Tom Hanks Just like any

Tom Hanks

In such cases, there seems to be no reason to dilate on the hatred that, say, Keanu Reeves inspires: If it isn’t obvious to you, you are probably dead. Or a teeny-bopper, which is pretty much the same thing.

But there is one actor, dear reader, who is a figure of much fanfare among both critics and moviegoers who really gets our dander up. Although we can harp on the shortcomings of, say, Nicholas Cage without fear of reprisal, we can’t carp on the failings of this guy without a look of horror coming to the faces of our interlocutors.

Who, you are probably wondering to yourself, is this actor? Well, for those of you who couldn’t read the title of today’s installment of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” we are happy to inform you that we are talking about Tom Hanks.

We aren’t quite sure what so irks us about Mr. Hanks. He has all the things we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” like in most actors: Receding hairline; ho-hum looks; pleasant countenance.

We suppose, dear reader, that the only reason we particularly despise Mr. Hanks is the fact that so many have such hagiographical opinions of him. Sure, he’s a reasonably talented chap, and fairly likeable at that. But why do so many people discuss him as if he were God’s gift to the acting profession? Why does everyone appear to think that he is a mixture of Sir Laurence Olivier and George Washington?

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are irritated by the fact that so many people have entirely forgotten the early years of Mr. Hanks' film career, and pretend that his life in the movies has been one grand film after the other.

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” respond: Doesn’t anyone remember “The Man With One Red Shoe”? That movie was too lowly for Dabney Coleman, for crying out loud. It should have made Jim Belushi—that lodestone of talent—acquire a new agent.

And let’s not forget “Bachelor Party,” the un-thinking man’s “Porky’s.” Other than the preternaturally talented Adrian Zmed (what happened to his career?), we think that that film was a real stinker.

And don’t even mention “The Burbs.” It made “Joe Dirt” seem like “Citizen Kane.”

So, dear reader, we don’t want to gainsay Mr. Hanks’ accomplishments. But we would like to remind the general populace (most of which, naturally, reads “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” with relish—and mustard) that his career has not been one great film after the next.

As one of Mr. Hanks’ famous characters once opined, life is like a box of chocolates. Unfortunately for Mr. Hanks, some of the confections taste just like “Joe Vs. the Volcano.”