Keanu Reeves I can't stand. Ben Affleck I appreciate when he's working with Kevin Smith. Tom Cruise repulses me, and is about the only new name I can add to the list. By and large, though, I'm so disconnected from the common marquee hits of Hollywood that I couldn't tell you who's in it. I happened to see part of Garden State last weekend while drinking at the Cyclops, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. That was, I've been told, a good film. Horsepucky! The best thing in it was the hot, wet teenager, and they spoiled that scene with a golf cart.
Couldn't tell you who's in it, though. And that's the thing. I don't care. To draw a parallel, if I still pick on Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Puddle of Mudd, and Papa Roach, it's because I don't know who the hell is in the Top 40 these days, and most likely don't want to know.
But I will say that it's getting to the point that Ben Stiller and Carmen Diaz ought to be prohibited by law from ever again appearing in the same film.
(Say what you want about Susan Sarandon, but two performances earn her a lifetime pass: Bull Durham and Rocky Horror Picture Show. Thankfully, she generally makes different films than the kind I'm likely to see.)
Oh, hell ... Barrymore. Drew Barrymore. I almost enjoyed a chick flick once, but Drew Barrymore absolutely wrecked it. Boys on the Side was the last time I ever sat through a chick flick.