Monsoon Wedding

I overheard all the yuppy bitches oohing and ahhhing over the whole movie, and afterwards excitedly gabbing with their friends how fabulous it would be to have a wedding like that. Think about it, you could make a killing; hire real Indian people to throw your wedding, and pretend to be your family. Someone would make a fortune.

Enough about weddings though; what the hell am I talking about, this whole MOVIE was about a wedding. Two in fact. And you know, even a cynical, sex-addicted freak like myself loved it. The characters were all real and honest, colorful and with hidden faults and desires all their own. The heroine, Aditi, is a Cosmo-reading woman, about to marry an Indian computer engineer from Texas, arranged by her parents. She’s also still fooling around with her ex-boyfriend, a married TV producer.

As cute as Aditi was in her infidelity to her fiance, the real stars of the movie are the minor characters. Especially P.K. Dubey, the exuberant, rude wedding organizer. His wild ways are stopped when he meets and falls for the quiet servant of the Verma family, Alice. From his addiction to eating marigolds to his poor mother, desperate for her successful son to give her grandchildren, Dubey steals all the scenes he’s in. His proposal to Alice at the end is one of the sweetest and most sincere (not to mention hilarious) that I’ve ever seen.

Aditi’s little brother Varun was also simply fabulous. Obsessed with watching cooking show, dancing, and being a little over-weight, Varun was infinitely more interesting than most of his simple family.

The sub-plot of the bad bad Uncle being a bad bad man with little girls was easily not necessary. It contributed nothing to the film, except the feeling of familial solidarity at the end. He was just a bad bad man, and we didn’t need to see any of it.

What I could have used more of was the gorgeous saris and outfits. You can never have too many great outfits, and this family lives by that saying.

One thing that troubled me, was during the movie, the people were laughing at the oddest places. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were laughing at the fact that this well-to-do Indian family in New Delhi had a nice house, with TVs, cell phones, and large property. As if they believed that Indians who don’t live in dirt huts in the crowded city are silly figments of the writer’s imagination. Or perhaps they just thought that it was simply amusing to see these Indians trying to get a good signal with their cell phones. Maybe I just don’t get it. I don’t give a fuck.

Last, but not least, I would like to congratulate Mira Nair for her wonderful film of love and marriage in the rain. I know I for one am anxiously searching for her previous films at this very moment.


Rating: A-

Brotherhood of the Wolf

Once in awhile, amid the stale predictability Hollywood has to offer, it’s nice to come out of a theater going, “What the hell WAS thatr” For the sake of classification, I’d call it historical fantasy, in the vein of Burton’s “Sleepy Hollow.” It is based upon a real place and time, real events and sometimes even real people, but that is where the historical ends and the fantasy begins.

“Brotherhood of the Wolf” begins by very graphically setting up the premise in a scene that seems to combine the kinetic violence of “Jaws” with the strobing, frenetic camerawork of “Saving Private Ryan.” Thank you, Spielberg. In fact, the film seems to be a two-and-a-half-hour homage to various American and Asian cinema conventions. The story is set in pre-Revolutionary France, where a small province is being ravaged by what is described by witnesses as a demonic creature. It is based upon the true accounts of the Beast of Gevaudan, which was allegedly responsible for over 100 brutal killings in the region over a period of several years.

Our hero, the dashing Chevalier de Fronsac (Samuel Le Bihan) and his Mohawk/Iroquois companion, Mani (Mark Decascos, of “The Crow: Stairway to Heaven” fame), must determine what is behind the killings and stop it. That’s your basic premise, but it’s no standard Schwarzenegger bughunt. Throw in a bunch of snotty, inbred nobles, a tetchy priest, a nubile young maiden, a prostitute with an agenda, a veterinarian and his wild daughter who is prone to seizures, and you get a small taste of what’s in store… then there’s the fighting.

Good GOD, then there’s the fighting. We get not one, not two, but three showcases of Mani’s incredible ability to fight off a dozen foes at once. Xena Warrior Mohican. Mo Fu. Crouching Mani, Hidden Tomahawk. And that’s just the guy going solo. Then there’s the fighting with the actual hero of the picture, where we catch a glimpse of the French naturalist/adventurer who has understandably picked up the finer points of kung fu while hangin’ with the Mohawks in New France.

It sounds incredibly silly, doesn’t itr And yet, I swear to you, check your brain at the door and enjoy a beautiful, lyrical, disturbing piece of cinema. Acting is very good. Joseph LoDuca did the soundtrack – A ha! I knew there was a Xena connection! Cinematography includes a lot of over-the-top “Matrix Moments”, slow-mo and even freeze frame. There are some nice time-passing dissolves and well-done visual storytelling. The vistas, costumes, sets, lighting and art direction are all first rate. And when you think the plot and politics have more twists than a scoliotic contortionist, another one pops up.

Now the drawbacks: It runs long. Easily could have come in half an hour shorter without harming the story. It is very graphic, very bloody. The non-violent parts are very slowly paced. Be warned, ye who hate reading subtitles, it is in French with subtitles. And the most noticeable thing is the ending… and ending… and ending… and, oh, let’s have some more ending…

…and just a little more ending…

So why did none of these issues bother mer Because it is one of two recent films to perfectly capture the setting of my pet RPG project, Grimmworld (and yes, “Sleepy Hollow” is the other). The film runs like a roleplaying session. Things aren’t quite so neatly executed as they are in American mainstream cinema. The heroes are flawed versions of the archetypes we expect, and to any gamer, that makes them much more interesting! Weird things happen for no apparent reason, and that don’t necessarily further the story. And there’s two metric assloads of melee combat with people, animals and “supernatural” creatures.

For this reason alone I recommend “Brotherhood of the Wolf,” admittedly with the caveats above. Some of you will not like it. Some will not be able to get past the incongruity of Asian style martial arts in 18th century France, or past the horrible parts of the horror. It is as much an homage to Hammer’s and American International’s classic period horror films with Vincent Price and Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing as it is to Hong Kong action cinema and Merchant-Ivory romances.

A mixed breed, certainly, and not for everyone. But if you share my love of dark historical fantasy, you will probably enjoy this film immensely.

Rating: A-

The Royal Tenenbaums

How great it was that I didn’t let the comparison stop me from seeing what is the best films I saw in 2001.

I’ve been a fan of Wes Anderson’s from the beginning. I saw Bottle Rocket twice in theatres (a rare feat in itself outside of Star Wars movies) and even bought the film on laserdisc. And I saw Rushmore twice in theatres, but I felt guilty that I saw the first time on Lucasfilm’s dime, since I was doing THX theatre checks at the time. So with little trepidation, I trundled over to the Lincoln Square to catch the film…

SOLD OUT! A Monday evening show in a 375 seat theatre. Good job, Wes. Except I wanted to see the film. So I bought a ticket to Vanilla Sky and snuck into the other theatre with plenty of time to spare. That’s the good thing about arriving a half hour early.

The Tenenbaums are about the most pathetic family that’s been introduced to cinema goers in quite a while. Father Royal is a scoundrel lawyer who walks out on his family one day. Oldest son Chas is a sad sack of a kid with a penchant for money management. Daugther Margot is a brilliant writer who never gets any self respect due to her father’s constant pointing out she is adopted. Youngest son Richie was a champion tennis player who one day had a breakdown during the US Open and has just drifted around since then. Only mother Etheline is relatively self adjusted, having survived her husband’s abandonment by writing a best selling book about her three gifted children.

Now, what is most important to understand about Tenenbaums going in is that it takes its own sweet time to tell its story, much like a novel. The sections of the film are even broken into chapters, with closeup shots of pages where the next scene we are about to see is somewhat described in the top sentences of that page. The setup I described in the paragraph above covers nearly twenty minutes of screen time, neatly textured in detail with great voiceover narration by Alec Baldwin. And the rest of the film is structured much the same. Just a heads up.

Eventually, we are brought up to the present day. Royal Tenenbaum has been living in a hotel room since he left his family. Disbarred from practicing law and being evicted from the home he has known all these years, he devises a scheme to get back into his family’s life. Through a series of circumstances, each of the now adult Tenenbaum children return to the family home. And the rest of the film is how these five characters react to each other and their surroundings.

Tenenbaums is the type of movie someone like myself would want to recommend everyone seeing, yet don’t really want to tell you why you should see it. It’s one of the few films I wish there was more of, not just the particular style of filmmaking but in length. I could have easily spent an extra couple hours with this family. Mr. Anderson and his cowriter Owen Wilson have created a wonderfully rich, completely fleshed out New York family in a fantasy New York that mixes the past with the present that is both logical and reasonable.

The Royal Tenenbaums is truly a film you do not want to miss.

Rating: A

I Am Sam

Sam Dawson is a retard who works at a Starbucks somewhere in Los Angeles. As the movie opens, Sam is meticulously putting all the various sweeteners together in the little sugar trays. Sugar, then Sweet and Low, then Equal and finally Sugar in the Raw as the first of many many Beatles songs done by other artists plays on the soundtrack. As the opening credits continue, we discover everyone knows Sam and at least tolerates, if not adores, him. The manager of the Starbucks tells Sam “It’s time” and Sam takes off. Sam heads over to a hospital, where some woman is giving birth. She rejects the baby, and Sam is given the child. He names her Lucy. Lucy Diamond Dawson. The next scene has Sam and the still unidentified woman leaving the hospital with the kid. As he boards a city bus with the kid, the woman mumbles something and runs off, leaving Sam to raise the child on his own.

Of course, Sam isn’t alone in raising the little brat. There’s his adorable clan of fellow retards who comes over for movie night every Wednesday and go out to IHOP every Monday… or was it IHOP every Wednesday and movie night every Mondayr And there is Annie, the obligatory neurotic artsy neighbor, who watches Lucy when Sam is at work. A montage shows Lucy continuing to grow up until she is the disgustingly adorable seven year old moppet the story needs her to be. Lucy has just started school, but is starting to fall behind in school. Learning that Lucy’s father is a moron, the heartless school board sics the even more heartless Child Services on Sam, taking his bundle of joy away from him. Through a series of misunderstandings only morons can come up with, Sam ends up getting Rita Harrison, a high class uberlawyer constantly pissed off about the most trivial of manners. But of course, she doesn’t want to take Sam’s case. But of course, she must, in order to propel the story forward. And she must be forced to do it to save face in front of her fellow workers.

Long story short, there is a series of hearings… Laura Dern is introduced as Lucy’s foster mother… Sam tries to become a better member of society… Rita becomes a human… Annie overcomes her thrity year plus phobia to testify on Sam’s behalf… and somehow, Sam overcomes all obstacles to get the brat back. Nothing is gained, and the only thing lost is two hours and ten minutes of your time, plus previews and commercials and public service ads.

The little girl, Dakota Fanning, is exactly what she was discovered to be… a little heartbreaker with big blue eyes and a flop of cute blonde hair. And that Lucy is the most interesting character in the entire film shows just how worthless this film really is. Sean Penn makes a good retard, but so whatr He’s still one of the best actors working today. What he needs is to do something like The Family Man, playing a seemingly normal character. He can do this part in his sleep. No one doubts that. And Michelle Pfieffer playing a cold hearted bitch who eventually becomes the sweet loveable mother we all knew she could ber Not much of a stretch. And the remainder of the supporting cast, including Dianne Weist, Richard Schiff, Ms. Dern and Loretta Devine, are nothing more than the flat one dimensional characters you’d come to expect from bleeding heart tear jerker wannabes that need bodies to help move the story along.

What truly sucks about this film are the number of scenes where a number of topics are just tapped on then thrown out before the scene is truly over because the director didn’t need anything else. An example scene is when Lucy wants to go to Bob’s Big Boy for a change instead of the IHOP. Sam unsuccessfully tries to order what he always gets from IHOP, which this restaurant does not carry. Sam has a meltdown right there in his booth while Lucy looks sadly at her father. Then we’re on to the next scene. What happened in the Big Boyr How did Lucy handle her fatherr Frankly, it doesn’t matter to the director. The scene was only meant to show how Sam is incapable of handling change in his routine.

Jessie Nelson, who previous wrote and directed the wretched child driven tear jerker Corrina Corrina, is about as subtle as a jackhammer. Who needs a consistent storyline with meaning when you’re just trying to show how bad the system is, anywayr Not one scene Ms. Nelson and her co-scenarist Kristine Johnson created shows us anything we haven’t already seen a hundred times before. You’ll probably sit there going “Yeah… yeah… yeah…” for the entire running time, waiting for something of merit to happen. It doesn’t.

The film is also chock full of Beatles covers done by the likes of Paul Westerberg, Sheryl Crow, The Black Crowes, Sarah McLachlan, The Wallflowers and Aimee Mann, who teams with her husband Michael Penn (Sean’s brother) on Two Of Us. Much like the movie, the covers don’t attempt to reinterpret that which is already familiar. Every song is basically note for note recreations of the originals.

The entire project screams “Why botherr”


Rating: D

Gosford Park

Where LOTR failed miserably to entertain me, despite (or due to) it’s garish and overblown use of computer effects, Altman’s pic had me riveted throughout its 2 hours and 10 minutes. Truth be told, the film could have ran another 48 minutes (equaling LOTR’s running time) and I would have still be enthusiastic about watching, something I can’t say for Jackson’s effexfest.

“Gosford Park” is a remarkable work, not only for its style, cleverness, nonchalance and characters, but also for the fact that it got made. Hollywood is not a place that allows much character development, but even as Robert Altman fills the screen with over 15 leads, by the end we know something personal about them all, something hidden, something very real. Normally, in the fare vomited up by those ill-advised suits on the Quake Coast, even with three hours of film trolleying through the projector we’d be lucky if we knew more than the lead character’s favorite catch phrase. “Yippeekayay, motherfucker” comes to mind. Can one person who hadn’t read Tolkein’s novel tell me, based on Jackson’s first film installment, what motivated Saruman’s switch to the Dark Side (or whatever they call it)r Other than, of course, expediency of plotr

“Gosford Park” tells the story of a dinner and shooting party held in an old English estate, and the interactions between the rich guests and their innumerable servants. It’s also a whodunit, with a murder occurring virtually in Act 3, bucking Hollywood’s usual penchant for putting it in during the opening credits. But the mystery is very much secondary, almost a second film in itself that is interwoven with such excellence one really feels they got twice as much bang for their box office buck. It’s important to relax while watching “Gosford Park;” the barrage of Altman style crosstalk, thick British and Scottish accents, and jumping scenes from upstairs to downstairs character development can be intimidating at first. Trust Altman, this is his skill; by the end you will know what and who and when, and walk away feeling very much like a guest at the party, having come to know some of your new acquaintances better than others, but with opinions about them all.

Sets are gorgeous, both the ornate “upstairs” rooms of the estate, as well as the dreary “downstairs” cubbies and workspaces of the servants. Costuming is marvelous, lighting realistic but at times expressive. In fact, realism is the key production design element of “Gosford Park,” realism in sets, in characters, even in dialog. The film reveals aspects of servant life that we modern types could never imagine, such as the organizational requirements of planning large dinner parties in an era of firewood-cooked meals. Boringr No, this is the context of the film, the atmosphere the characters move through, as necessary as water to the goldfish.

I could go on, but you get the point. “Gosford Park” is a true film, one that touches the viewer on a very personal, but not intrusive level.

Yeegads, but what does this mean about mer Which is, of course, why you read reviews… to learn about me.

My favorite film of all time is “Il Postino.” I like “The English Patient.” I think Welles’ version of “The Trial” may have surpassed Citizen Kane.

But in my list of favorite films of all time are such genre flicks as “The Road Warrior” and “The Crow.” I’m a “Godzilla” fan, for heaven’s sake. I’ve WRITTEN comic books. So what gives with my reactions to the latest batch of genre releases, such as LOTR or Phantom Menace or Burton’s “Planet of the Apes,” all of which were, in my view, crapr

Well, whereas the fanboy geeks who largely drive the genre picture business have, for reasons I might postulate in a future article, stopped their maturation dead in its tracks, rolling through their twenties, thirties and forties still convinced that Twinkies make one helluva breakfast, Hulk # 145 was a travesty, only real men plan Dungeons & Dragons, a goatee makes you look tough (even if you still tip the scales at 200+) and using Stan Lee-like Shakespeak in normal conversation is the mark of intelligence, some of us moved on.

Some of us recognized that life is more than the immediate thrill, more than the adolescent notion that pleasure is something obvious, that realism can be as engaging as fantasy. Some of us know that good food isn’t always sweet, that the better beverages aren’t the ones with the highest alcohol level, good movies aren’t the ones with the best effects, and the best actors aren’t the oldest guys with the strongest British accents.

Point being, genre films need to raise their standards so they appeal not only to the stunted sensibilities of special effects fans, even if their numbers are growing at a frightening rate.

The oh-so-occasional gem like “Gosford Park” serves a dual purpose: to remind us how good films CAN be made in this age of lowered expectations, and at the same time point out what a sad day it is for Hollywood that these films only come about so infrequently.

Why bother with this whole articler First, it’s a review of “Gosford Park” — really, it is.

Second, it might help to explain my position on films a bit better for those who are still stunned to find out that I think the last few years of genre films largely sucked. Geeks be warned.

Maybe it’s age, maybe it’s simply that I’m turning into a stuffy, opinionated old bastard. Or maybe — just maybe — Hollywood sucks worse than a French whore on a German sub, and simply lacks the creative will to put out good movies that can appeal to both the geek and the intellectual in me.

Thank goodness for the Altmans and Finchers and Mendeses and Nolanses. They are exceptions to the rule.

Rating: A

Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

On a day like this, I face my darkest hour: I am tempted to quit writing, and worse, I am tempted to quit film. Sometimes suffering can be worse than death, and that’s what I’m doing right now. You see, I have just come back, after months and months of delay, from seeing “The Fellowship of the Ring.” And did I love itr

“With all my heart, no.”

Let me prequalify this editorial with a little bit o’ background. I am a big fan of fantasy, but I am a cold-blooded hatemongering Nazi when it comes to middle-Earth. I hate Tolkien. I hate little creatures like Ewoks and Hobbits and Midgets and Mini-Trolls. I hate muddy settings in the Earth, where Enya belts through invisible speakers and fog enters my sexual openings, where everything is grim and grey and oh-so-in-tune-with-Gaia-and-nature. I’m all for purity of fantasy, a holocaust of fantasticism: I need my gothic-Victorian castles in “Harry Potter,” with flowing robes and gold and mystery, with suits of armor hand-crafted by masters who were just as concerned with the designs of the lions on the breast as they were with the suit’s actual effectiveness. I need a place where there are 15 categories of “wizard” and too many different spells to count, with complex incantations and wonderous visual results. I need a world that’s almost completely removed from the shithole society we live in.

The last fucking thing I need is to see Christopher Lee and Ian McKellan engage in a wizard’s duel that’s basically two old-ass Jedis™ masturbating each other with the Force™ and throwing each other through doors. If you’re a fucking wizard, where’s the fucking fireballr Where are the spells to make the other person insaner Why use force-of-gravityr If you’re a wizard, why do you need a swordr An archer needs no sword. A short-weapons expert needs no sword. Why, oh why, in this film, does Gandalf have a swordr Where are the spellsr Did he spend all his mojo making fireworks for the West Hobbitwood pride machiner

Ahhh, but as cold and cruel as I can be about that stuff, I can also forgive it. I understand that my own personal preference for the fantastical does clash with Tolkien’s world, and I *do* see what other people cherish in it. I can, indeed, embrace a world of elves and Hobbits and mud and Enya. But I cannot embrace the film called “The Fellowship of the Ring.” I just can’t.

Hobbits and Enya aside, the film is visually breathtaking. So is “Blade Runner.” In fact, this film is going to be the next “Blade Runner.” It’s a horrible, horrible attempt to convey a rich, layered, deep-ass story with a few broad strokes. “Blade Runner” sucks my ass after a day and night in a Mexican bar: great vision, bad storytelling. FOTR suffers from many of the same mistakes: poor character development, awkward dialogue, a strange, jarring distorting of space and time, and an overall shallowness to the quest. All this I blame on the script, not the film.

Part of the problem is director Peter Jackson’s doggedness to stick to Tolkien’s story. To this, I can only say that, in film, when changes are necessary, you make them. Kubrick butchered Stephen King, and rightfully so. Anne Rice butchered her own book when she made it into a script. JK Rowling sat over very specific changes in dialogue and circumstance when Kloves hammered out the first Potter script. Sometimes characters or scenes are removed or rewritten; not just to shorten the pace, but to enhance the story. Note that there is a difference between simply editing out the parts that are extraneous, and rewriting out the parts that could be even stronger: Jackson has chosen the former, and he has chosen poorly.

Okay, so let’s do this right now: the film is 3 hours long, and yet, features almost NO character development or background story for the 9 main members of Fellowship. NINEr! WHY NINEr In a book, okay, there’s time, there’s pages… not in film. So, let’s make it SIX or SEVEN. We don’t need FOUR hobbits, TWO will work just fine. Then we might have had an extra 10 fucking minutes to tell us a little bit about each of the characters. Then we might care if they live or they die. As it is, we’re being paid to care, bought off by a giant CGI monster made of shit and fire… stuff like that captures our eye. And then we say “Shit Monster… evil! Shit Monster kill good guy! Nooooooooooo!!” Sorry, I want to know why I should be moved when the shit monster does his thing. Is that too much to askr

Jackson has invented some incredible, jaw-dropping camera angles here, hanging his lens from wires dangling above the trees and filming the action from an overhead that we could never imagine. Sometimes we drop to the ground, and we get involved… limbs fly, people scream, it’s like Braveheart on Vicodin with Enya in the background. It’s too ethereal. It loses the grit. I almost fell asleep during several of the fight sequences… it’s like being stoned and floating above the action, floating, floating away, floating up, I’ve got the munchies… oh cool, Frodo’s having another acid flashback from that evil Ring… munchies. Bad camera choreography, man. It doesn’t film the action right. In fact, a friend pointed out that it feels like a goddamn Oz/Kiwi film… there are about 50 shots too many of surreal backgrounds and ooooh-ahhh-twisty beautiful nature. Yes, I *know* Peter Jackson is from New Zealand, but you know what, fucking Chris Columbus is American, land of the shit film, and “Harry Potter” still feels perfectly balanced.

Sorry, I’m ranting, and I need to summarize for you. I hated this film on it’s own merits. The script was weak and cut meat out in the wrong places. The camera choreography is lacking. The score is lame. The Enya and Lorena McKennitt bullshit going on the background needs to stop. There’s no character development. Technically, some of the effects in the film are fucking AWFUL… I know it was rushed a bit, so the next two films have NO excuse. And for all that bullshit ‘forced-perspective’… call Jim Henson Productions before you do that shit again. I caught so many mistakes with it that it wasn’t funny. Your scales are off and your camera angles are showing it. Some of it was great… Ian McKellan does seem 7-feet tall at times, but not in any shot with Ian Holm.

What works for the filmr The performances, for one. McKellan is sharp, as usual. Elijah Wood and Sean Astin manage not to suck, which is rare. Liv Tyler is limited to 3 minutes of screen time, which is very good. Viggo Mortgage-sohhnnn is kickass as always. Hugo Weaving is still stuck somewhere in between Agent Smith and that fucking drag queen from Priscilla. Ian Holm is usually cool, but here he has a strange awkwardness about him. Cate Blanchett is almost wasted. Billy Bob Thornton is really cool, too. He is! No, he’s not in this movie, but he should be. He can be the Texas retard that saves Frodo and puts the ring on his cock while belting ‘yeee-haws’ and sniffing coke off Angelina Jolie’s floatation breasts. But that’s another rant…

The film has good vision. It has a lot of heart, a lot of ambition. BUT — like a tweaking tour guide in the White House, the film is so intent on hitting every-single-major-point-of-interest so as not to piss off the purists, it forgets to tell a story. It forgets that some of us have NOT read the bloody book and do NOT know the backstory of these characters. You don’t make a film for the people who already know the story, you make it for those who don’t. That’s why “Harry Potter” and “Star Wars” and “Indy Jones” all work. That’s why this film has failed.

Or has itr It’s currently in the top three all-time best films list at IMDB.COM, where it’s been since before day one. It’s made almost 300 million domestically. It could very well win Best Picture come Oscar-time. The purists love it. The fans love it. The Academy loves it. The critics love it. The people love it. Kids love it. Old fuckers love it. The “Blade Runner” experiment finally has succeeded: create a film that’s large enough, that’s beloved by enough, that’s loud enough, that’s pretty enough, and stick in plenty of fucking Enya, and it will be truly epic. Hey, it worked for “Titanic.” And they didn’t have to pay Enya’s salary, they hired a cheap knock-off.

So I’m swimming against the tide here. Based on public opinion, maybe I’m alone in my hatred for muddy fantasy and my love for gothic fantasticism (based on public opinion, you’d swear it was the other way around, actually. Notice that religious freaks aren’t spooked by wizards who use The Force™ to open doors, but it’s heretical to make a feather levitate… hmmmm…. hmmmmm….) Maybe I’m wrong to ask a film to tell me a story first and give me eye candy later. Maybe I’m wrong to want to improve upon a classic. Maybe I’m wrong to want a filmmaker to take risks, when all he has to do is “not fuck up”. Maybe I’m the only person who still believes that a film’s score is paramount to its success or failure. Maybe I’m wrong to think that film should be GOOD, not just good for the market niche that’s already read the fucking book. Maybe I’m just wrong.

Or maybe you all got assfucked by the marketing machine again.

Rating: D