Show Me the Romance

No cherubs. No doilies. No crap.

Friday Frivolity: Bring on the Pulp

I tweeted a couple of times today about John Carter—the new movie based on 19th/20th century author Edgar Rice Burroughs (of Tarzan fame)—and the decidedly mixed reviews.

The reviews range from pans verging on the eloquent:

John Carter is one of those films that is so stultifying, so oppressive and so mysteriously and interminably long that I felt as if someone had dragged me into the kitchen of my local Greggs, and was baking my head into the centre of a colossal cube of white bread.

To the rather glowing:

For me, this is the first movie of its kind in a very long time that I’d willingly sit through a second or even third time.

Knowing my rather pedestrian tastes (did anyone see me give a Bollywood rom-com 4 arrows?) and the fact that I’ve been fascinated by old pulp fiction ever since I stumbled upon a row of dusty Ian Fleming novels in my college library, I’m fairly certain I could be entertained by this movie. The only trick is convincing my husband to spend a few hours with a movie his favorite critic called mediocre.

Wish me luck!

If I’m successful, I may even post a Show Me the Romance review for John Carter–reviewing only the romance, of course :-).

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