Not a very good movie; also, a different, better movie

C and S and I arrived at a new-to-me hole-in-the-wall pub in Cambridge at around 11:30 and began to consume mass quantities. And nachos. When the rains came, we retreated from the patio into the bar and said "well, that settles it" and had another round. By the time we began to be a little sensitive about having outlasted multiple rounds of other patrons, the idea came up to go see the 4:15 of the new Angie Jolie shoot 'em up, Wanted.

This is the kind of movie that, upon seeing previews, prompts my ladyfriend and I to turn to each other and start a low, slowly accelerating chant of "brew and view, Brew and View, BREW and VIEW! BREW AND VIEW!!!" Ah, the Brew and View; another thing to miss about Chicago and wonder why exactly there's nothing like it in Boston (in fairness, the theater near my house serves beer, but it's no B&V). There are certain movies that lend themselves so well to this concept that I want to view them at the Brew and View, even though I wouldn't see them in any other circumstance (in a regular theater, at home, on a plane, at a friend's house...). Summer dreck fares especially well paired with beers, G&Ts, and cheap popcorn swiped off the abandoned table of the couple who are not staying for the second feature.

Wanted is most certainly summer dreck. Only two (almost three) things allowed me to endure it: I love the director Timur somethingsomething (Night Watch, Day Watch), I was drunk, and I have a shameful attraction to Angelina Jolie. That last one is only about 1/2 of a thing, though, as I find her less and less enrapturing as she acquires a colonialist's menagerie of global children. A far cry from "Hack the Planet," which is how I like to remember her. Oh, pixie cut Angie Jolie, you can make it all the way into my wireless network any weekend evening.

*ahem* Where was I...ah yes, "dreck." It wasn't the alcomohol that killed my brain cells, it was this movie. It was the un-twist ultimate twist near the end, the non-evocative evocation to action as the final line, the deeply uncompelling characters (how in the bright hell do you make a fraternity of weaver-assassins THIS boring?), and, on top of it all, an overqualified Morgan Freeman phoning--nay, texting--it in. I wanted to say, "This is Jack's disappointment at this worst realization of what Fight Club could be said to have given us as a film legacy." At least the chase scenes were filled with chases, and the film entire had that little Russian "I don't know what" (how do they say je ne sais quoi in Russian? Maybe they don't ever not know what...) that I love from Timur what'shisname.

I feel badly that C and S suffered through it with me, but they were also real tight by this time, and we'd had some ice cream, so the synapses that weren't languid with Newcastle were hopped up on sugar and butterfat. If that's not a recipe for a summer movie experience, I just don't know what is.

In contrast to the crapulence of Wanted, the PBS is playing Carrie tonight, and I LOVE that movie. There are so many little wonderful moments: Carrie and her date spinning, spinning, SPINNING at the prom, the minutes where the friend follows the rope from under her hand to the bucket of blood above the stage and then back down to Jon Travolta under the platform, Carrie shishkabobing her mom into a St. Sebastian-esque tableau right before she brings the house down around their ears...I love me some Carrie White, that's for sure. It's one of those seventies movies that I watch over and over, getting a new set of impressions from it every time. That and Jaws.

In conclusion, skip Wanted. Just, like, think about guns, punch yourself in the mouth, and jack off. I should have done that and saved the $9.75.