With the slew of horrendous summer movies finally coming to a close, we can all breathe easier and willingly walk into movie theaters again. But do you even need to go to the theater to get action-packed, thrilling, romantic, glorious cinematic content? No ma’amsir, you do not. Go to Blockbuster and rent everything on my newest list: movies that are often overlooked despite their poignant and outstanding cinematic content:
1. White Chicks: Two down-and-out FBI CSI CIA NYPD black men have to protect two young, spoiled, blonde white women. After inevitably getting into a steamy affair with the girls, the men ponder life, love, and discover religion. Through their physical intimacy, they lead the girls on an emotional journey and teach them how to appreciate the little things in life, like sex. Since one of the men is married, and has discovered religion (what religion? All the religions!) since consummating his affair, he feels deeply guilty for betraying his wife and begins a long trek home, disguised as the white woman he plowed. This is obviously because he feels the need to literally show the world what he’s done, and the easiest way to do that is by cross-dressing and cross-ethnicitying. His fellow law enforcement black friend joins him on his journey, also disguised as the woman he slept with, to repent with him for betraying his own wife, who doesn’t exist, since he’s not married. This movie is a journey of journeys, about journey, with the entire soundtrack consisting of Journey.
I wrote this, most likely on some kind of sugar high the day before it was due, for part of a writing “packet” I had to turn in as my final when I took a creative writing class. It’s loaded with marching band references most people won’t understand, and if some people with marching band experience read this, they might not find it terribly accurate.
The bus pulled into the Canon ISD Stadium at 8:00 am for the Canon Marching Band Festival, but Mr. Avery wasn’t letting us get off yet. Most kids were asleep. Megan and Adair were sitting behind Chase and me. They were both listening to Megan’s pink iPod and they kept kicking the back of our seat to the beat. I knew they were listening to “Party in the USA” because I could hear it. I wished they would quit it; my back was staring to hurt.
“Miley Cyrus sucks,” I said.
“Yeah,” agreed Chase, “but she’s kinda hot.”
I frowned. To me, Miley Cyrus looked like she was ten. “Gross.”
“Charlie, did you just say Miley Cyrus was gross?” Megan gasped, poked her little black-haired head up over our seat and yanked the headphones out of her ears.
“What about Miley?” Adair shouted over the music only she could hear.
“Miley Cyrus is a famous singer and actress. She even has her own clothing line. I’m pretty sure that makes her cooler than you two losers.” Megan stuck out her tongue at us through her purplish lips.
“Not for long!” Chase got excited. “Not when our band gets discovered!”
It wasn’t much of a band. It was Chase, our Mexican pal, Ricky Martinez (Ricky Martin when we felt like being mean), and some guy named Jed he met at the bowling alley who was like thirty years old. One day Chase told me I was the manager and since then I’d been going to his house every Sunday night for band practice. So during every practice, I ate my weight in Cheetos while sitting on Chase’s couch and watching the band, or “Attack of the Weasels,” play Guitar Hero, the real instruments lying in the background untouched. I’d stopped going recently, though, because Jed was starting to creep me out. I thought he’d been going to Chase’s house to hit on his mom, but it was starting to seem like he was more interested in Chase.