Movie Critic: The Help; Crazy, Stupid Love

I’m telling you now I could never be a movie critic. Forget the obvious complaints about sitting through tripe or senseless violence. I could never be a movie critic because I’m not observant enough. Or maybe because I haven’t seen enough movies so I’m not jaded and I do have low expectations. (The secret to happiness is low expectations, btw.)

I went to see two movies last week which I liked very much. This week I paused to read reviews of both movies to extend my enjoyment of the films–to make the love last. I like to know what other people like about things I like, to see if I agree with them or if they have found things I’d missed. Also, I’m a tad insecure in my (pitiful) pop-culture knowledge and sometimes I steal reviewers’ ideas in order to appear more fun at parties.
To my dismay, both reviews were bad. How can this be? I wondered. There was good music. I laughed. I cried. They were triumphs! Right?
Apparently not–as I read the reviews I realized that both authors had valid complaints. There were lots of cheesy, senseless problems in the films. But still, it’s a movie! The lights are out and there are lots of saturated fats on my popcorn—I’m happy! It’s supposed to be FUN!
So, perhaps I will never be a movie critic because I’m sucker for a tear-jerker and I’m too forgiving. I like that life-philosophy better anyway.