It seems absurd, so absurd, to try to write a review this week.

What do I say? “Oblivion,” the new post-apocalyptic yarn with Tom Cruise was fine. It wasn’t particularly bad, and Cruise is always reliable, but for the life of me I can’t remember all that much about it.

Right now I’m sitting in my pajamas, drinking my third cup of coffee, and switching between local news and MSNBC. I’m watching what might as well be a real-life Tom Cruise movie play out less than a mile from my apartment. This is after I ran from the explosions at the Marathon five days ago in Copley Square, and went home to count the messages on Facebook telling me my people were alive. It does not feel like the end of the world, but it does feel like something is slouching towards Bethlehem, and I can’t slow its progress.


Directed by: Joseph Kosinski

Written by: Joseph Kosinski, Karl Gajdusek and Michael Arndt

Starring: Tom Cruise, Morgan Freeman, Olga Kurylenko

Rated: PG-13

It was the wrong week to watch “Oblivion.” It was too cold, too inhuman. I remember vaguely that the production design was spectacular, a vacant, blasted landscape in what used to be New York City. I remember a HAL-like machine that resembles nothing so much as a giant glowing metal vagina- which I could probably write a whole Master’s thesis on if I had the inclination. But everything else is lost in the maze of my fear and my rage and the bittersweet feeling of being tethered to a wounded city.

“Oblivion” will most likely be a bit lost in the shuffle over the coming weeks. And I honestly can’t tell you whether it’s worth the ten dollars and two hours of distraction. The world is a dangerous enough place that I’m not sure I’m into watching fake danger right now. This shall pass, as all things do; we’ll see the other side of this crisis, and before I know it I’ll be primed and ready to see Morgan Freeman try to nuke a spaceship again.

But not this week. Not today. Today, I pour another cup of coffee, and listen to the endless rain that is cable news coverage. And focus on the violence right in front of me.

About The Author

Emma Johnson is a Blast Magazine critic whose work has appeared in The Boston Globe

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