Today I was in the Old City area so I decided to check out a movie called the Art of Travel. A film about a 19 year old who finds out that his fiancee (yeah, he’s getting married at 19) is cheating on him with his brother. So at his wedding, he puts envelopes with a pic of his brother and his bride in bed together. (Because if you’re going to cheat on your husband with his brother, you’re going to take photos to commemorate the occasion.) It only gets dumber from there. He flies to Managua, and instantly meets up with two ridiculously hot girls from the Netherlands and has a three way with them. Because that’s what happens to 19 year olds when they go to Managua. He then meets a couple who convince him to go hiking through the woods with them and some of their friends (one of whom happens to be a ridiculously hot Panamanian girl). They hack through the jungle with machetes for months on end, for no good reason. Just to do it.
The dialogue was amazing, with such gems as: “I’ve learned more here in the last 9 months than I did in all of high school. About myself, anyway.” By 45 minutes in, our unflappable 19 year old star had a) jilted his wife at the altar b) had all of his money stolen c) been mugged at knifepoint for his watch d) banged two of the hottest women ever e) met a jungle tribe f) saved the life of one of his cohorts by courageously pulling him out of an out of control jeep g) beaten everyone in the camp at chess and h) almost been bitten by the world’s most dangerous snake. All of this, mind you, without ever getting at all excitable or emotional or even breaking a sweat, just accepting that these things happen. This moviewas what Indiana Jones would be if Indiana Jones sucked.