Have you noticed how bad movies are getting?
It seems on this art the sun is now setting.
There are no more classics or timeless great tales,
No more Gregory Pecks getting tangled with whales,
Just whacks and slams and stunt-drivers doing rolls,
Dialog reduced to the chin-wag of trolls.
Take “Gladiator Two,” and what do you see?
Swords, shields and blood with some talk in betwee’.
The hero fights monkeys that scream, scratch, and scritch,
Never figuring out it’s just AI kitsch.
Well, give him a break, that was all Before Christ,
Before cell phones, Super Bowls, and tickets cents-priced.
Or “Mission Impossible: The Final Reck’”:
Two good action scenes and two hours of dreck,
Cheap moralizing about nuclear war
And if man or machine controls earth from top drawer.
Personally, I would’ve preferred the machine,
Which surely could put less ridic’ fare on the screen.
“F1: The Movie” deals with racing arcane,
Like Brad Pitt wearing messy-perfect his mane.
He smiles, he jabbers the most colorless lines,
Like all lone wolves ignores his boss’s guidelines.
He upholds his morals, takes defeat like a man:
For a 30 mill paycheck, he damn well can.
You watch these fine actors going through motions,
Carrying on their long-hackneyed commotions,
As beyond camera and cable techies tense huddle,
Each of them mustered to this tawdry dumb muddle,
All despairing that they’ll ever get to apply
Their skills to a project worth a grade of Art High.
Well, it’s a living, all and sundry pay rent,
And giving the public its fill’s their intent,
So in the sequence well-filmed solace they take,
Technical triumph despite crowds, rain, and snake,
Made to relieve folks of the problems of day,
And gasp like bumpkins at tall figures of clay.
