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September 19, 2005

In Which I Consider the Next (Maybe Not So) Great Thing

From Megan, September's Guest Literary Chick!

For some reason, I never saw Napoleon Dynamite in the theater. But ever since I heard about it, I’ve been dying to see it. High school angst? I’m there. Stir in some outcasts, misfits, and Eighties music? I’m in love. I thought it would be like the male Heathers-- and who can ever get enough of Heathers?

So I was already entertained as the credits started rolling, because I just knew this movie was going to be right up my alley, and every guy I knew waxed rhapsodic about Napoleon, and there was all that quoting that went on whenever the film was mentioned, and bring on the funny, I thought.

I hated it.

Okay, that’s not exactly true.

I just didn’t get it. I sat there for however long that movie was and learned nothing about the titular character. He just sort of appeared, hung out on my television—mouth breathing—and then the movie was over. I didn’t sense that he felt anything, particularly, about the things that sort-of-almost happened, so I didn’t either.

And I really hate when that happens. There’s nothing more uncomfortable than feeling shut out of a cultural phenomenon. (Well, I can think of quite a few more uncomfortable things, actually, but I’m being melodramatic here. My mother always assured me it was my most attractive quality.) The first time I remember this happening was when I saw Back to the Future. Somehow I didn’t see this movie until about three years after it took the entire world by storm. To put it mildly, it did not live up to the extended hype. For that matter, neither did The Exorcist.

I felt this way during the later seasons of Sex in the City, too, when I hated Carrie with a passion, would have slapped her a good one had I found myself at her brunch table, and yet couldn’t turn around without bumping into another gushing article about how great her character was.

Another example was Everybody Loves Raymond. I can’t tell you how many time I sat through that show, trying to feel the love. It escapes me to this day. Desperate Housewives I find amusing, but eh. I watched the first episode or so last season, then forgot to watch it until the last two episodes, and quite frankly, I don’t feel that I missed much.

More recently, this happened for me with Lost. For most of the season, I suspended disbelief. And also patience. And still nothing happened. Flashbacks are not the same as character development, I decided. And—not to put too fine a point on it—I gave my heart to Alias long ago. I know perfectly well that the questions raised by the show will never be answered. The difference is, I’m invested in the characters on Alias and have been ever since Jennifer Garner cried in the pilot, so when entire seasons go by and I’m not entirely clear what happened, at least I felt something. With Lost I feel that Sayid is hot, and that’s about it. It’s just not enough.

And don’t go thinking I have an aversion to popularity, either. I’m a Harry Potter freak, listen unapologetically to Kelly Clarkson, and have yet to encounter a Nora Roberts novel I didn’t like.

The truth is, I want to believe in the next great thing. Don’t you?

Posted by at 6:30 AM | Comments (5)

Comments

Posted by: Maureen at September 19, 2005 2:00 PM

Posted by: Keris at September 20, 2005 5:10 AM

Posted by: Jennifer Jacula at September 20, 2005 1:55 PM

Posted by: rachel at September 20, 2005 3:14 PM

Posted by: Cece at September 20, 2005 10:20 PM