An Open Letter to Hollywood (Redux)

Dear Hollywood,

We need to talk. I feel like something is missing in our relationship lately, and to be totally honest I think it's you, not me. What happened, Hollywood? You used to be so fun, with your whip-swinging archaeologists, DeLorean riding time travellers and lightsaber swinging Jedi. Then something went horribly wrong, you just didn't seem to care about my needs anymore. I tried telling you I just couldn't take another remake of Piranha 3-D, but you didn't seem to care. I suffered through the umpteenth Saw flick, smiled politely through your (frankly insulting) reimagining of The Karate Kid and even sat with you through several rehashes of Superman, just hoping and praying our relationship wasn't really dead. You kept inviting your old drinking buddy Russell Brand over - I guess you figured a party clown might liven things up. It didn't; I spent all summer cleaning up after the two of you.

Then there's the reality shows. At first I thought you were kidding, that maybe it was some kind of little game you were playing, like the time you did that thing with Eddie Murphy as the super hero from space. But no, the horrors of the Jersey shore, Survivor, the Real Housewives and the Kardashians were all too, well, real. Maybe you thought I would enjoy the circus, maybe you felt this would spice up the relationship and give us a much needed boost - like when we took some time off in Middle Earth to help that little guy return his jewelry. That was fun!

For a time, I thought I might actually be getting you back: you suddenly seemed your old self again, introducing heroic Iron Men and Captains courageous into our lives. I came home to find a bouquet of Doctor Strange, Mad Max and a new flower you called The Revenant. You remembered the magic that I thrilled to when you awakened the Force this last summer. You traded up from Russell to Sully and the room smelled decidedly fresher for a change!

Then something happened.  

You found your old stash of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and your Suicide Squad action figures and suddenly you just didn't care about what we had. Then there was that Ghostbusters fiasco. I can't even talk about that with my therapist without losing it. It's like you reverted to your younger self, but in a half-assed, mid-life crisis type of way. I realize now the Hollywood I once knew and loved is gone. No more will I know the feeling of adventure with the Goonies, the thrill of escaping the jaws of my favorite dinosaurs in Jurassic Park, enjoying the post-apocalyptic scenery while dodging a Terminator or two (or three), or getting all warm and squishy at the romance between a boy and his Princess Bride.

So I'm leaving you, Hollywood, at least until you can get your act together. I'm thinking of dating your sister, Television. Hell, maybe I'll even pay your cousin Literature a visit. It's been a while and I hear she's really hot now! Don't worry, I'll never give up hope that one day we might know what it is "to love and be loved in return" (you probably don't even remember what I'm talking about).

Here's looking at you, kid.
~ J.