"Coop here. Just had to let you know about what happened to me this morning... It's a beautiful day here in Southern California; perfect, sunny, SMOGLESS. What do I chose to do? Well, go see the first showing of "Battlefield Earth" of course. Why? I dunno. I'm asking myself that same question right now. But that isn't why I'm writing you... You see, I had the unique distinction of seeing this fatuous, crack-induced, self-indulgent, nauseous waste of celluloid at the Pacific Galaxy Theater on Hollywood Blvd. So? Big deal you say? Okay, not earth- shattering until you realize that it's only half a mile from the headquarters of the Church of Scientology. Getting off the elevator I found myself awash in a sea of ardent, blue-clad L. Ron Hubbard fans. They stood in orderly lines to purchase their tickets with a kind of glazed-over, vacuous stare of a person who is about to be anointed by the hand of the Almighty himself. The lines stretched back forty feet. Eventually I got to the box office and exchanged a gift certificate (no way I was spending good money on this flick) for my ticket. Inside the theater, nary a seat could be found. Completely sold out. It was 10:45 in the morning. Now, being a working screenwriter, I sometimes have the luxury of setting my own schedule. But, my first question here was... Don't these people have jobs? Mind you, the underground parking lot was EMPTY. Where did they come from? As I took a seat in the second row, the lights began to come down. Not since the re-release of "Star Wars" in 1997 at Mann's Chinese Theater have I heard such cheers. It was deafening. As the movie's title hit the screen there was another set of cheers, massive applause. Suddenly I knew that no amount of common sense would sway this audience. They were going to love this film come hell or high water. And they did. Every stinking, festering, abominable frame. Seated next to me was a guy of 22 or so who sat in rapt fascination, his eyes welling up with tears he was so overwhelmed. This movie was speaking to this audience on a level, well, a level I just didn't get. Forget that a monkey could have written better dialogue. Forget that the Harrier jump-jet is the most difficult jet in the world to fly. Forget that the half-life of plutonium probably would have rendered any remaining nuclear weapons impotent. Forget it all. At one point I laughed out loud during a sequence that was meant to be serious. Had the people surrounding me been armed, I fear I would not be writing you this letter. I could tell you what I thought of the movie, but, instead, I will quote Roger Ebert from his review of "North," several years ago: "I hated this movie. Hated, hated, hated, hated, hated, this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering stupid vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Hated the implied insult to the audience by its belief that anyone would be entertained by it." Yup, that about sums it up for me. Coop"