I’m a bit of an incongruity. A liar, if you will. See, when I watch movies I tend to make fun of the parts that are not true to life. I’m that girl going, “oh yeah, sure, he takes off his shirt and suddenly everything is fine!” I cock my eyebrows and twist my face and roll my eyes because movies are just so ridiculous.
But this past weekend I saw Fast & Furious 6 (or is it just Fast 6? I’ve lost track of when they drop the furious. What’s the criteria for that anyway? Do Vin Diesel grunts determine whether the movie is just fast or equal parts fast and furious? I digress). It was good. I laughed, I clung to my arm rest during the gravity defying, will-they-make-it stunts, and I cheered for the not-so-bad-guys to win.
So the girl who scoffs at rom-coms and the lies they feed to females around the world found herself completely wrapped in a movie where a guy with at least 200 pounds of muscle slams into a car windshield to “break the fall” of his woman and barely cracks said windshield. A movie where two females slam each other against cement, fall down a flight of stairs, and 10 minutes later, they’re flipping their hair and grinning like they just finished a beginners level Pilates class.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never been in a situation where I’ve had to drive my car at illegal speeds to get away from British criminals (they would catch me in a hot minute anyway–my ’96 Nissan can barely get to 75 without shuddering). So it’s much easier to enjoy it from the outside looking in because to me it’s just not real. But I have been awkward girl at a party, or shy girl in a classroom. And so I cringe when a beautiful actress well past her teen years pretends to “not know how to get a guy.” I mean, come on, we’ve all been there and shaking your bun loose and taking off your glasses does nothing but make you the blind girl having a bad hair day.
So I’ll take Paul Walker punching a thousand Mexican cartel drug lords any day over Jennifer Lopez pretending she just can’t get a decent guy.