Here I am, in the belly of the beast, prepubescent girls surrounding me, Ray Bans shielding my identity. I am alone in the world. I take a deep breath as my balls recede back up into my body, a dying glimmer of what my manhood once was. I prepare for the Armageddon.
So, the One Direction movie was terrible. Yeah, no shit. I’m pretty sure I’m preaching to the choir on this one. My expectations entering this were pretty much at rock bottom to begin with, but I think my propensity to be objective might have set me up for disaster. This movie was next level shitty. Just zero redeeming qualities. Unforgivably horrendous. War crime status. And I should know, I saw Spice World—in a movie theater—in 1997, so I’m kind of the authority on shitty pop music films.
Eye liner all over the place, artificial sentimentality and for some unexplainable reason, 3D. Because when I want to see a bunch of gangly kids ruining “Teenage Dirtbag” by Wheatus, I need it blasted into the back of my dome piece via all three dimensons. Just think about this for a second: A group of grown ass men and women sat around a conference table one day, deciding how to best maximize their ticket sales and one of them stood up and was like, “I think we need to see these hairless, boyish imps in 3D. Like, we’re already horrible people, so we might as well jump head first into this thing.”
What did you expect? Niall is, like, twelve-years-old and I’m pretty sure Liam is legally retarded. If you went to go see this movie expecting to see A Hard Day’s Night, that’s your own fault, homie. But truth be told, I didn’t leave the theater feeling bitter at all. I just thought, "Hey, good for you, One Direction." Like, this must be how parents feel when their child doesn’t win the three-legged race, but gets the blue participation ribbon. You can’t say, “Way to go, you pathetic loser.” You just have to be all, “Proud of you, kiddo! We are gonna hang this ribbon right here on the fridge so everybody can see it.”
And actually, once you get past the choreographed shenanigans and the gratuitous shirt removal, the experience isn’t really that awful. Maybe you could spend the rest of the duration of the beating that Candy Crush level that's been eluding you. Or perhaps you’d rather try to convince your girlfriend to give you a buttery hand job. Personally, I imagined what it’d be like to throw myself down a flight of stairs. You’ve just gotta have that glass half full mindset, you know? This world is no place for a pessimist.
Listen, I don’t hate boy bands. Admittedly, I think 'Summer Girls' by LFO is one of the last great American classics, and I listen to Color Me Badd when I masturbate. Who doesn’t?
Straight up, I even laughed during one scene, guys. The gang heads down to Africa to promote their new single, “One Way or Another (Teenage Kicks)”. They stick out their tongues and get into all sorts of crazy, feathered-haired, hijinks with the local starving children. It was kind of a spectacular, real life “African Child” situation, as in the notorious fictional song from Get Him To The Greek.
Listen, I don’t hate boy bands. Admittedly, I think “Summer Girls” by LFO is one of the last great American classics, and I listen to Color Me Badd when I masturbate. Who doesn’t? But there’s just something about One Direction that just doesn’t sit right with me. Something that gets under my skin. Oh right, It’s their fan base.
All boy bands have their fair share of preteen girls screaming and pulling their hair out in appreciation, but One Direction has only preteen fans—a hundred million teenyboppers and their Lisa Frank school supplies. Okay, so let's not forget Randy who is also really into My Little Pony and Taxidermy. But on the whole, preteens.
And it’s totally One Direction's own fault. They’re all pretty much in their twenties but they don’t curse, their songs are about making out and having fun, and they dress like they’re straight out of a Disney Channel Original Movie.
What’s your angle, One D? These other illustrious boy bands in the history of illustrious boy bands sold out their manhood with the endgame of getting their knobs gobbled by gaggles of legal-aged sleuths. What the fuck are you guys aiming for? Are you trying to bone the mothers of these little girls? No, that's too easy. And since I'd prefer not to debate the pros and cons of California Raisins vs. Georgia Peaches, let's just end this thing.
Four Pins Rating: 1/10 Blue Participation Ribbons
Matt Rimer is a writer living in Boston. Follow him on Twitter here.