I don’t have any strong feelings about Adam Sandler and his work and I’m not going to get into a hackneyed discussion about how he’s gradually become a man who is using work to take vacations with his friends. If I could convince someone to pay me to take vacations with my friends, then I completely would. I don’t have any strong feelings about his early or later work. There is one movie of his, however, that I hate almost more than any other movie I’ve been exposed to and that movie is Fifty First Dates, obviously:

I was in the middle of my first dead-end relationship when she, a fan of Adam Sandler, suggested we see Fifty First Dates. We went with one of my friends because it was an Adam Sandler movie and we figured it’d be kind of dumb with a few decent jokes. Besides, they would regularly accompany to movies we all knew would be horrible because I am a cinematic masochist. Fifty First Dates delivered on its promise: kind of dumb, a few decent jokes. Then, the ending. My friend and I had gone into it thinking that, somehow, Drew Barrymore’s character would be healed through the power of love. After all, it was an Adam Sandler movie. Instead, she winds up with her mind just as broken as it had been in the beginning with a child and trapped in the frozen oceans of the north. This was horrifying that night and it hasn’t gotten any better in the interim.

This post wasn’t that great. I apologize. I just didn’t like this movie.