An open letter to Harrison Ford
Written by: Jen Huffman, special to CC2k
Dear Harrison,
How are you? I'm not sure if you remember me or not. We met a few summers ago near your ranch in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I was the girl standing on the other side of your property line in a powder blue bridesmaids dress peering through binoculars. You were riding a spotted brown horse and took your hat off to wave to me just before you disappeared. My boyfriend said it was only a deer running by, but I know what I saw.
Anyway, I felt the need to write to about some concerns I've been having. I have to say that I'm really very worried about you, Harrison. I noticed you had a new movie come out recently – Firewall, is it? It's about a guy whose family is being held hostage by some bad guys unless he gives them what they want? Then he turns the tables on them and makes them pay? And his name is either Jack, John, or Richard? Yeah … that sounds really great. Listen, I'm not really sure how to say this but over the last decade or so your movies are, well … how should I put this? Rather below par. In fact, I would go so far as to say they suck my ass. Seriously, suck my ass.
I noticed your last film was Hollywood Homicide with Josh Hartnett? What the fuck is going on here, Harrison? You worked with Roman Polanski for the love of God and now you’re in a movie directed by the guy who did Tin Cup and Bull Durham? Are you being threatened? Did you owe someone money?
You were Indiana Jones, you bastard! That means something. You owe it to the world not to mar our image of Indy with your pathetic Superbowl commercials. (And don't think I don't know about the commercials in Japan, too, you sonofabitch – what's the deal with that? You can't expect me to believe that you don't have enough money. So why? Why are you whoring yourself out to companies?)
What happened to you, Harrison? Remember back in the 80's during those halcyon days when you made films like Raiders of the Lost Ark and Blade Runner? Remember how happy and carefree we all were? We had faith in the world back then. A person could say to themselves, "Harrison Ford's got a movie coming out? I bet it won't suck!” Then we’d pay our $5.50 and walk into the theater with the birds singing behind us, secure in the knowledge that Han Solo was about to entertain our asses off and that somewhere, somehow, a happy couple was having sweaty, athletic buttsex, and that the two events may or may not have been related.
Americans never thought to question your film choices, Harrison. You want to play a cop who hides out with the Amish to protect a young boy, then falls in love with the kid's Amish mother who can't love you back? Fabulous!
Now you’re making a movie about an obsessed inventor who moves to the jungle to build an ice factory? We love it!
This one's about a guy who's an asshole and then gets shot in the head and can't remember he was an asshole so he's not an asshole anymore? OK!
Those days of laughter and buttsex are gone now, ripped from our lives and left to float sadly away like a drowned circus monkey.
Where did it all go wrong? Is it possible to pinpoint the moment when your career turned into shit?
Let's give it a try.
I think we can all agree that your last truly decent film was Clear and Present Danger, and even that was a disappointment after Patriot Games, but a good movie nonetheless. After that begins your decade-long descent into shit. It starts out slowly with the mediocre Sabrina – about as exciting as contemplating the lint that collects in the divot above your buttcrack – but nothing to be alarmed about.
Next waltzes in The Devil's Own. What a horrid mess of a film that was. The script's entire IRA plot made absolutely no sense, and what the hell does the title have to do with anything? Apparently the script and filming had all sorts of fucked up problems, but it did have some potential so again, no red flags were raised (Just as a sidenote for everyone, if you watch the film after a few drinks the giant holes in the story are less apparent.)
Now we come to perhaps the most controversial of your bad films: Air Force One. Many people disagree with me that this film sucks, including a very intelligent and discerning friend of mine who insists on watching it every President's Day. The general opinion here is – what's so bad about Air Force One? It's your regular run-of-the-mill action film where you know who's going to come out the winner and the audience will gladly suspend their disbelief if you have a fistfight on top of a plane 30,000 feet in the air. Is it a terrible film? Not really. The action is fun, the story's a little shaky, but it works, so what’s pissing me off?
You can see it coming down fifth avenue: We had all seen this movie about 500 motherfucking times before, in different iterations and permutations, in every guise and in every genetic variant, phylum and family. I saw it when you were a CIA agent who had terrorists chasing your family. I saw it whenever Mel Gibson, Stallone, or Schwarzenegger did anything. I saw it when Bruce Willis was just a sad, angry cop fighting his way out of a highrise.
(Could I just pause for a moment here to profess my love for Die Hard, even though some Philistines say it's overrated? This movie changed action heroes as we knew them. Suddenly they were human and flawed and beautiful. Yet still quite manly. To this day I cannot step into an elevator without hoping I will get to crawl out of the roof and shimmy up that metal rope thing.)
So after Air Force One you find yourself alone and typecast. Your movies are getting boring and predicable – perhaps you should try something new and fresh? Show us that you still have what it takes!
That brings us to the year 1998 and a little film called 6 Days, 7 Nights. A few years ago I put my boot on without realizing there was a wasp inside. It politely waited until I had finished lacing up the boot before it began stinging me. It took five minutes of screaming and kicking my foot against the wall to get that motherfucking boot off and another three minutes of sobbing to pull off my sock. Watching 6 Days, 7 Nights made the incident with the wasp in my boot seem like a weekend at Hedonism.
I caught a few minutes of Random Hearts on HBO the other day. Wow. I don't even know where to start. Did you guys mean to have all those pauses in between sentences? Did you forget your lines? I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your acting only seems more wooden next to someone like Kristin Scott Thomas. Also what's up with all the shots of your motorcycle? Are you trying to tell the world that you're still a young guy? Then you show up on screen wearing an earring. A FUCKING EARRING! How old are you Harrison? Do you know any other non pirates approaching social security who decide to wear an earring? Do you think Princess Leia would've put up with that shit? No, that's the kinda bullshit we expect out of Luke but not Han Solo Harrison, NOT HAN SOLO!!
There's a rumor going around about a fourth Indiana Jones movie–
Wait. Let's go back to that fucking earring, you sack of shit. Is it a cry for help? Is it your way of telling the world that your body has been overtaken by some kind of mind-controlling head lice that make you wear teenybopper jewelry and force you to do K-19: The Widowmaker? Did you seriously think you were going to get away with doing a Russian accent?! Who are we kidding here? You’re not a trained actor, you can't attempt accents, don't you ever do that again!
OK, back to the Indy 4 rumor. So it's not enough your present career is absolutely wretched but you feel like you need to destroy your past films too? Why are you fucking with Indiana Jones? It's a goddamn trilogy and it should stay that way. DON’T FUCK WITH IT. If we as a nation have learned anything from Lucas' crazy spree it’s that if you work really really hard you can completely drain the life out of great work.
Have you thought about retiring, Harrison? You've been looking tired lately. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you've got a bit of crazy eye now. I saw you on an interview last week, and you had this look on your face like you've got a secret drawer full of possum heads at home. There's no shame in throwing in the towel – you have your lovely ranch in Jackson Hole, and you and Calista could just spend your days rocking back and forth on a porch swing and reminiscing about the golden days when you were a movie star and she ate solid foods.