Fright Night, Conan, Spy Kids 4 ... lend me your ears.
I come to bury you, not to praise you. The bad movies men make live after them; the good are oft interred with their bones.
Critical praise, critical praise -- wherefore art thou, critical praise?
To release, or not to release -- that is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous reviews, or to take arms against a sea of rotten tomatoes, and by opposing, end them? To die a slow death at the box office. To sleep, perchance, to dream -- of a future cult following on video, or perhaps an alternate reality in which you'd gone straight there in the first place. Ay, there's the rub.
(The previous Shakespeare manglings brought to you by Anonymous, in theaters October 28th.)
I don't know, why not?
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