You can’t have Christmas without watching the movie, Love Actually.
I can hear the groans of men who are missing a romantic bone in their bodies, and some women rolling their eyes at the possibility of something greater than chocolate or a shoe sale... the feeling you get after watching a chick flick.
It's a lovely glow.
That’s what I feel and I am not even a romantic. Maybe a closest romantic at heart but sshhh don’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t want that bit of information getting out there.
A romantic chick flick is just what it is.
It doesn’t pretend to be anything else than one man, looking for one woman.
And it's usually the same kind of scenario:
The man is a douche bag for most of the film before realising his douchness' has cost him his leading lady. The audience falls in love with the leading man as they watch him get his shit together, and eventually realising his love for his leading lady, and running in the rain to tell her he can’t live without her.
See, it’s no different from a movie with Stallone/Willis/Thomas James / or another big armed whatever star that is famous for the next 15 minutes, who is hiding a secret/broken heart/ingrown toe nail, while trying to save the day at the end of the movie.
See, exactly the same!
At least my movies I get to see Ryan Gosling in a wet shirt!
No comments:
Post a Comment