Box Office Breakdown! Sonic Stays At The Top! Birds Of Prey Falls! Call Of Wild Dashes To Number Two! And More!
Sonic The Hedgehog dashed his way to number one for the second week with $26.3 million.
The Call of the Wild resonated at number two, opening with $24.8 million.
Birds of Prey flocked down to number three with $7 million.
Brahms: The Boy II was a doll, opening at number four with $5.9 million.
Bad Boys for Life bonded at number five with $5.8 million.
1917 held the line at number six with $4.4 million.
Fantasy Island was deserted at number seven with $4.1 million.
Parasite was a leech at number eight with $3.1 million.
Jumanji: The Next Level still scored at nine with $3 million.
Rounding out the top ten was The Photograph with $2.8 million.
Check out the full box office chart below:
1 | Sonic The Hedgehog | Paramount… | $26,300,000 | $106,601,671 |
2 | The Call of the Wild | 20th Cent… | $24,820,000 | $24,820,000 |
3 | Birds of Prey (And th… | Warner Bros. | $7,005,000 | $72,529,015 |
4 | Brahms: The Boy II | STX Enter… | $5,900,000 | $5,900,000 |
5 | Bad Boys For Life | Sony Pict… | $5,860,000 | $191,175,645 |
6 | 1917 | Universal | $4,400,000 | $151,987,469 |
7 | Fantasy Island | Sony Pict… | $4,185,000 | $20,172,070 |
8 | Parasite | Neon | $3,121,000 | $48,942,489 |
9 | Jumanji: The Next Level | Sony Pict… | $3,000,000 | $310,964,423 |
10 | The Photograph | Universal | $2,800,000 | $17,644,640 |
Next week look for The Invisible Man to take the top spot. Tune in to see if I’m right.
Until then, happy movie going!
Recommended viewing: Super Marios Bros
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I don’t want to watch movies with demons running around. Evil hollywood and their demon movie
God, why do movies suck
Hi! I like you pretty one
Susan! Jump and smile! You’re so funny. I laugh at your column each week.
Oh Susan…
Time is of the essence and while I am limited and your time is as free flowing as the nearest babbling brook, I’m a busy beaver and you are like a slug sitting in wait of my distant communication. Yes, time… we have none but in our other life we are embraced in a rapturous eclipse of love, lust and an emotional pull that makes the universes interact and intersect. Oh….
Now. Housekeeping. Susan, the wobble isn’t complete, I am chipping away but my fondness for the Minstrel, who I am now calling fruity tambourine man for short has waned. Yes, the Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man is trying to convince me to participate in African like dances where my breasts are encapsulated in cling wrap but I protest. I say no, free flowing is the way to go.
the Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man does want me to sing and when our harmonies are in sync we are like angels singing to the heavens getting divine inspiration for our teachings. We have a little following and the Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man has now resorted to trying to scare me by skipping around the room and wearing a feather boa.
THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE! We all know my aversion to feather boas and yet he insists on wearing one. I told the Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man to not bring these heinous things into my presence and yet he persists. It’s infuriating. He bought me one, mine is deep red with black and the Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man’s is purple with pink accents. HORRID!
I’m so angry I tossed a coconut at his head and said I would rather service Friend Siebert’s father than wear a feather boa, and yet here they are in my presence. Oh…. It’s so horrible like an Orwellian tragedy come to life in my homestead. Save me Suddenly Susan, tell the Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man to stop skipping with his feather boa and maybe, it all will be okay.
I dare say it won’t be and the world will be thrown into turmoil. If only the bohunk would save us, but I fear his sadness of late will not be. I worry about him Suddenly Susan. His sexual magnetism is seeping through his being but I can tell his soul is in trouble. You should bathe his feet in imported oil and whisper to him good tidings.
The Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man wouldn’t care though. He’s more insistent on doing twirls, skipping and dancing around my house. I say no. I Want to be the one twirling! I WANT TO TWIRL! Alas, it’s no use.
I want days to be simpler like when the Frenchmen pulled a sweaty armpit hair and opened a portal to another dimension and we fought the enemy to victory while laughing together at the lanky one’s sassy stupidity. They are all dead now. You killed them and their memory.
The Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man did have a mission for you. You need to slap the fuzzy one. He’s dumb and needs to wake the heck up. He’ll be easy to find, just look for a useless stump. That’s your mission. And keep slapping. I want to smell his blood.
He can then take the feather boa and stick it up his woo ha.
Oh Susan, as you can see life is not good here. The Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man is a wonder and I say to him, “Minstrel, AKA Fruity Tambourine Man, stop prancing around the city like a peacock on parade and we need to work.” He might have writer’s block.
Here’s a sample of our new song.
I call it, Soldels.
It’s a duet.
Wanda: Mush, mush the grapes with your feet for the one.
The Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man: I like to sing.
Wanda: Mushing the grapes is fun but I get my feet stained.
The Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man: Oh no. Not the staining. Yikes, not good.
Wanda: Play Minstrel! Grab that bassoon and rip it.
(This is where The Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man has a wild and ripping solo, the veins throb in his arm and beads of sweat form on his brow and he digs deep into his soul to perform this wonderful bassoon solo.)
Wanda: Orgasmic. and yum, I like to see you sweat minstrel. I like it. I like it, I like it.
The Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man: Sweat Wanda sweat.
Wanda: Rip it Minstrel! Rip it now!
And that’s how far we’ve gotten. It’ only been three months, but we are getting somewhere.
Susan, I must go, live in our memory and bathe in our delight. Dance in the moonlight naked and think of my soul caressing you from the isles. Love the bohunk because I can’t. Love him with all your heart.
I remember stealing sweet glances at your puffy face from afar, and I fear The Minstrel, AKA The Fruity Tambourine Man has stolen them all from me. Oh…
Toodles and toshes
Trump is GOD! Trump is king, love him.
So just to be clear the minstrel is a.k.a. what?
I’m a puffy face slug? Wow and on my birthday too….
Oh no… Just no.