It's on again. And like a moth to a flame, here I sit, slamming popcorn down my throat with both fists, watching Will Smith soar through the sky through the magic of CGI. It's me - watching "Hancock". Again. For like the 43rd time.
This time though, I'm genuinely curious - my husband has asked me repeatedly why I can't stop watching it. I scoff at him, tell him I can stop whenever I want to. My kids tip-toe around me, frightened and confused over the way I throw my head back and laugh hysterically as Will, I mean, uh, Hancock slings a whale into the middle of the ocean, knocking over a sailboat and likely killing all on board. And I myself cringe inwardly over my unholy delight at seeing Will, I mean uh, Hancock, a single buttock exposed, racing for an ice cream truck to soothe his singed, steaming, taut, muscle-bound body. Chicka-Chicka, Bown bown....
Yep. I can't stop watching it. I cannot stop watching a movie that I have openly acknowledged to be if not THE, certainly ONE OF the worst movies I have ever seen in my entire friggin' life. Ever. I mean, okay, so I have a list of of the "Top Ten Worst Movies of All Time" that I maintain in my mind at all times. "Hancock" is like number 4 on the list. And number 6.
So why can't I turn away when I encounter "Hancock" while flipping through the vast array of channels provided by my generous cable provider? Quite certainly I am a fan of Will Smith's, though not fanatic about him. And the eye candy aspect of his performance is certainly a factor, but not the only one. After all, I could just as easily rent "I Am Legend" if I just want to ogle over his beautifulness. But I find myself strangely immuned to the allure of "I Am Legend", yet defenseless against Hancock's magnetic draw. What gives?
I'm really seeking answers here. I can only hypothesize that the movie is truly SO BAD, that it's kind of like watching a really bad car accident. Except the person who's head is nearly severed, or who was thrown from the vehicle happens to be Will Smith. Or, maybe it's like having to listen to a really awful song (like "Wild, Wild, West") repeatedly on the radio so much that one day you find yourself on the iTunes store looking for the download. It's mind control. Some kind of reversed psychological phenomenon.
Whatever the case, I need help. My kids want to know why I won't stop, why I won't do it for them. My husband has given up on me, and banished me to the basement television until I can get control of my habit. And HBO, well they're completely complicit in all this - they will NOT stop showing the fliggin', flargin', filth, flarm, filth movie. Damnit, I'm only human!
(SPOILER ALERT): Oh wait! They're showing the part where he almost kisses Charlize Theron but she throws him through the front of the house instead, for no apparent reason...gotta go!
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