What Are We Gonna Do With All This Trash?: Bastardize, Smastardize..

December 21, 2006

Bastardize, Smastardize..

As the release dates for "The Simpsons" and "Transformers" movies draw ever closer, I find myself overwhelmed by a crippling sense of anxiety. These are, after all, two television shows that I hold near and dear to my heart and would hate to have their legacies tarnished by shallow, gaudy, 90-120 minute con jobs packaged as "summer blockbusters" (see "X-Files: The Movie"). Hollywood does has a notoriety for bastadizing all which is good and right in this world.

"The Simpsons" (in my estimation, without being superlative) is without a doubt the funniest show, animated or otherwise, in the history of television. No other comedy show has been able to put together a string of hilarious years like "The Simpsons" did from about season 3 until season 12 (or is it 13?). Granted, it is not nearly as funny anymore, and I can't honestly say I've watched a new episode in over a year... Makes me wonder if this movie is The Simpsons' swan song?

What is it about seeing the word "Transformers" adjacent to the name "Michael Bay" that makes me involuntarily shudder? Hmm... hold on a sec... let me pull up Mr. Bay's resume here... ... ...oh shit ... of all the self-indulgent tripe.... Perhaps I'm hallucinating and can't recall kick-ass cartoons from the 80s, but did Transformers look like crosses between the aliens from "Starship Troopers" and the Terminator in the T.V. show? Was Bumblebee a fucking Camaro?

Don't get me wrong. I'm going to see these movies. The trailers have me cautiously excited (a ways to go before wet-my-pants status). I'm not planning any boycotts yet. I'm approaching these movies the same way I approached Michael Jordan playing for the Washington Wizards: worth seeing once and then quickly forgotten about.

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A History Of Trash

Trash, at first, was a pretty cool guy. You know, he’d come over with some beers, and you’d hang out and have a couple of laughs. Maybe Trash brought some weed with him, and you guys tried to sync up Dark Side Of The Moon with The Wizard Of Oz until you remembered you lost your VHS copy of that movie sometime in college and that you fucking hate Pink Floyd. Good times were had, nonetheless.

But then, you don’t know what changed, but Trash started to overstay his welcome. He’d just linger for hours, never taking the hint you wanted him to leave, no matter how many times you yawned obnoxiously or mentioned how early you had to get up tomorrow. Trash just didn’t get it. You were getting older. You didn’t have the time anymore to stay up until 3 a.m. to talk about the Port season of “The Wire” or how much you miss Jawbox. Eventually, you just stopped taking Trash’s phone calls and no longer replied to his group e-mails about sneaking into abandoned mental hospitals.

Last time you saw Trash, he was smoking alone outside a local dive bar, looking down at his decaying and mismatched shoes. You hoped he had been doing well. You hoped he had not been hurt by the disintegration of your friendship. And if he had, you wanted to comfort him. You wanted to tell him that even though people move on with their lives, it doesn’t mean they stop caring. You wanted him to see in your eyes a sincere appreciation for the time you shared, because all the relationships in our lives help make us who we are, and even if you weren’t the best of friends anymore, you wanted him to know that there would always be a piece of Trash in your heart.

But instead, you looked away and crossed the street. You were with your new girlfriend, and you really didn’t want to have to explain Trash to her. She’d never understand.