Somehow, I manage to find the relevance of quotations from this film in numerous events in my daily routine. Ask me how my accounting exam on Tuesday went. I will respond in an imitation of Carrey's garbled Grinchy cadence, "If you utter so much as one syllable, I'LL HUNT YOU DOWN AND GUT YOU LIKE A FISH!" When I see your shocked, hurt expression after this remark, I then try to smooth things over with a "If you'd like to fax me, press the star key."
Alexandre Burrows just took a chomp on the Boston Bruins' star Patrice Bergeron's right index finger? "Oh, the Who-manity!"
Did you just criticize my fashion decision to wear a black shirt and black jeans? "It's not a dress, it's a kilt.....sicko."
Is that homeless dude on the sidewalk of this busy Los Angeles boulevard leaning over into the street while he takes a shit into a small plastic bag? "Oh bleeding hearts of the world UNITE!"
Or is he actually pulling out a small plastic bag that has been lodged inside his asshole? "Oh no, somebody looks FABULOOOOUS!"
I would not have such a problem with this strange movie quotation/life event associative tendency if the quotations that I were enamored with came from a legendary piece of cinema. Something from one of those AFI top 100 lists, perhaps. Or maybe from a chic Truffaut New Wave film. But, alas, it is Ron Howard's The Grinch, which is, by all definitions of the term, an atrocity. Even my 11-year old self could smell something rotten befouling the air in Lawrence Showcase Cinemas 7-14 when my mom took Ashleigh, Bubs, and me to see this in late November 2000.
The list of offenses is seemingly endless. It includes but is not limited to:
1) unnecessarily literal translations of the good Dr's twirly architectural designs
2) eery makeup effects that make the Whos look like pointy nosed werewolf babies with beer bellies
3) a hazy aesthetic to the cinematography that leaves one wondering if a cameramen accidentally sneezed on the lens early in physical production and no one decided to clean it off
Yet, even with all of these unforgivable characteristics considered, my subconscious has chosen The Grinch to act as one of my life's constants- a format of measurement by which I judge seemingly unrelated life events. This has not changed for the last eleven years and, as far as I'm concerned, it will never change.
I could ponder the reason why my brain has made the conscious decision to remember this movie but I don't think that this is the proper question I should be mulling over. Because the truth is we are all helpless in our fight against the enjoyment of bad movies. We don't pick bad movies, bad movies pick us. They seek us out individually, ready to pounce upon our consciousness.
You can't fathom Ben Affleck's terrible choices for acting roles from 2001-2009? Too bad. You and me both know that you regularly quote from Gigli in everyday conversation.
John Travolta in dreadlocks isn't your cup of tea? Then why was your wedding song Elia Cmiral's main theme from Battlefield Earth?
Nicolas Cage's monotonous drawl makes you want to stick a pencil through your ears? Then take down that poster for 2006's remake of The Wicker Man!
I am not sure why I still erupt into uncontrollable laughter when my brother adopts his best Jim Carrey Grinch voice. I have no idea why my siblings and I still pop in that DVD more than once a year. But I do know that just as good movies can bring a community together, so too can bad movies. The Grinch may be a Serrano thing but, for all I know, Daddy Day Camp is a insert family name here thing and Showgirls is a insert other family name here thing.
Unfortunately, some people close their hearts forever to the possibility of finding their bad movie. Let your bad movie find you and when it does, embrace it. I could care less if you look at me like I have three heads after I randomly let out a Grinchy salutation. I will say it loud and proud. "Thaaaat feeeeels gooood."
