Ah, winter break. A time to catch up — with friends, family, sleep and most importantly, flicks. Hard to believe that a movie critic like myself actually misses a few releases throughout the year, but it happens and winter break is perfect for making up for lost time. Days on end were spent at my neighborhood multiplex, contently hopping from one screen to the next, and best of all, I didn’t really review a single one.

See, when I know I am going to open a can of journalistic whoop ass, I enter a film with a certain (cynical) mindset and it is the movie’s job to change it. Some do, some don’t, and so it goes. But once in a while, I like to turn the old noggin off and just enjoy a good picture show. And what better film to launch this brain break than “Ocean’s 11,” a film even its director called “light and fun”?

So just days after finals, I settled into my stadium-seating venue while thoughts of campus dimmed with the lights. One hour in, so far so good. George charmed, Brad looked great, Bernie entertained. But then something began to happen. I started to hear a voice, a voice I thought I had turned off like a cell phone. It was the voice that was supposed to lay dormant for the next four weeks, a voice I wanted to leave behind on University Avenue.

I began to question the portrayals in the film, specifically those of the racial and ethnic characters. “Why does the black man need to take the insults?” “Why does the other, smarter, black man come from England, making him less of an African American?” “Why is it that the Hispanic guy loses big time in the end?” and “Why, oh why, do the white males dominate?”

What the hell was that? I rushed home after the film to observe my reflection. Sure enough, staring back at me were the faces of every sociology, communication and liberal arts professor I have ever had. It seems, at least that night, that “they” won. Oh, you know who they are … those teachers, the readings, the overall brainwashers that inhabit the liberal campuses like Madison. Three and a half years of attending such an institution was about to start ruining my movie-going life.

Now, I’m all for challenging the norms, questioning ideology and damning the man, but when it starts to seep into my movie-watching, well then, it’s cause for concern. There’s a time and a place for original thinking and liberal values. There’s also a time and a place for entertainment. Some of the best films integrate these things perfectly and have even a more profound effect than the average power lecture or reading packet.

But sometimes a movie is just a movie, an escape for two hours, a chance for us to be someone we’re not. And sometimes, even the most “world-class education” can overlook the importance of knowing the difference. So until “Racial, Ethnic, Political and Socioeconomical Consequences of 20th Century White Dudes 565,” shares a place in the timetable with “Simply Enjoying Life 101,” voices like the ones in my head during “Ocean’s 11” will get louder and louder in the library of fun.

A January full of television and movies helped me to win back my winter vacation, and I am happy to report that it didn’t kill as many brain cells as the administration would like us to believe. I gained amusement without the loss of intelligence. Yes, “they” might have won the battle that cold December night, but it was I who won the war of entertainment.