Cami and I narrowly avoided seeing The Real Cancun this weekend. We got in the car, drove to the theater to check for show times, grabbed dinner and then thought better of ourselves before deciding we should just go home. What can I say? We were bored. It was a moment of weakness.

I feared that any success that would befall The Real Cancun would bring nothing but bad tidings for the rest of us for all eternity. Billed as the first “reality” movie (suddenly documentaries don’t count?) The Real Cancun was filmed in 2 weeks in March of this year, edited in another 2 weeks from 80 hours of footage of a bunch of bronzed morons killing brain cells over their spring break.

We’ve already seen what reality programming to TV having wiped most produced dramas and comedies clean off the slates of most prime time rosters. Should The Real Cancun do any real business, a wave of this kind of material would surely follow. I didn’t want to be a part of that.

I mean, when you get down to it, what is The Real Cancun but a two hour long episode of The Real World where you finally get to see some boobs? Do you want to admit you carved out a block of time for that?