Julie & Julia

Bomb Rating: 

Attention Hollywood: there are two things you should never make a movie about. Blogging. And Cooking.

Attention Hollywood: there are two things you should never make a movie about. Blogging. And Cooking.

Why not blogging? Do I even have to answer this? Everybody blogs. Your landlady blogs about her psoriasis. Your nephew blogs about his wet dreams. Your goldfish even blog about their short lifespan and what you do in front of your computer when your roommate is at the laundromat. No one cares. I mean, if anyone actually did, we’d all be rich, right?

Cooking is also fairly self explanatory. Despite the fact that there’s an entire television channel dedicated to food, the only people who watch it are the same sad sacks who pay way too much for beef made from cows that had their asses wiped by organically-cloned smaller cows that are later made into sausages sold at Whole Foods. In other words, total losers.

Unfortunately for us, someone had the brainwave to somehow combine both blogging and cooking and make it into a semi-biographical historical drama about a woman built with the dimensions of Big Bird. Yes, that’s right – I’m talking about “Julie & Julia.”

I guess now that Dom DeLuise is dead, there was no way they could make a believable biopic about any of the famous fat man-chefs that probably number in the thousands, so instead they turned to Julia Child. Big mistake. In order to make any movie interesting, you need to have conflict, and Child essentially lived a gilded existence on the U.S. diplomatic tip. She’s about as easy to relate to as a statue of Lincoln looking down at you sternly from the foot of your bed while you sleep.

The other main character in this film, played by noted tomboy Amy Adams, is equally off-putting. However, her inability to engage an audience is more related to the fact that she is just so boring to look at the right side of my face fell asleep halfway through the movie. Adams, the human equivalent of wallpaper, is dull enough that exposure to her role in this film is almost guaranteed to kill more brain cells than taking a direct hit off the helium tank in the back of a carney’s pickup.

I propose that the sequel to “Julie & Julia” attempt a fresh melding of the blogosphere and the cooking world, one with a more modern twist. In place of a dead American icon and a mousey New Yorker, the film could instead focus on a living-dead Midwestern cowboy and a disgraced high school chemistry teacher. Together, they don’t get to know each other through a bunch of French recipes – instead they cook up some fucking meth, create a MySpace page that’s sort of about their band but really about how lonely they both are, and then unleash their reign of terror on an unsuspecting countryside. Oh, and the movie wouldn’t need any dialogue, either. Just a loop of people screaming over and over. And maybe some crying. Do you smell something burning?

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