It started about a week before M3GAN's January 6 premiere. It was the most infuriating thing imaginable. I was aware of the weird Chucky influencer thing Hollywood was passing off as a film, and I wanted nothing to do with her. That little bow, her strange dance--it was all an obvious marketing ploy to pull in a specific demographic. It couldn't be more obvious, and she wouldn't go away. It was like she was following me around online. First, it was Facebook. I couldn't scroll down without seeing her face, and then it was YouTube. That's when I nearly threw my laptop out into the street. Every time I clicked on a video--literally every time--I had to wait through a trailer.
I lived through the early days of the Pokemon craze. I've seen shameless mass marketing, but the sheer amount of money they must've spent to harass me like this--it was unfathomable. It worked, of course. M3GAN briefly knocked Way of the Water out of its top spot and everyone under the age of 14 was just drooling to get their hands on one of those dolls. I took it as a sign that people are impressionable. If something has the right style and the right amount of ad revenue, people will buy into it. I mean, they had her essentially stalking people. That didn't mean there was any value in the film--quite the opposite. Why would they spend so much money marketing something if it was worth watching? They'd ripped off a bunch of ideas, came up with some generic story, and spruced up the look. I was convinced that I could recite every plot point before I saw it, and I was right. M3GAN isn't terrible, but she's not special or unique. Nearly everything in the film has been done before--just not with that outfit. Don't expect profundity or groundbreaking special effects. There's nothing philosophical or worth adding to the public discourse. It really is just a robotic doll that looks like an Instagram model.
I was deadset on avoiding her. They had her stalking me for a week. They weren't getting a red cent out of me. I'd ride out the craze, stick to streaming my favorite shows, and ignore the fact that she ever existed. But she still kept showing up--SNL, commercials, YouTube videos. She didn't go viral; she was a virus that had infected the internet, and I hated her--those creepy eyes, that ridiculous bow. Did they really have to dress her like that? Are we training kids to act like plastic models that drink foam lattes? That wasn't the kind of culture I wanted to live in.