Here's an Ultimatum

Thinking about going to the movies sometime soon? Do you have any idea how much tickets cost now? Remember how disgusted you were the last time you bought a ticket? Well I guarantee they're 50 cents more now. Oh, you went two weeks ago? Then it's probably 75 cents more by now, smartass. Movies have sucked so bad this summer that the demand curve has shifted left, driving prices (and the number of pre-preview Coke commercials) up. Probably. What am I, an economist?

The point is, we all have to be increasingly careful about how we allocate our movie-ticket funds. As surely as restaurant service will suffer once a 20% tip becomes the standard reward for managing not to spill a carafe of hot coffee on your child's lap, so too does the quality of movies reflect what we are willing to pay for. That's why I modestly propose that everyone over the age of 12 reward Universal Studios and your local cinema house with your patronage, and soon. I'm talking about getting in front of a screen that's showing The Bourne Ultimatum. If it's not the best action movie of all time, it still reaches those dizzying heights where the Rightful Occupier of the Pedestal of Greatest (within agreed-upon genre) is debated among movie geeks and bloggers.

The Bourne Identity was really good--surprisingly good. The Bourne Supremacy was great--one of the best action movies ever--and it was doubtful that the third could match it. More than matching it--Bourne III surpassed its predecessor. For a trilogy to start as well as it did and get progressively better is unprecedented. Ultimatum completes what is now most certainly the best trilogy of all time--firmly and decisively unseating the previous holder of that distinction. Heh.

For your consideration: Superior, non-stop action with little-to-no reliance on explosions. Sustained adrenaline rush that leaves you drained and tired an hour or two after the closing credits. A near-omnipotent CIA infrastructure making full use of the intricate camera system in London. Villians that are almost patriots, but at some point before the narrative crossed the line without returning to the side of the good guys. Political commentary that is left in the subtext where it freaking belongs. A protagonist that would kick James Bond's ass between his early morning run and late-morning gym attendance, or perhaps use his bafflingly high intelligence and a paperclip to reprogram 007's gadgets against their master. Oh, and they did it all with a PG-13 rating. In. Credible. How watchable would "Shooter" have been without the eight dozen explicit killings via bullets to the head that gave it a certain "R" rating? If you answered "not very" you'd be correct. Unless you've somehow managed to make it through life thus far still sensitive to brutal violence, in which case I envy you. Hang on to that.

Anyhow, there are a good many people who have a natural aversion to the movie theater, and with those people I sympathize. Even as I entered the movie theater to see the aforementioned masterpiece my brand-new, piping-hot 20-oz Dunkin' Donuts' coffee was firmly forbade entry as my inanimate companion. Surely, I had rationalized, with ticket sales down so much this summer, theater owners would try their best not to antagonize the faithful few who are still willing to shell out 10 bucks a pop. I begged and pleaded, and was still told to "finish my drink in the lobby before the start of the film", which translated to applying second-degree burns to my mouth, tongue, and esophagus. Naturally this made me madder than I have been in a year. Glad no one was hurt, especially the nice lady who was only doing her job. I regret looking at her as if I wished her children had incurable diseases.

The price, the noise, the people who won't shut up, the crowd, the sticky floors, not to mention the ever-increasing sophistication and affordability of the home entertainment room. On the other hand, shut up about all that. The phrase "you have to see it in a theater" is thrown around too often these days, but as I am cautiously sparing about its use, it means a lot when I say it (so says I). Your girlfriend's or wife's father may have a pretty decent set-up in the basement for watching movies, but this movie is so good that decency requires immediate patronage.

Or maybe you were thinking instead that you'll go see:

• Transformers. Bad idea. A bunch of Hasbro toys materialize in outer space and make war here at our planet. Who needs nostalgia from the bottom of the barrel from arguably the worst decade in the history of pop culture? Get with the times, people. What's next, a Thundercats movie? If anyone from Hollywood somehow reads this, please wipe the previous sentence from your memory immediately, and move on to the next bullet.

• I Now Pronounce you Chuck and Larry. See, this is what I'm talking about. This movie has already made about 80 trillion dollars at the box office and I could probably make a better movie with my Sony camera, a coffee mug with a face painted on it, and any random housecat. It would probably be a movie about racial harmony or something, making you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

• The Simpsons Movie. If the show stopped being watchable during the Clinton administration, why in the world would the movie be anything more than a reminder of how completely flawless the show used to be? Remember the (paraphrased) words of Troy McClure: "Who knows what wacky adventures the Simpsons will have between now and the time that the show ceases to be profitable?" Indeed.

• Hairspray. Fresh off his role as smooth assassin Vincent Vega in the critically-acclaimed Pulp Fiction (he may have done another movie or two in the interim), John Travolta uncomfortably steps into a fat suit and ladywig for every red-blooded American male's favorite kind of flick: The movie musical! In Baltimore, where I more-or-less live, John Waters is somehow considered proof that we are an important movie city. To what extent that is true, I don't know. Apparently quirky characters and NC-17-bordering smut are a really good combination in movies, but that's for critics to ultimately decide--which at least in the case of John Water's has been answered in the affirmative amongst the Baltimore crowd. Long story short, Hairspray probably sucks.

• Rush Hour 3. Usually when I pay money to see a comedy I expect some laughs instead of the pity I will feel for the once-admirable actors starring in a tired cashcow. "Don't evah touch a black man's iPod, Lee! You speaka English yet?!?" Maybe their mattresses stuffed with thousand-dollar bills will help them get some shut-eye, because it definitely won't be the knowledge of participating in something good.

Alright, seriously, go see The Bourne Ultimatum, and while I appreciate and am humbled by the tears of gratitude, perhaps they should be directed to people involved in the production or something. Or you could stop crying altogether--are you OK?