My last fight came after, of all things, the movie Pacific Rim. As my moviegoing companion and I walked out of the theater, he said of Guillermo del Toro’s latest, “That was awesome.” I, on the other hand, thought it was just okay, managing to slightly elevate its robots-versus-aliens premise.
At first, we slightly disagreed. But within 15 minutes, my companion was declaring the movie a sparkling beacon in the tide of summer-movie sludge, a brilliant takedown of the destruction movie genre. I, on the other hand, was calling it everything that’s wrong with cinema today — too much action, too much testosterone and far too high a body count. Wait, but you had fun watching the movie, I thought, even as I railed against it.
As our discussion crossed the 60-minute mark, and my cheeks were fully flushed, I realized that I was no longer simply…
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