“There’s an old movie saying that goes ‘never work with children or animals.’ Never has that been truer than in the world of adult entertainment…” Jimmy Carr.
Ever since the rise of 1950’s budget cinema, the often whacky and weird world of Hollywood has been ravaged by a thick slime of God-awful films that would send audiences worldwide into boredom-induced comas for decades to come. Ever since that fateful day, movie producers around the globe have been handed the challenge of creating imaginative new levels of celluloid ineptitude, with each departing generation of director passing on the torch to a new breed of bright-eyed lobotomized gibbons ready to pinch one off for the sake of another quick buck.
The 50’s introduced a world of black and white bullshit where film crews short on ideas, cash, name actors and testicles would invade the abandoned film sets of past Hollywood hits in order to save money. Ever-ready to hump the tepid corpse of an idea long since milked to dry extinction, they would recycle the same lukewarm ideas until even the most retarded, apathetic, emotionally stunted moviegoers would howl and gargle with discontent. I’m talking about the painted backdrops, hilariously awful ‘special’ effects, costumes unworthy of trick-or-treating a trailer park, and acting that would make even God shudder with shame. Despite all this, however, one cinematic stool floats to the surface even faster than the rest – Child Actors. You can keep your Jean-Claude Van Dammes, your Brett Rattners and all your other garbage – child actors are the bane of my fucking life.
It’s time we trimmed the herd. It’s time we saved ourselves from the fiery fury of a vengeful God. It’s time we rounded the squeaky little bastards up and embraced their genocide. If hunting down these puke-rending little shits were to become a national pastime, I may even consider voting again. There’s nothing wrong with a childhood Hollywood actor that a good, strong dropkick to the face can’t sort out.
I have no way of proving this, but I honestly do think that child actors are the reason that napalm was invented.
You see, every once in a while a film script comes along requiring there to be children involved. While this kind of situation can normally be fixed with a simple explosion, helicopter accident or gagging order, (or even that old chestnut The Evil Brit With A Flamethrower,) some dim-witted producers decide that the inclusion of a playful, ferret-like little bugger will warm audience’s hearts and make us feel all warm and gooey inside. Big mistake. The inclusion of one of these pint-sized pricks only makes us want to strangle the little brat before we shit ourselves with hate.
The very fact that every child actor ever to ‘grace’ the screen has been out-performed by Gary Coleman is proof of my point. If you can’t make it past the level of Emilio Estevez then you might as well stay at home – the fact that you’re still too young to get dressed all by yourself is no excuse. Films have been big business since the turn of the 20th century – and since that dawning age there hasn’t been a single child actor that’s managed to pull of a decent performance. Want examples? How about the noisy little punk who played the kid out of The Munsters? See what I mean?
Perhaps even more painful than their blatant lack of acting prowess is their painfully insignificant existence. It’s always the same story; mummy heads over to Hollywood in her 20’s with dreams of stardom, headlines and million-dollar contracts – only to spend the next 15 years of her life lying on her back, staring at the ceiling and taking one up the shit pipe for the team. The only acting she ever got to do was faking an orgasm every night. These golden-haired starlets only end up one of the following 3 things:
· A waitress.
· A crack whore.
You know I’m right. So, with her dreams shattered and her shit ruined for life, she tearily discovers she’s pregnant, carrying the demonic hell spawn of some unnamed z-list movie producer with a beard and a penchant for tofu and calling all the other guys he meets ‘darling.’ Unable to afford the abortion after years of being unable to close her legs, she does the only logical thing and has the malformed little brat out of spite; a living, breathing ‘fuck you’ to the world.
And so this twisted, illegitimate hell spawn grows up into a shiny-eyed, sparkling-toothed, sugar-tongued little turd stain – all smiles and giggles, all dance lessons and stage. Positively talented, positively gleaming, positively dead inside, this hideous human train-wreck finally makes it to the stage where he/she/it can use the toilet by itself – and is that very instant whipped off to every talent show and audition that’ll have them. Forget those niggling little luxuries like school, friends or a normal life. Forget those silly little eccentricities like the fact that our star calls its agent Mommy and its Mommy Pam. Forget the fact it’s only just reached 7 and is already being piss tested for crack. Our little gem is going to be a star whether we like it or not.
After a confusing couple of years, our little wonder-child finally lands a film role, and spends the next 3 months of shooting by sucking up the screen, throwing tantrums and shedding enough tears to rival the most impressive Biblical floods. From then on it’s the big time, the A-List. Suddenly this emotionally crippled little fuck up is in the limelight, is swimming in scripts, is doted upon by army after army of sycophantic followers. After 3 or 4 performances so bad that riots erupted at the premiers, our little budding bastard then wises up, takes a look in the mirror and does the first independent thing in their funky, foolish little lives:
· They divorce Mummy, get a restraining order, give up on life and become a scientologist.
This may sound to you esteemed readers as a hollow, mindless rant. It’s not. Hell, in the last 5 paragraphs alone I’ve just described the lives of Macaulay Culkin and Dakota Fanning. That’s without even going near the annoying kid from The Mummy Returns or that rampage-inducing little goon from Star Wars Episode I.
Child stars are a living, breathing, suicide-provoking example of everything that’s wrong with the Hollywood system today. Every time I see one of these dizzying monstrosities on screen it makes me want to leap up and bury a pick axe in the little fucker’s head. This isn’t the inane ramblings of a psychotic mind, however – this is the voice of the Western world amplified through text. This is the thoughts of an angry, pissed off world burned and scarred onto the page.
I know I’m not alone. I know you agree. These infuriating little bastards have gone too far – they’ve invaded our screens, our minds, our lives, our hearts and our homes. I say we finally do the right thing and nuke the irritating little bastards before it’s too late.
Who’s with me?