By stripping away the credit blocks and pithy taglines, unsheets distill films down to their essence — an essence that may not have even been apparent when the movie was released. Studios may own copyright, but fans feel emotional ownership, and these posters reflect that. Ultimately, unsheets aren’t about the movies that came out, but the movies they became.
Here’s my favourite (because it’s for my favourite film):
I discovered a lovely Hollywood studio phrase the other day: execution dependent. It means a script that won’t make money unless good people are involved. This week’s films are the opposite: films that sell regardless of whichever talentless hack is in charge; two films that will continue to make money for the machine for months, if not years, after this review is decomposing in some abandoned corner of the Internet.
First up, the phenomenon that is Hannah Montana. For an eternity (or three years depending on your point of view) Miley Cyrus has been chewing up the tv screen as the pop singer leading a double-life on the Disney Channel. After the success of High School Musical on the big screen (and a digital 3D concert of her own that screened in Wellington last year), Miley and Hannah have hit the big time and, even though it took me a while to come around, I can sort of see the appeal.
For those coming to this particular party late the premise is this: Miley Cyrus plays a kid called Miley who dreams of being a pop star but her dad (Achy Breaky Heart’s Billy Ray Cyrus) won’t let her unless she pretends to be someone else and keeps her home life as normal as possible. As the film begins, Miley has let her Hannah character go to her head – to the extent that she would prefer the New York Music Awards to her grandmother’s birthday in Tennessee – so Billy Ray diverts the private jet to sleepy little Crowley Corners to try and bring her to her senses. Meanwhile, a dastardly tabloid hack (Peter Gunn) is sniffing out the truth and a developer (Barry Bostwick) wants to turn Crowley Corners into a giant shopping mall.
The wonderful Nellie McKay chats with the legendary Eartha Kitt for something called Harp (by the way Nellie just reviewed “Great Pretenders: My Strange Love Affair With ’50s Pop Music” by Karen Schoemer for the New York Times but that may already be behind their pay-wall);
George Bush learns to play cricket in Pakistan with Inzamam Ul Haq (who seems to have borrowed my beard). This is about the most engaged I have ever seen the man, perhaps he should try and run America while dodging bouncers.
There, all of these are weeks late but none the worse for that I shouldn’t wonder.