Well, my thirty-in-thirty experiment is off to a fabulous start! I’ll make two today so I can stay on track. Maybe later tonight. I will say this, here and now, so that I am not just making posts about how I’m already behind, that we are in the middle of a seriously dire bad-movie run. Three in a row, as of yesterday’s viewing of The Interpreter, which was almost a really good film until they decided to make that weird almost-love-story part of the plot. So unbelievable. So ridiciulous. Oh, Mr Sydney Pollack, what were you thinking?

Sicne we got our PVR a year ago, we’ve made a habit of recording movies just for the hell of it. Sometimes, as with The Machinist, it works out. And others, as with the recent delightful pick, Ask the Dust, it does not. (I take full responsibility for that – I saw five minutes and Colin Farrell and Salma Hayek and thought “This looks interesting!” I was wrong.)

I think we need to make a pact to check in early on in the movie. At, say, the fifteen minute mark. You can usually tell fifteen minutes in if you’re going to enjoy the next two hours. So maybe it would behoove one of us to turn to the other and say, “How is it for you? Because it sucks for me.” Instead, what normally happens is that we turn to each other right before the credits roll and say “Oh my God. That was awful. Why did we bother?” A pre-emptive strike would allow us to reclaim so much more of our lives. We could do the dishes. Or floss. Or scrub the toilet.

Any of those three things would be better than the movies we’ve been sitting through recently.