The marketing geniuses at 20th Century Fox drive me mental. Not so much in the Jack Torrance chop-that-brat-with-an-ax way, but more in the oh-fuck-why-don’t-I-remember-shit Leonard Shelby style. I’m seeing these trailers for Hitman, Jumper, and Aliens vs. Predator: Requiem for the Cash in My Wallet, and I’ll fess up: The sonuvabitches don’t look like a drop kick to the ding-ding.
But when it comes to me hopping onto the excitement choo-choo for AvP2… oh cartwheeling Christ, it must be an early sign of Alzheimer’s.
Apparently, I learned nothing from the weapon of mass brain cell destruction that was the original AvP, a movie so asstacular that its pestilence corrupted the space-time continuum and turned Predator 2 and the last two Alien films rotten (if only Doc Brown and Marty McFly could set things straight). While AvP2 may have face melting, exploding noggins, 100% less Paul W.S. Anderson, and a killer trailer that mocks baby Jesus, I got a gut feeling I’m falling into the Fox trap… again.
You see, a similar thing happened with Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer. I loathed the original Fantastic Fuckup—hated it more than giant apes abhor biplanes. And in retrospect, with the (mis)cast, half the original “writers,” and a visionary like Tim Story returning for the sequel, how could it not blow like a nuke dropped on your quinceañera?
Yet, I saw those trailers of the Silver Surfer playing forearm-badminton with missiles and I was (sort of) sold. Hey, just maybe, just maybe in the realm of all that is possible by the command of Zeus and the Greek gods, this flick may work.
Tranny balls! I’d been had. Goddamn, I wish I’d known Greek deities were just myths; otherwise I’d put my trust in a more pragmatic religion, like the Church of Fonzie.
Yet, FF:ROTSS isn’t the only example of getting the ol’ bait ‘n’ switch from Fox this year—Sunshine and 28 Weeks Later, anyone? But it’s been happening forever and a day. Can’t deny the trailers for X3 and The Day After Tomorrow jazzed me up to a frothing frenzy despite all symptoms hinting that these flicks were the celluloid bubonic plague dancing with a ghastly case of swamp ass.
Yes, I just associated one of the vilest acts on Earth to this ancient, the-trailer-was-better-than-the-movie gripe. But, let me snuff all traces of political correctness here and flip it 180 degrees.
In the context of marketing, pulling off this type of “date-rape” is an amazing feat of capitalistic radness—at least in the minds of the George Washington counters and off-balanced subversives like me. Dear Fox Marketing Wizards, I know you’re selling an inferior product and I want to despise you oh so badly for it. But deep down in places I don’t like to talk about at parties, I’m actually in awe of your date-rapist, Obi-Wan mind influence that compels me to still drop change on your cinematic turd. Truly, you folks are worthy of a Bud Light “Real Men of Genius” ad. Just why can’t you use your gift for the benefit of mankind?
Regardless, I’m crossing my phalanges that these marketing savants aren’t squeezing poop into cubic zirconias for Hitman and Jumper (if AvP2 is any good, it’ll be an according-to-Hoyle miracle). Perhaps, just once, just once Fox has a fantastic genre film to back up their fancy-pants previews.
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? One stems from a videogame and the other looks like Mace Windu’s Revenge. Odds are they’re going to suck. But, betters odds are they’ll get my money in the end.
Damn you’re good Fox!
(David Frank is a new weekly columnist for RopeofSilicon.com. The 26-year-old chunk of flabby man-meat resides in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, which means he has to drive 250 miles to catch the rerelease of Blade Runner and can never complete a Top 10 list until February when all the December indies finally come his way, but if he wants to meet any of the presidential candidates all he has to do is walk off his front porch. His loves include crabmeat rangoons, his wife, all genres of cinema, referring to himself in 3rd person, Harry Dean Stanton, discussing the dichotomy of good and evil, and comforting his low-self esteem by being a smartass (in that order). Mr. Frank encourages, desires, craves, (fantasizes about?) responses from you dear readers—even if it’s just to say “Fuck you Davey! Go choke on a scrotch!” Otherwise what’s the point of having this thing we call the Internet?)
