Another reason is how persnickety I’ve gotten about what’s on the screen. For instance, great amounts of money, time and effort are spent by Hollywood directors to produce the most harrowing car chases imaginable.
Except I don’t feel the least bit harrowed.
There must be some rule dictated by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences that requires at least one car chase in every film, which might explain why you don’t see a lot of Shakespeare’s stuff turned into movies these days.
The thing is, no matter how many collisions eventuate, how many autos fly great distances off improbable makeshift ramps and land safely, how many bridges collapse and how many pedestrians scoot out of the way to miraculously avoid being crushed, you and I know that nothing bad is going to happen to the good guy.
And that’s just boring.
The same Motion Picture Academy principle is obviously at work in any movie that involves gunfire: Bad guys can’t hit anything when they shoot. Oh, not that they don’t try. Hundreds, if not thousands, of rounds are dispersed in the direction of the hero or heroine, but you know that the absolute worst thing that’s going to happen is a flesh wound.
Any wound won’t, of course, prevent the good guy or good gal (usually with a mere handgun against the bad guys’ automatic weapons) from ever missing what they’re aiming at.
Again, I’m sitting in the dark … bored.
But the thing that seems to annoy my loved ones and rapidly shrinking number of friends most is what they call my refusal to suspend reality when watching a movie.
This is, in my view, a base canard.
As evidence, I see nothing illogical about musicals, whether it’s Anne Hathaway’s character singing while she’s dying in “Les Miz,” or Riff and his fellow street-hood Jets doing ballet moves on the playground in “West Side Story.”