An Open Letter To The New Yorker
Dear New Yorker,
Obviously, you are an awesome magazine. However, I have one small, teensy weensy beef. Could you please—possibly—stop ruining the ending of movies for me? Last night, on a 10-hour flight from Buenos Aires to New York, I sat down determined to catch up on your last three issues. In one, I read a review of Jake Gyllenhaal’s newish movie, “Source Code.” I had been planning to see it. Emphasis on the had. While you didn’t go into details, you told me how it unfolds in the end. Which sort of takes the wind out of a movie’s sail, doesn’t it? But even worse, in a fantastic article about Anna Faris and her specific brand of girl humor, you let me know the surprise twist ending of her upcoming click, “What’s Your Number?” Which. Doesn’t. Even. Come. Out. Until. SEPTEMBER. Reading this reminded me of the collective sigh of 100 students in my Intro to Film Studies class in college when our professor told us the secret to “Chinatown” before we watched. I don’t want to break up. I’d just like to politely ask that you to remember that endings are sacred. Or perhaps if you have a point to make that will give away important plot resolution information, you could use the words “spoiler alert”?