Editor’s Note: The following poem comes to us from our resident sonnetist Adam Sweeney. Consider it our experimental article of the week…

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – 2008 Film Edition

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the movie house
Not a Reject was stirring, not even Despereaux the mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes of an advanced copy of Slumdog Millionaire.

The critics were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Megan Fox danced in their heads;
And Neil Miller in his neckbeard, and I in my cap,
Had just sat down to debate why The Love Guru was such crap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
It’d have made Seth Rogen and James Franco put down their Pineapple Express brownie batter.
Like Paris Hilton’s skirt, I flew up like a flash,
And for a split second pondered why Orlando Bloom can’t grow a mustache.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
made me think about Twilight and Lindsay Lohan before she snorted blow,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a brand new Blu-Ray player, and a six pack of beer.

With an Apple MacBook, so lively with his film picks,
I knew in a moment it must be Film St. Nick.
More rapid than Eagle Eye’s editing, his favorites they came,
And like the Cloverfield monster he stayed out of frame.

“Now, Wall-E! now, The Wrestler! Quantum of Solace and its vixens!
On, Iron Man! on Milk! on your way, Frost/Nixon!
Run Beverly Hills Chihuahua off the porch! Smash Tom Cruise’s head into the wall!
Now bash away! The Happening! ‘cause that film sucked all our balls!”

“Putting Al Pacino in Righteous Kill,” I heard him ask, “why?”
“George Lucas, you knew a new Indiana Jones film would blow, why even try?,
Like Eli in Let the Right One In, he magically flew,
With a sleigh full of DVDs, including Hellboy 2.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard him speak the truth
“Not another shitty spoof,” as he threw Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer off the roof.
As I drew in my hand, I heard, “Nicolas Cage is a clown,
And down the chimney Film St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed in fanboy gear, from his head to his foot,
like Robert Downey Jr. in Tropic Thunder, he was painted in soot;
A bundle of movie toys he had flung on his back,
And he said, “I’m addicted to Watchmen video journals like they laced them with crack .”

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His face lit up like The Joker’s, only not quite as scary!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
He asked, “did we need to see Jason Mewes’ dong in Zach and Miri Make a Porno?”

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
He yelled out, “has Judd Apatow cornered the market on comic relief?”
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook as he laughed, “they can’t get Nick Frost through a door without petroleum jelly.”

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I considered asking him for half of Will Smith’s wealth;
A twitch of his eye, he deliberately said,
“Another movie like The Spirit, and I’m calling for Samuel L. Jackson’s head.”

He let out a sigh, and went straight to his work,
Filled all the actors’ stockings; except for Jared Leto, who he said was a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He said to look out for Anna Faris and see how her star grows.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team of bad actors gave a whistle,
Like Keira Knightley in a breeze, he flew away like a missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and a Best Picture nod for The Dark Knight.”

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