Actors are a notoriously insecure and self-critical lot, so what could be more awkward than having them review their own movies? Very little, as it turns out.
By Harrison Ford
In Morning Glory, Harrison Ford (me) plays an irascible curmudgeon of an old-school TV anchorman who is at loggerheads with the plucky young producer who wants to dumb down his morning show to get it out of the ratings sewer. Sweet Jesus, are you hearing this? What the hell was I thinking? Who could be emotionally invested in this inane treacle? Certainly not anybody who drives the box office. Those kids don't even watch TV news, and why should they? It's a hopelessly outdated paradigm germane to nothing in the life of any sentient being. And it has long since become a parody of itself, so satirizing it is as futile as expecting someone else to change the toner.
How could anyone blame people for being horribly disappointed in my latest insipid contribution to the cinematic effluvium? If only this piece of asinine non-art had been based on a graphic novel or a series of bestselling young adult books, maybe I would have had a shot at a wider audience. God, I hope Cowboys & Aliens at least makes me a tiny bit relevant again. Okay, the Crystal Skull made a crapload of money, but it was a paycheck and I phoned it in and everybody knew it.
Why, oh why do I feel this compulsion to keep cranking out movies, anyway? I'm fairly rich, aren't I? I've starred in a good portion of the highest-grossing films of all time. I've worked with Peter Weir and Roman Polanski. Witness is taught in universities as an example of the perfect screenplay. The Fugitive is right up there among the great scripts structurally. On Google the other day, I came across a college paper entitled Jungian Archetypes in Blade Runner. Jungian Archetypes in Blade Runner! I've tried applying these criteria to Morning Glory and the only archetypes I can come up with are the imbecile, the cretin and the dipwad. Not exactly Jungian, but maybe it will help somebody pass a course in semiotics some day.
And btw, not that I mind wispy young actresses, having married the reigning Jungian archetype in that category, but I just think there is something vaguely unnerving about Rachel McAdams' smile.
Well, I guess that's my review. If you must pay your hard-earned money to see this substandard offering, I suppose I can't stop you. But if you want an apology, you're going to have an awfully long wait. After all, I warned you.
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