I would like to be able to give you an honest, calm, and - frankly - objective review of the new Ironman movie, but truthfully, my inner fangirl just wouldn't let me go for two-and-a-half entire hours Friday night. She took the reins and, instead of paying attention to any other character or any plot at all, my focus was 100% centered on exactly one thing...er, person. Hell, let's face it: I couldn't take my eyes off of Robert Downey Jr., or drag my ears away from his voice for that matter.
Take a look up and tell me that isn't one sexy, drool-worthy piece of man. When my inner fangirl was confronted with a living, breathing Doryphoros, she promptly melted into a steaming puddle of smush, hence, the entire Ironman movie was hijacked by her hormone driven motives. Though, in retrospect, I'm finding it a little hard to complain. Robert Downey Jr. is damn fine.
Tomorrow I'm going to see Ironman for the second time, hopefully in order to actually understand and follow the plot instead of being reduced to a brainless heap of hormonal squish. I've got my gear previously used in preparation for David Bowie: Crash helmet, ice bucket, heating pad, defibrillator pads, and poncho all ready for tomorrow's 1:25 showing.
I leave you with a snippet of a conversation following the viewing of Ironman on Friday night.
Woody: "Pull it OUT!"
Sara: "You'd never say that to Robert Downey Jr.!"
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