Each day I pass the glossy posters vaunting that actor's face who I recognize from somewhere as a prettified stand-in for the CEO of that company that's supposed to be changing the way I think, his visage of slack-jawed moronism a lame-ass stand in for profundity as decided by some group-tested marketing-teamed tautology of whatever it is that passes for brainstorming nowadays, covered in words that purport to represent the names he has been called by his (or my) peers, to be played by earnest, attractive actors who also call up feelings of vague recognition, actors conversing intently with each other in topical settings that show the world I inhabit in roughly the same way that "Jersey Shore" shows the actual Jersey shore, words whose variety and brevity (Punk. Genius. Douchebag.) claim to indicate the strength of emotional response generated by this simulacrum of somebody I have never met and give, at best, a damn about, I feel intensely ticked-off and spurred to action both, to a degree that hits and surpasses the level of guileless eagerness to shell out $12.50 that the film seeks to find in me and so wholly misses, in tandem with my sheer fed-up-ness with the presumption that this is what I most deeply care about, and hand in hand with the suspicion that not only are they missing the point, but that this shit blows. READ MORE