The Eye

By Mark Ramsey | 2008/02/04

If you worry about where a used car has been before you owned it, just imagine what you have to worry about with used eyes.

Leave it to the geniuses in Hollywood to design a movie around the least interesting part of Jessica Alba, the part staring expressionless into space as she delivers lines like she’s dictating the recipe for Rice Krispies squares.


Yes, I’m talking about The Eye.

You see, Jessica is blind, the pretty kind of blind with lovely, opaque blue eyes. The kind of blind one wears like a cute outfit from a darling boutique.

“I studied with actual blind people to learn to be blind – just as I studied with a litter of puppies to learn to be cute,” Jessica explained.

Fortunately, Jessica’s lips are so absurdly full they form their own Braille allowing her lipstick to stay precisely within the lines, although with an ocean of lip like that its remarkable the lipstick doesn’t vanish into the Bermuda Triangle between her nose and chin.

Jessica is a classical violinist. Yes, that’s right, the first classical violinist who dots her “i’s” with smiley faces. Who needs years of training locked in a practice room when you can spend years training topless on a beach, followed by paparazzi?

Violin? At first, Jessica balked: “If I’m going to put strings near my chin they’d better be connected to a puppeteer with some acting training.”

Just in time, Jessica has a cornea transplant, which is surely the only thing on her which requires an upgrade.

No sooner does she have new corneas than she begins to see things seen by the eye donor! It’s called “cellular memory,” where the cells of the body supposedly remember stuff and carry those memories around like Amy Winehouse carries around a portable stomach pump.


“Let’s hope my corneas remember where I left my keys,” said Jessica, hopefully.

She sees one ghostly hallucination after another. “Have you seen my report card? Have you seen my report card?” Jessica is trailed by an approval-seeking spectral youngster who seems to think that her corneas have been perusing some supernatural Lost & Found.

“Have you seen my report card?”

“No! I have not seen your damn report card,” she says. “Why don’t you go haunt Pokemon or an Xbox! Send back Patrick Swayze, and tell him I want to sculpt some clay!”

It was at this point that my corneas began to wander, as my cells strained to remember whether I made the bed or not this morning.

Now at some point you’d think the doctors would try a new set of corneas, because not only would this solve her problem but there would be no movie, thus solving our problem.

“This surgery was supposed to make me normal!” she complains.

“Why would you want surgery that does that?” says her doctor, trying to knock some sense into her. “Normal wants surgery to be you!”

Meanwhile, the camera cuts quick and the shock-noises abound to simulate the kind of scares that everyone in the audience would need new corneas to see for themselves.

Wait, my cells are trying to remember if I watched Judge Judy yesterday.

And then there are explosions – replayed over and over. Because if a movie company is going to spend this much money on a big boom they want you to see it from every angle.

That way, when you tell folks that The Eye blows…

…it won’t be just a cellular memory.

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