Only in America could Tyler Perry, a talentless and middling playwright, act out his cross-dressing fetish in public to an endless train of wheelbarrows of money. His movies have grossed a combined half a billion dollars and his pair of televised mintrel shows are going strong on TBS.
It’s a true Horatio Alger story, going from unemployed and, apparently, homeless to a millionaire, cross-dressing star, director and writer of Step N Fetchit routines that are adored by a passionate and brain damaged fanbase and despised by everyone else. His case is among Hollywood’s most strange.
Can someone, somewhere in this wretched universe explain to me how a movie where Mark Walberg and a talking bear drink, smoke weed and snort coke for 100 minutes can make over $200 million? Have we all lost our damn minds? If this isn’t a sad and sordid referendum of our cultural times I don’t know what is.
I was watching The Avengers a couple weeks ago, after finding some free passes in the bottom of my mother`s purse, and it wasn’t until after Scarlett Johannson had rendered her 27th victim unconscious with an assortment of acrobatic kicks that I realized we are in the halcyon days of ass kicking females. I can’t decide whether this trend is a good or bad thing.