Although there are a number of films we both want to see, times were off last night given when we got to dinner, Carrie and I decided we’d do a little quid-pro-quo on movie night and go see something she wanted to see (and then something I wanted to see another time). For some reason, we wound up going to Closer, which she’d wanted to see, as opposed to several others that she was hot to see that I was lukewarm on. I think this may have been my fault for thinking that Closer would be arty while that boxing movie would be another “characters grow while they triumph over inbcredible odds” flick like Sea Biscuit. All I can say is if Closer is about art, then to hell with art.
What a terrible mistake. What a terrible movie — full of terrible characters involved in a terrible story. And the soundtrack was so whiny to boot.
Really, I cannot possibly encapsulate how terrible this movie was in the space of a blog entry. I think it’s supposed to be an exploration of relationships or something, but it combined incredible predictability with almost sanctimonious self-satisfaction that it is revealing some inner “truth” of human nature.
Carrie didn’t like it much either. I asked her whether, if she met a version of herself on the street who had not yet seen the movie, she would advise herself to go see it. She said she would warn herself that it was totally brutal.
The real bummer of it all was that Wednesday is a new institution in our domicile: MOVIE NITE (best to leave out the “gh”). We both finish teaching on Wednesdays, so we catch dinner and get a movie. This was in part because we got tired of complaining all fall about how we never got to see any movies that we wanted to see. We’re still way behind, but at least we’re trying to catch up.
Note to Montreal readers: feel free to inquire about joining us on MOVIE NITE. It is not a couple thing.
Don\’t see: Phantom of the Opera
Do see: Life Aquatic
I was excited about White Noise (ooOOo, a narrative based on sound!). That is, until I saw the reviews. I always get giddy about these sorts of things and then they turn out to be crap.
hollywood\’s version of authenticity is locked either in the psychologism of \”Closer\” or in the triumph-of-the-human-spiritism of \”Hotel Rwanda\”. the two films are part of a trend in which the blue-state bourgeoisie can feel good about itself (i.e. self-reflective, moral, aware) when purchasing a movie ticket along with all the sneaker-wearing slobs.
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