are. Quests are rarely chosen, right? They are something that is given, something laid upon you. Quests are a thing of destiny.
I’ve come close to fulfilling my quest at least half a dozen times now, only to have some asshole wander in during the previews, unwittingly ruining everything I’ve longed to achieve. I don’t throw popcorn at this asshole, partially because I’m a mature young woman but mostly because I don’t eat popcorn.
I mention all of this because last week I finally went to see The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part I. This movie came out roughly two months ago. You would think that the majority of people who wanted to see it would, in fact, have already seen it. This was clearly the cinema’s expectation as well, considering we were obviously sitting in their teeniest-tiniest theater available. And yet, as soon as we sat down in the empty room, about twenty-five more people walked in.
You know, I’m not my namesake. I’m not asking to slay dragons here. I’m not even asking to lead any rebellions.
On the upshot, I generally enjoyed Mockingjay, Part I.
Every year, there’s at least one movie I’m absolutely dying to see, and this year it was Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Events conspired against me — websites lying about movie times, a massive headache pulsing down the entire right side of my face and making me a little sick if the camera spun to fast — but I did it. I successfully watched my movie.
And it was awesome.
Sometimes, I just feel like I don’t agree with the AFI on anything.
The Searchers is one of the most well respected movies in the world. It is number one on AFI’s Best Westerns list. It is number twelve on their 100 Years, 100 Movies list. And John Wayne loved playing Ethan Edwards so much, he named one of his own children Ethan.
I thought it was . . . okay. Not my least favorite western of the year — I definitely liked it better than McCabe & Mrs. Miller — but it sure as hell wasn’t my favorite.
Maybe a year or two ago, I was told that — as a fan of all things camp and cheese — I simply had to watch Flash Gordon. So I checked out the trailer.
Good lord, this movie.
You ever stick with something for so long that, even though it’s sucked for years, you feel compelled to continue with it until the bitter end, just to see how it all turns out?
Yeah. Try to ignore that compulsion. You’ll probably be a happier person.
The worst thing about not being a professional movie critic is that it doesn’t matter how much time you spend working a review—you could write your little heart and soul out, bleed yourself dry, and you’re still not getting paid. On the other hand, the very best thing about not being a professional movie critic is that when you stumble upon a film that you’ve told yourself to review—even though you know full well that it is the kind of cinematic trash that will make you weep blood, the very sort of abject horror that you can’t possibly stomach without vast quantities of alcohol in your system—well, you don’t have to watch it without vast quantities of alcohol in your system.
Thus, may I present . . .
. . . The Batman & Robin Drinking Game!
(Please drink responsibly. AKA, don’t use vodka. You won’t make it four minutes.)