Couple that with the idiotic belief that we could give self-esteem to that burgeoning generation - an impossible idea that only resulted in supreme egocentricity (the belief that anything I do or say has to be fine because it came from ME), and we now have a thriving mediocrity in Hollywood that only older people who remember the better days can recognize.
So forgive me, folks, for finally rebelling and not reviewing this film, this latest push of the envelope that lends yet another blow to viable cinema, now with a title that aims to shock, albeit less & less successful as profanity gradually becomes the acceptable language du jour.
To look at how far we've slid, let me back up a bit.
The major complaint by today's eye-on-the-money low-standard filmmakers has been that the films of the classic era (up into the 60s) were unrealistic - too "dramatic" - too scripted, acted in & directed by well trained, mature people, sure in their craft, but "old fashioned" - to be replaced by dumbed-down anyone with clout enough (some call it chutzpah) to prove that money could be made by targeting the right audiences who will accept anything that takes little effort to enjoy - best if supported by an adolescent's tendency to rebel by doing just the opposite and reveling in it as "personal expression."
Result: a trend toward making movies more "realistic" - foregoing scripts in favor of improv, inserting anything to conceal a lack of creative talent: vulgarity, profanity, titillating iconoclastic material - with money & ego satisfaction as chief motivations.
Anyone over the age of 50 will recognize the difference between formerly adult values and the presently rank, adolescent vulgarity, and will abhor where the trend has taken us.
Those ancients (myself included) were reared on and backed by such material as E.B. White's slim, brilliant tome, "Elements of Style," the bible for good reading & writing. We learned the power & value of the bon mot, the well turned phrase, the thrill of discovering original ways of expression. Look back, just to the turn of this century, to recall films that really entertained: Chocolat, Crouching Tiger, Erin Brockovich, TrafficŠ
Except for a few of the still respected American filmmakers - Scorsese & Cameron among them - bright but unsophisticated, sophomoric talents have oozed into Hollywood to replace them. As one of the "old school" filmmakers woefully said to me, "Hollywood is now filled with stupid, immature people who shout a lot. That's how you now win out, by shouting the loudest."
To get back to this flick, which undoubtedly must havesomething to be said for the clams spent on the making of it: "Sickening violence, just the way you like it," "an R-rated comic-book movie featuring a foul-mouthed tween who constantly spews the "c" word in reference to other females, with a limitless capacity for violent killing and loving it," and "With this film director Matthew Vaughn's hilariously profane, ultra-violent take on the not-quite-so-super heroes from Mark Millar's comics: "I can't fly. But I can kick your ass."
And those are the favorable critical responses. The negative ones only corroborate my intuitive feelings about the value of such a film: "So far over the top it makes you cringe and wince," "an 11-year-old getting punched and kicked and then getting bloodthirsty revenge may well be a hit with certain audiences, butŠ" "when a film climaxes with a massive penthouse shoot-out involving, among other things, a bazooka and a jet pack with mounted machine guns, you know the filmmakers have left reality behind in favor of the anything-goes physics in similar adventures," and most telling, "it isn't dangerous, it's juvenile, like hearing a fourth-grader proudly detonate his first f-bomb in front of an adult."
I hope I've made my case for not suffering through another repulsive (but cleverly thought out) piece of you-know-what. E.B. White, where are you when we desperately need you?