The first sickness of the New Year is floating through the Southern household. Have to love it when one person comes down with something and promptly gives it to everyone else.
There’s not a lot to argue with when a fever strikes and you want nothing more than to heave your guts out. Team that with a wisdom tooth that wants to escape from your jaw, and you’re having a fantastic time, let me tell you.
Top all that off with the lovely piece of cinematic art known as “The Spirit” and I find myself overcome with a strong desire to crawl into bed and never come out. Seriously, watching this would be horrible on a good day. Now it’s more like torture. Dear Frank Miller, I want the last couple of hours of my life back. “300”? Good. “Sin City”? Good. “Elektra”? I don’t know, I never watched it. The latter “Robocop” movies? Eh, I’ve seen worse. But “The Spirit”? Just no. It’s my new favorite unintentional comedy, or it would be if it didn’t leave me wanting to throw something at the sheer stupidity of it all.
Maybe by Friday I’ll feel a lot better and I’ll be able to forget that I ever watched this movie.
Dear heaven, I hope so.