The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not reflect the views of Mamamia.
I love movies. Movies of all kinds. Whether it’s a historical biopic about an unsung war hero, a speculative sci-fi posing questions about humanity or a guilty-pleasure rom-com inducing why-do-I-do-this-to-myself eye-rolls, a good movie can transport you through every emotion. Or, just allow you to escape for a few hours after a particularly rubbish day at work.
Being an avid movie-watcher, in the years since my progression from American Pie to American Beauty, the last few weeks of February have been characterised by a cramming reminiscent of my undergrad days. Yep, right before the cinematic day-of-days, I watch every single flick nominated for Best Picture at The Oscars.
Until now. Well, yesterday. It hit me in the cinema, while I was silently counting down the moments until blissful freedom would signify an end to the vacuous slog that was Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri.
Once conscious of the thought, a few questions came to mind. Why am I not enjoying this? Is it a lack of intelligence or cultural comprehension on my part? Am I the only one in here wishing I’d spent my money on Jumangi: Welcome to the Jungle, instead?
On my dejected walk from Hoyts to the food court for a remedial caramel sundae, I started milling over the reasons for my disappointment. Flat characters, disjointed storyline and unresolved plot points aside, the overarching symptom of my disdain was my unrelenting boredom. That’s when I realised it wasn’t an isolated incident.