Lars and the Real Girl: A Movie Review

Lately, I do this every time I open my mailbox.

Why, you ask?

The reason I suffer from mailbox paranoia is because, over the last few months, I have let my fiancé make all the movie selections on Netflix. This wasn't really a conscious decision, it just sort of happened due my focus on my philanthropic activities; AKA boring the Earth for free with my Internet postings.

Selecting movies used to be different. Dig if you will, a picture: Back in the day (call it the year 2000) most couples would go to an actual store that contained VCR (Video Cassette Recorder) tapes and/or one of them new fangled DVDs and stare at walls full of cinematic adventures.

Smiling ear to ear, couples would gleefully bounce from the Comedy, Action/Adventure, and Dramasections with hands clutching feverishly onto as many copies of potential future entertainment they could hold. Debates, negotiations and vetoes would occur in the checkout line regarding each individual's picks determining their final selections. Like our fine running government, it was a perfect system of checks and balances; fair and balanced like Fox News.

That golden age has ended.

Welcome to the new Netflix monarchy.

I have witnessed many a feces-drenched movie due to my own lapse of judgment, but I reached the new regime's pinnacle of pain this past weekend. I ripped open the red and white colored package and felt the demonic disc burn it's awfulness into my palm.

The title of this catastrophe?

Lars and the Real Girl. It was officially movie night at the Fox household and it was officially 2 hours of my life that I will never get back.

For those that have not been exposed to this monstrosity of monotony I will give you the Netflix summary: Ryan Gosling plays the title character in this oddball comedy about a delusional young man who buys a life-size sex doll over the Internet -- and then falls in love with her. When the besotted young man starts telling people that the doll is his girlfriend, his brother and sister-in-law decide it's time to intervene in this film co-starring Patricia Clarkson, Emily Mortimer, Kelli Garner and Paul Schneider.

"Are You F---ing Kidding Me??"

I can't make this crapolla up. And I know that the only reason I have to watch this movie is because it stars that fuckstick Ryan "The Notebook" Gosling as the lead romantic character. I can only imagine how this movie was made and how it invaded my home. We will do this through a one act play:

Bored Producer w/More Money Than God: I have in my hands the worst script ever made. It's been sitting in my drawer for over a decade. Every director I've presented this to has declined to sign on to this project.

Desperate Director: This sounds fascinating. Please continue.

BPWMMTG: It's more than just a script. It's my own social experiment to see if ladies will watch anything that stars Ryan Gosling from the ultimate chick flick: The Notebook. Basically it involves Ryan falling in love with a blow up doll and the entire town going along with it. Gosling also knows the script is shit and is in on the joke.

DD: So it's a comedy?

BPWMMTG: No, it's a drama that explores the human heart and proves that love conquers all. Or whatever. Like I said, it's awful.

DD: I don't think I'm interested. I realize that I've only directed a Burger King training video and my biggest success was a porn named "All Holes Need Filling Vol. 8" but have standards.

BPWMMTG: I'll pay you $300 a day, a case of M&Ms, and a full tank of gas if you sign up for a total of 3 nonsensical dramas all starring Ryan Gosling. I will also pay off 10 of the top critics to endorse these movies saying crap like "A whimsical moving film."

DD: I'm in! What are the other movies going to be about?

BPWMMTG: In the next one, Ryan Gosling will fall in love with a teenage Vietnamese boy that works in his sweatshop. The third will just be a videotape of Ryan clubbing a baby seal for 90 minutes. Both should be blockbusters.

DD: Make it so.

As Lars was sent back on Tuesday, I just checked our Netflix queue to try to stop the next "time succubus" from being sent. It was too late. On Friday, my mailbox will be graced with a movie called The Diving Bell and The Butterfly.

Sweet.

Suffering.

Fuck.