Invasion of the Tired Cliche

So Netflix sent The Invasion, which is the third telling, or second expansion, depending on how you look at it, of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The original, starring Kevin McCarthy, and the 197(8?) remake(?), starring Donald Sutherland are both great movies, but I've heard less than great reviews of this one. Kinda piqued my interest, as it tends to be the case that bad sci-fi (or syfy, as the idiot box so stupidly decided to spell it, because it decided a drop in its intelligence quotient would earn it some street cred. For an explanation, read some graffiti.) is the best sci-fi.

So I'm about to celebrate a lonely night at home with a cold by watching this movie, and I read the synopsis on the envelope. "...her son may be the planet's only hope for survival." God H. Dammit! (Thanks for that one, Brother John). Legion looked cool until the gun-wielding angel mention that a girl's unborn child was humanity's only hope for survival. John Conner in the Terminator series is okay, as is the baby in Children of Men, I don't know why yet, but that is not what I'm writing about anyway.

I just feel that the brakes should be thrown on movies where the future of humanity relies on one little brat, songs with the words "walking down the street", and religion and politics altogether. Instead, just let me enjoy the creepy monsters, sing about hot girls on escalators, and let the guys behind the curtains keep us blissfully ignorant so I can watch a movie with a new idea and listen to songs that inspire me to imagine something happening somewhere other than the street.

Here's a paragraph for those who want to see me get what I'm asking for. Not this paragraph, the one with the indention.

Greetings, readers! Today, I went to the movies, as did several of the people I see everywhere I go. What a coincidence! Not just that we were all at the movies, but they all happened to show up in the same make and model of car! Anyway, in this movie, the fate of humanity rested comfortably in the girthy arms of a sweet old lady who sang these songs with the lyrics- "I saw my baby strutting through the tundra" and "there I was, just maneuvering along the monkey bars, as I often do". It was great! Afterwards, I looked up at the sky, which was a beautiful blue with gentle wisps of cloudmatter. As the mild breeze caressed my face, I smiled, appreciated the moment for what it was, and felt no guilt whatsoever that I had made no sacrifice to feel such a pleasant feeling. Whoever runs this place sure does a great job! I'd sure be sore if someone took away my easy, happy way of life. To have a purpose just seems like so much work! I'm glad life isn't like the movies, except for the songs old ladies sing!

I actually tried to make that paragraph seem like life would wind up stupid and unenjoyable, but please, reader, take notice of all the exclamation marks. The sarcasm kinda melts away when I imagine life that way. I think I could enjoy life a lot more easily if I weren't constantly made aware of how shitty life can be, or is.

Anyway, Invasion of the Body Snatchers was fine as a paranoia flick, and even if this one is sucked all to Hell by some cliched mystical young butthole, I can always go enjoy the other two. Hopefully, in the future they'll find a new way to make us feel fucked with a 10 per cent chance of hope, which is how I feel about a future free of movies where the planet's only chance of survival is a child. Walking down the street. Campaigning for Jesus W. Obama.