As a result of watching too many Sylvester Stallone, Jackie Chan, Steven Seagal, and Kannada and Bollywood movies of the 'dishoom dishoom' variety (i.e. a movie entitled "AK 47"), I've come to enjoy horribly acted, zoom in zoom out action movies that is sure to involve explosives, anxiety-producing orchestral scores, and sexy, sexy cars/jungles (although I would rather vomit several times than sit through Rambo 4 again).
Super human strength, hyper masculinity, racial profiling, and female objectification are usually necessary components of the formula action B movie genre. A robotic body helps too. A die-hard feminist (haha get it?), these movies have always appealed to me, more so because I envisioned myself as the life-saving hero, wondering how the movie would be different if James Bond were a woman. A woman of color to boot. That’s right, I’d kick your ass all the way to next Tuesday, what, with my second degree yellow belt. I took karate for a couple of months in elementary school, but I was scared of my instructor so I stopped. Actually, that’s what I told everyone else. The real reason was that I couldn’t stand doing push-ups.
Inspired by these insipid films, I often created fantasy scenarios where I would be caught in the middle of disaster and, owing to the extensive database of action movie/disaster scenarios in my head, I would always wriggle my way to safety in these fantasies. Happy endings are Hollywood’s specialty, and a sad one certainly makes for a terrible Jean Claude van Dam movie.
In my scenarios, I purposefully left out the part where Admiring, Leggy, Brooding, Generally Misunderstood Sexy Lady saunters by, and I sweep her away in my gadget-tastic car/robot and we make love on a bed with satin sheets for hours. I didn't think about that much as a kid. My parents didn't even have "the talk" with me. I just got a book under my pillow, which I think was around 5th grade. At that point, I had a crush on a boy who picked his nose, and the most I fantasized about was him doing a Bollywood song and dance number on my lawn with a couple hundred backup dancers (Sidenote: I need that red dress that Madhuri wears in that video, and I HATE salman).
Someday I will make a kickass action movie with female stars who aren’t stupid or annoying (it will be nothing like Charlie’s Angels because that movie is the equivalent of a frontal lobotomy, or at least I wish I’d had one before watching it).
P.S. If you haven’t watched Exit Wounds starring DMX and Steven Seagal, you are missing out. Put that shit on your Netflix queue, NOW.
