Sometimes to know how a movie goes all you have to see is the first poster.
We bought our tickets for the 2.30p showing of Brave at 2.29p. One senior. One adult. One child.
“Will we get to see the previews, Granny?”
“I think so. Hustle!” My mom handed our tickets to the kid manning the front doors.
I pictured him dousing himself and his rental tux in Axe body spray before driving his mom’s minivan to pick up his homecoming date. He’s super-excited but nervous because he heard his date likes him likes him so maybe he’ll finally get to touch boobs.
Next come the candle light vigils and stories about the heroism of the victims and bystanders. We marvel at the resiliency and unity of the American people.
Then we have bitter, divisive fights about gun control and violent imagery.
Right now we’re at the part where we’re overcome by the need to be seen to be doing something. Which is very different than *actually* doing something because addressing a phenomenon so monumentally fucked up will inevitably be controversial, complicated, and time consuming. And that’s no good. Why save up for a reliable family sedan when you can buy a bed that totally looks like a race car?
“I’ve seen the posters before.”