Thanks for Ruining It, Asshole


I like to do a lot of things with my life. This is partially because there are so many things in life to do. The other part is that there are so many things in life I want to do. The other part is that, while being unemployed and just out of high school, waiting for college courses to start, I have all the time in the world to do nothing. This was an interesting notion at first, but it quickly faded, somewhere between the seventh all-nighter, and the twelfth day without a shower, all spent glued to a computer monitor, playing internet roullette with Firefox’s StumbleUpon plugin. So I began looking for some other things to do, and found enough to keep me occupied, at least when I want to be occupied, and one of these things was bound to be movies.

Now, I like movies. Comedy films particularly, but that’s not to say I don’t enjoy a good thriller, superhero movie, etc. Naturally, I like to approach a movie, maybe knowing a little bit of what it’s about, but basically in the dark in general as to the goings-on. So would somebody please tell me, for the love of God, why the hell does every movie trailer spoil the ENTIRE movie for me!?

Reading that last passage, you may not fully understand my gripe with the movie trailer industry. I’m not quite sure if there’s an industry in particular that deals with just trailers specifically, or if it’s all blanketed into the movie industry itself, but my point stands. And my point is this. I don’t mind the trailer telling me what’s going to happen. Hell, that even helps sometimes. What I do mind is movie trailers essentially breaking my favorite wall, the fourth wall, the best, albeit least sturdy wall of all, in order to tell me something I wasn’t supposed to know. Forget the fact that I am supposed to know some things for the progression of the movie, I don’t want to be told these things by the characters themselves. Now let me explain with example.

I’m watching the trailer for Spiderman (I’m not really, but let’s pretend), and after that cool “wooshing” noise you hear that intros the trailer, I hear Peter Parker come on. Peter isn’t talking to Mary Jane, or Doctor Octopus, or somebody from the Justice League, or anything like that. He’s not saving a fucking civilian and advising them with a smirk beneath his spidey mask, “you should be more careful next time,” before placing them back down on the railroad tracks and swinging away. He’s talking to me. Peter Parker is talking to me. And that pisses me off. Why? I dunno, maybe it’s the fourth wall break, maybe it’s the fact that I am not a character in the Spiderman movie, but it’s more than likely because, for some reason, Peter approaches me, sitting there in my recliner with my bag of Nacho Doritos, as though I were some kind of wise man or guru. He spills his guts to me. He tells me “I am Peter Parker…(more wooshing sounds and a few screams)…also known as….Spiderman…”

…WELL WHAT THE HELL?! Thanks a lot, asshole! You just obliterated the immersive experience I was expecting to have at the theatre…and I wasn’t even at the theatre yet! Parker then goes into telling me that “nobody can know about my secret….not even the ones I love most.” Well if you can’t tell your secret to the ones you love most, why in the fuck would you tell it to ME! I’m a fucking spectator. I’m an unemployed student who writes for a blog on wordpress that nobody reads! I have long, knotted hair, and a goatee! Do I look like your fucking Sensai or something?!

How do you expect me, Peter, to immerse myself within the movie, to “feel like I’m right there,” to be one with the fucking cinematic zen, if I know your untellable secret? If you couldn’t tell anybody, and you just fucking told me, you’re obviously perfectly aware that I am not in your stupid little radioactively enhanced dimension, and that it’s OK to tell me your secret because I’m not a threat, me being a real person, and you being the figment of another real person’s imagination. That pisses me off. I was all set to “feel like I’m there,” and then you, Peter Parker, the fucking HERO for Christ’s sake, had to go and spoil it all.

It’s not like we all don’t know superhero identities. It’s not like you don’t know that Bruce Wayne is Batman, Clark Kent is Superman, Peter Parker, obviously, is Spiderman. But that’s the thing. You didn’t need to tell me and go spoiling things – I ALREADY FUCKING KNEW! I would have been able to follow the film perfectly fine, without you having to directly tell me what your fucking identity is. Hell, I’d be more satisfied with Stan Lee opening the movie with the “Peter is Spiderman” monologue, than have Spiderman himself revealing his deepest, darkest, fucking secrets to the entire world! Fuck Stan Lee, you could go completely out of context and pull in Sam Elliot to narrate the opening as a cowboy who’s “been everywhere, man,” as the song goes. Sam Elliot could intro a movie about Space Robots in the year 3000, and it would still kick ass! You know what? Add that to my list of gripes with the movie industry: Gripe Number 759) Sam Elliot has not introduced the plot for every movie in existence.

“Well maybe Spidey is talking to his conscience, or to himself, and we’re just like flies on the wall, witnessing it all.” Well fucking hell man. Spidey’s gotta be more careful! I mean look at it. He was bitten by a radioactive spider, and turned into a superhuman. He fights half-humans based on every conceivable element, insect, and cephalopod, and yet it’s never occured to him that somewhere in that big radiocative mess of a city, there could be a FLY MAN?! If I was Spiderman and saw a fly on the wall while I was vocalizing my inner monologue, I would fucking smash that fly. I can’t risk the fly gliding back across the air to his fly buddies across the city to tell them that I am Spiderman. That would fucking blow. Granted, I guess flies’ natural enemy is the spider, and normal spiders that are barely the size of the fly in the first place do a pretty good job of owning them. Hell, flies are probably afraid of Spiderman. But they aren’t afraid of Peter Parker. And to my knowledge, Peter is the one talking, Spiderman is just a fucking suit.

My last thought on this subject is another “what if” scenario. Think about it Spiderman. If Stan Lee could create you, create your big, fucked up world, and create all those villains, couldn’t he, or anyone else, just as easily come and kill Peter Parker when he isn’t looking? Are you sure you’re safe telling the audience who you are? I mean, what if I, knowing that Peter Parker is Spiderman, decided to sneak into the comic printing room, and just draw a big fat sucker punch right around the corner as Peter is walking down the sidewalk. He TOTALLY would not expect that! Because he’s dressed as Peter Parker. Nobody knows who the hell he is. Except me. You know why? I’ll tell you why. It was your own fault Spidey. You’re the one who blabbed on that commercial. You’re the one who blabbed at the opening of the movie. You’re the one who spoiled it for me. And because you spoiled it for me, I decided to use the information you gave me to spoil you back. Thanks for ruining it, asshole.


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2 Responses to “Thanks for Ruining It, Asshole”

  1. Matt Says:

    Whoa. Relax. He didn’t mean it. LOL.

  2. Rod Jenson Says:

    Well I didn’t really “mean it” either Matt. Kindly take notice at the tag on this article being “humor.” It’s all in good fun. I’m not really going to sneak in and kill Spiderman, I just thought it would be funny to pretend I was going to. You may go about your life now.

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