A cobra rising melodically from its basket, these diminutive figures tug at the psyche. I was initially fearful of a Pringle’s effect where the purchase of one would lead to the inevitable and unavoidable purchase of a second and third, and it would seem as though my concerns were founded. Retaining my money would be an easy proposition were these not designed for me. For everyone, really, as all bases appear covered. There are a handful of cultural norms I shy away from, aware of them in a peripheral sort of way knowing enough to carry feigned conversation at a party, but not enough to win at Trivial Pursuit, and if all offered was a college mascot, say, or replicated scene from The Notebook, I’d be fine. Having now become subject to these Beanie Baby-esque multipliers, perhaps both of those things exist as I’m finding everything I might want to imagine is available and waiting for purchase. Even things I will someday conjure are brewing just above the assembly line eager for my wallet. I saw Stitch on a shelf somewhere and smiled. I later noticed O-Ren Ishii alongside a random Crazy 88. Harley Quinn. Splinter. Chucky and the Predator. Here I became aware of the danger, of the rushing avalanche both before and behind me. And though I knew, knew, the purchase of one would lead to the purchase of many, I crumbled. Having (finally) righted a wrong and picked up Guardians of the Galaxy, the avalanche began, a snowball of special effects begging the immature core of me to buy into the swell of merchandise propaganda. Powerless, I did. First Rocket. Then Starlord (with mask, obviously), and Groot. They sit at my work desk, watching, watching as I type this sentence, in fact, waiting to be joined soon by Baby Groot, by Drax, by Gamora. I was pained to learn of Ronan the Accuser and Thanos’ existence, believing I could stop with just the Guardians themselves, but no. The snow has me.
This is not a review. This is a warning. This is Lemarchand’s Box, and it has such sights to show you.