We Have Done Chris Evans A Terrible Disservice

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Each and every one of us. I want us all to take a moment, and look inside ourselves. That deep down part of yourself that only you know about. You keep it secret, you keep it safe, you don't let even those you love the most in there. It's not that you've got anything against the people you love. It's just that we all need that space. It is our truths. Our essence. Even if we wanted to, we couldn't share it, not really. Look at it one way and look at it another, it never seems the same but it's all there. As we change through our lives we're just finding new facets of that core of ourselves. It is many, and it is one. And it is a fucking piece of shit because it didn't go see What's Your Number? this weekend!

Oh sure, the movie kind of stinks, and I'll get to all that in a minute. None of that is this minute's point. You know that scene where Jerry Maguire has his epiphany and he writes up that missive about how people need to be better nicer people or whatever the hell he says? I have had my epiphany. My epiphany looked like Chris Evans playing basketball in boxer briefs, and it was the most beautiful epiphany the world has ever known. Once upon a time people built pyramids for this sort of thing. The Taj fucking Mahal, man. The Taj Mahal of epiphanies! Chris Evans gifted us with a beautiful thing. He spends a good 80% of this film in some form of undress - playing the guitar in his underpants, wearing a hoodie with no shirt on underneath, walking around with the world's tiniest hand towel cradling his luxurious nethers. Gifts! Glorious gifts!


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And what did we do? We spat in his face! We spat on his perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles, and it ran down through the creases of those unbelievable abdominals, and kept going and going and you get the idea. Spit! Spit! Nobody went to see the movie and do you know what this will do? This means he'll shrug and say, Oh well. Guess I gave 'em what I thought they wanted and turns out nobody wanted that, oh well. I guess I'll never take my shirt off again, or ever play basketball in boxer briefs again, dear god did I mention he played basketball in boxer briefs? HE PLAYS BASKETBALL IN BOXER BRIEFS.

So do it. Beat the living shit out of your inner self, 

because our inner selves are living shit. Shit!
We are shit, and he is champagne!

Now... about the movie. Yeah it's all been done before, to death, and it sands off a lot of those prickly Anna Faris edges that made us love her in the first place. She's still a gas, when she lets herself be - can't forget she's executive producer - but she's not all we know she can be. Her freak flag is hung at half mast, and that is sad. And that leaves Ari Graynor as the straight man to a straight man, without too much of her beloved spunk tagging along either. They get some nice sweet sisterly scenes here and there, but it's all pretty vanilla. The "group of girlfriends" that they hang out with are just bland background noise, which leaves several scenes feeling awfully flat, and makes you long for yes I will bring Bridesmaids into the mix a group of actual characters like in Bridesmaids that get to be lively and interesting and funny and not just backdrops.

Anyway I've seen much worse - like, sometimes I'll think upon You Again with Kristen Bell and the darkness will consume me again. And I've steered clear of the Heigl oeuvre so who knows what horrors lay out there in wait. There are definitely some funny moments - the scene with Martin Freeman, with Anna caught up in escalating jibberish, is good stuff, and I wish I could remember the line but Anna actually got a snort out of me towards the end with her ever-priceless delivery. If only there were more for her to say!

Not that any of these issues with quality really matter. Not when Chris Evans did what he did for us. Shame, shame upon us all. We don't deserve the Taj Mahal. A pox upon all of our shitty, shitty, shit-filled shit-houses!

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