The Rock


Took my kids to see “The Tooth Fairy” today.

In a word—Ugh.

Here’s how I see it. I ran my first 10K as an 8-year old. I’ve been running for years—high school, college, Empire State Games, marathons. I will never, however, be an Olympian. I don’t have the talent, the drive or the time. Just a pure, 100-percent impossibility—dreams be damned.

Along these lines, The Rock will never be a good actor. Never. He is wooden like a telephone pole; overly expressive in his emotions and paint-by-number is his reactions. The Rock is shocked—mouth wide open, hands to cheeks. The Rock is angry—eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed. The Rock is sad—chin down, nose crinkled. At best, he’s a sitcom-level thespian: Todd Bridges, Justine Bateman in skill. Nothing more.

But he’s likable. And big. For some reason, that’s enough for Disney to hire him to lead a cast. But the guy is dreadful, and this movie was dreadful, times 100,001. Predictable, dull, unimaginative, illogical. I looked over at my kids—the target audience—and they were fidgeting in their seats, desperate for the damned thing to end.

And yet, it won’t end. It’ll never end. Just checked out IMDB, and The Rock is working on six other films, including one with Billy Bob Thornton and another with Samuel L. Jackson.


I have no idea.