What is it about a dreary, wet afternoon that makes watching an otherwise horrible movie so damn appealing? What is it about such days when it's crappy outside that make snaking your way under a big, soft blanket; pulling the shades down to darken the room; and watching a perfectly awful-to-mediocre, yet somehow captivating, movie so wonderful?
Today, it was "Pathfinder" that did me in when I came home for lunch as was eating my pizza ever so comfortably on my bed. I’d never heard of this tale of a “Viking boy left behind after his clan battles a Native American tribe. Raised within the tribe, he ultimately becomes their savior in a fight against the Norsemen” (according to IMBD.com). Still, despite the fact that “Pathfinder” clearly ripped off “Dances With Wolves,” which clearly ripped off “A Man Called Horse,” for it's story line, I was captivated nonetheless for no apparent reason I can understand.
I wasn’t bothered in the least that it took roughly two minutes into “Patherfinder" to figure out its plot and outcome. It didn’t matter that the dialogue was next to non-existent or that when the Native Americans did speak they did so in perfectly fluent English and with impressively expanded vocabularies. I didn't blink either when the Vikings came onscreen riding gracefully atop surprisingly domesticated horses. Despite everything working against “Pathfinder,” I was so enjoying the experience that I was perturbed to no end when my lunch hour had exhausted and I had to go back to work without seeing the end.
I’ve often wondered why it is I’ll willingly sit time and time again through such stellar cinema as “The Beastmaster” or “Road House” or “Can’t Buy Me Love” or “Out For Justice” or “Double Impact” but can’t seem to find something worth my time among Netflix’s 5 gazillion choices? I’ve often questioned why I’ll take points off my IQ by sitting through “Police Academy” but haven’t brought myself to watch “Schindler’s List.” It makes no sense at all that when my wife, or anyone else for that matter, asks me if I want to watch a movie, I'll ask a thousand questions about what we’ll be viewing because “my time is precious and I don’t want to waste hours watching crap” but I’ll turn around and watch crap.
Maybe I’m a hypocrite. Maybe there are times when self-abuse is in order. Maybe I feel sorry for the writers of directors of these films. Maybe watching such schlock is my way of convincing myself that “I could do that” and really believing it. Or maybe, just maybe, there’s something inherently appealing about partaking in something so bad that feels so good. There’s just something delicious about watching Steven Seagal bumble around asking everyone in the bar “Has anyone seen Richie?” or watching Dar carry his furry little ferret friends everywhere he goes in a darling carrying bag or watching Dalton kick some serious night club ass that makes me a happy sucker.
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