I am so excited over this summer’s movie outlook that I may wretch. No, really. Originality rules in this season of blockbusters. And it all starts with Tom Cruise’s (“Marrying a daughter near you next!”) new movie, in which he stars as a secret agent trying to keep corrupt antagonists from taking over the world. Included in the film will be explosions, car chases, gun fights, and sex. That’s never been done before! As the days get longer, the hot, new idea of making sequels will push the envelope of moviegoer patience, and will end late this fall in a brash array of explosions, car chases, gun fights and sex. I don’t want to spoil the surprise finale of this season’s big budget melodramas, but let’s just say that this movie’s leading man drinks a lot of shaken vodka martinis.

When was the last original Hollywood movie? After much extensive research, I found that it was made in 1594. It ended up flopping, but that’s just because it was pitted up against the second James Bond movie on its opening weekend. America, this is a problem. Year after year we are fed leftovers from so-called creative geniuses claiming that this season “is the best ever!” In an effort to learn from our repetitive diet of gruel, let’s discuss what we’ll be viewing this summer.

First up after Mr. Cruise is the finale of the X-Men trilogy. People with super powers will be trying to kill other people with super powers. Soon after that, the Man of Steel will make his long-awaited return to the silver screen, this time played by a former soap opera actor wearing a costume that looks more like a gigantic condom than the much beloved blue tights and red underwear. And lastly we anticipate the return of Captain Jack Sparrow, a fruity rock star turned pirate who searches the Caribbean seas for ways to be a good man and a pirate at the same time. I’m sure it will be a swashbuckling adventure with him fighting alongside Legolas (sporting short, brown hair and badly sparse facial hair), our elfin hero from the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

As we can see, Hollywood (“Striving to bring you the same movie again and again”) is lacking for original content. Thus, I am going to break out of my journalistic routine of criticizing everyone else while sitting here typing in my underwear and give our famed movie makers a new idea. I’m still not changing out of my underwear, though.

SCENE ONE
Picture an office on the ground floor of a dilapidated office building on the south side of Chicago. Inside the office sits a man, wearing a leather fedora and who hasn’t shaven in days. On the office door hangs a sign that reads “Lt. Hugh Cruise, Private Detective”. Enter the voluptuous blonde.
“Hello there, ma’am, may I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like a Big Mac extra value meal with Diet Coke and a salad shaker.”
“I’m sorry, but McDonald’s won’t be in business for another fifteen years. This is the olden days, and I am a private detective.”
“Oops! I apologize; it’s just that I haven’t eaten all day! I’m on the run from my husband, the violent drug lord Al ‘The Pacino’ Luthor. If he finds me, he’ll surely kill me! Can you help me?”
“Of course I can, but I’don’t come cheap. I have to pay rent, you know.”
“My husband has all my money. Would you like me to make love to you instead?”
“No! It’s not that kind of movie. Well, at least not until the final scene. You see, we’ll be on the beach laughing about how your dead husband killed himself while trying to kill me. Then we’ll make love under the moonlight on top of his pile of money that he foolishly left to you in his will. Why don’t you just take me out for a drink; I’m in desperate need of a Roy Rogers—shaken, not stirred.”

SCENE TWO
Our ruggedly handsome and witty protagonist rushes to the airport for a flight to British Columbia, the winter home of the notoriously evil Al Luthor. He has kidnapped his wife and is holding her for ransom until Detective Cruise turns himself in, allowing for a very elaborate and easily escapable death scene.
“Hello, and welcome to ‘No Fly Air’. May I help you?”
“Yes. I need to get on the next flight to British Columbia.”
“And which country is that in?”
“The home of the only country who failed to win a gold medal in the Olympics they hosted.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t fly to Canada. We only have flights departing from Canada, since no one wants to go there. The lady at the next counter might be able to help you.”
Trotting over to the next counter, Hugh repeats his question. “Do you have any flights to BC?”
“We do sir. We have one departing in about an hour. One ticket will cost you $5,384,586,657.99. Would you like me to book you a seat?”
“If I have to. Do you take credit cards?”
“Yes we do.”
“Here’s my Discover card.”
“I’m sorry, we don’t take Discover.”
“Mastercard?”
“No.”
“American Express?”
“No.”
“Visa?”
“No.”
“Fine. Here’s cash.”
“Thank you sir, have a nice day.”
Forced to run through the gigantic labyrinth of airport concourses, Hugh barely makes it to the gate by the departure time. Unbeknownst to him, the flight has been delayed for two weeks.

SCENE THREE
Finally arriving in BC, Hugh manages to find the secret hideout of Al Luthor. It’s at the neighborhood Applebee’s.
“You made it, Mr. Cruise. I’ve been waiting for you. For a long time, actually; I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”
“Of course you’d think that, Luthor, but I’m here and I’m going to stop you this time.”
“You say that every movie. Just once, I’d like to see you actually keep me from getting away.”
“Fifteenth time’s a charm.”
“We’ll see about that. Henchmen, come here!”
At Luthor’s call, two evil henchmen enter. The first, a chubby fellow wearing a running suit that looks like a tuxedo enters, brandishing a gigantic sea bass as his weapon. He has a laser beam attached to his head. The second, a woman wearing only green body paint and can transform herself into any tax law since 1996, came in with the voluptuous vixen clawed in her grasp.
“This movie’s henchmen won’t get me either, Luthor!”
“No, but they’ll temporarily capture you and lock you in an escapable cell which you’ll break out of quickly, assuming you have your pocket knife and a pair of tube socks.”
“I also brought some duct tape.”
“Away with him!”
As predicted, our hero broke out of the cell and tracked Al Luthor to a cliff overlooking the sea. The two evil henchmen tried to stop Hugh Cruise, but he outwitted them with a card trick. The vixen was thrown aside, and the two main characters prepared for the final showdown.
“You know, Hugh, before I kill you, there’s something you should know. I am your father.”
“No you’re not. My father died last year of consumption.”
“I know I’m not technically your father, but I was best friends with your real father while we grew up. I am your Godfather.”
“No!”
“Face it, it is true. Now on your guard!”
Al Luthor attacked and missed, plummeting himself off the cliff. The climax had ended and it was time for the sex scene finale. Tired and beaten up, Hugh walked over to the rescued damsel. His shirt was torn, revealing the chest of a twenty-year old body builder.
“Hugh, you’re hurt! And you have the abs of a gymnast!”
“I may be sixty-five, but I’m still making movies.”
“It’s almost sad my husband died. He was scheduled to receive an honorary doctorate in evil from Harvard next month.”
“There’s no telling if he’s dead, my lady. In fourteen previous movies, I’ve been unable to actually kill him. But that doesn’t matter; it’s time for us to make love.”
“Not yet! We forgot the explosion, car chase, and gun fight, not to mention the mandatory two hundred and seventy-seven curse words.”
“We’ll worry about that in the next movie.”