Welcome to Hell.

When you have a bad experience, if you're like me, often you're looking for some reason as to why things went south. Maybe even a person, a face, to pin the blame on. And as I left the theater that night, my list of responsible parties had been narrowed to three: myself, Jack White, and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.

All equally responsible. All equally handsome.

There's a reason he's looking down. It's called shame.

Okay, so what the Hell was I doing at G.I. Joe: Retaliation on opening night, anyway? I had finished the first one earlier that day, basically hated it [review], so what gives? Let's look at that list a little closer...

Me - Though you likely need no convincing, I really am an idiot. I hadn't seen anything on opening night in forever, and I'm a sucker for anything even bordering on event movie. Did I just call the second G.I. Joe flick an event? Reread that first sentence. But what really got me?
Jack White - Damn that awesome trailer. You could play Seven Nation Army over footage of a basket of sleeping kittens and it would come off all kinds of badass. Throw in ninjas and a mountainside instead? Oh, I'm done. But even worse?
The Rock - Even though I'm a happily married man, every time I see The Rock on the big screen I become the direct opposite. No matter how many times I've been burned by his sub-par cinematic resume, I'm helpless to his charismatic awesomeness. It's sad, really. I wish I knew how to quit him.