Maybe I’m self-centered, but it seems like every movie Nic Cage has made as of late seems specifically designed to piss me off. He’s like some attention starved puppy, anxious to prove he’s a man capable of many different roles, but far too anxious and needy to elicit any sympathy. Honestly, he’s a man who doesn’t have a clue anymore.
I started to wonder about his mental state around the same time he expressed a desire to play Superman. I’m not even sure if that rumor was true, but his name was associated with it, and it seemed like something he would do. Then came “Ghost Rider” and “The Wicker Man” remake, a movie that can’t honestly be remade in anything even vaguely similar to the original.
What the f**k is he thinking?
“Ghost Rider” was a favorite comic book of mine as a kid, and “The Wicker Man,” while not my favorite horror movie, still holds up despite those awful songs. Cage comes along and ruins those things, though. He mauls them like a drunk, sweaty frat boy with his hands all over an underage girl’s breasts, and he leaves bruises that won’t heal. I can’t have good Johnny Blaze memories anymore. They’re tied to Cage. And all those wonderful moments in the original horror film? Gone. Replaced by “state of the art” CGI.
Whatever happened to integrity? What ever happened to choosing your roles carefully? Today’s Cage is a lapdog, eager to please while at the same time proving he can pull off a few tired tricks. “Look at me, audience! I’m versatile. I can play a weapons dealer, comic book hero and cop in a horror movie all within a few years of each other.” A cause for celebration, or a death knell?
They say there’s nothing new under the sun. Just because they say it, though, one doesn’t have to act like it’s true. One can try new things. One can refuse to act in the prescribed way. Not Cage. He doesn’t know how to say no, but unlike Samuel L. Jackson, he pretends to have loftier ideals. Jackson at least admits to acting in films because of something as insignificant as a title. He seems like a kid in the biggest, best playground imaginable, and he doesn’t give a f**k what anyone thinks. Cage would like his fans to think there’s some deep motivation behind his decisions. If you’re dumb enough to believe that, you deserve every Cage film you get.
I don’t expect Cage to read my little rant. I’m sure he’s got better things to do, like read the latest treatment for the “Tourist Trap” remake or audition for the role of Morbius in “Spider-Man 4.” If he is reading this, though, I’d like him to reflect on his life for a moment or two. I say what I say out of love for my memories. Call me nostalgic, but popular culture leaves me with few alternatives these days. In fact, all I have left is wishes, and I wish to f*****g Christ Cage would stop shitting all over the things I hold near and dear to me. No more comic book movies! No more horror remakes! No more! He’s got to stop pissing me off because there’s only so much I can take before I start demanding blood for my pain. He needs to start being an actor of caliber, someone who demands respect by the roles he chooses and the way he plays them, and he needs to stop being a goddamn prick whose only purpose in life is to star in bad movies. He’s better than that. I even thought he was smarter than that. Instead of proving me wrong, he needs to prove me right. I’d be the first to go to bat for him. I’d buy tickets. I’d buy tie-ins. But I can’t do that with what he’s presenting these days.
Think it over, Mr. Cage. Think long and hard. Sit back. Relax. M********e on it, or hire a hooker. Do whatever. Just put some energy into picking roles you can do something with. Stop taking the easy way out, and stop going for the lowest common denominator. You’re about four films away from “Dancing With the Stars,” you moron. Is that what you want?
Yeah, I think you do.