drexl-8
nov 1999 se unió
Te damos la bienvenida a nuevo perfil
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Distintivos7
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Reseñas6
Clasificación de drexl-8
Okay, let's get one thing straight first of all...
This movie S.U.C.K.S.
The acting in particular is merely the second most awful thing in the film. Slater is Slater on a shoestring budget, as is Dorff. But TARA REID cannot act and is entirely miscast as the anthropologist curator-type person. Page One, uwe Boll, if your lead actress can't pronounce her character's occupation without being laughed at, you're in trouble.
Which leads me to the worst thing: Director Uwe Boll. House of the Dead stank to high heaven. But what i am wondering is this - can we really trust a guy who puts "An Uwe Boll Film" in the opening credits to figure out intelligent or creative input into his movie? And what about that 1 and a half minutes of scrolling narrated text at the beginning of the film. It's as if he wants to bore people before it's started. It's completely unnecessary.
However, I do believe there are a lot more worse goings-on than all this. I am thinking that, with Alone in the Dark, there may be some money laundering going on. It reminds me of Mel Brook's producers - if you make a bad production and shut it down, perhaps you can make a killing. Is it pessimistic of me to suggest that the $20 million spent on the film is done so to create a failure of a movie by shooting in cheap Vancouver and deliberatley ruin a movie by miscasting, both behind and in front of the camera? Are there ulterior motives at work here? At the time of writing this the movie has generously opened at #14 in the charts on its hopelessly unchallenging first weekend in January and has scraped a mere 5% of it back. By the time it hits video stores, it will recoup most of it, no matter how viciously ripped apart it gets from the critics.
I mean, come on, there must be *some* explanation for this incredible miss-step of a movie.
And now I hear that Uwe Boll is making Bloodrayne and Farcry - two more movies that are taken directly from video games. It's clear to me that such a talentless team helmed by an even more talentless director haven't learnt a damn thing and show no signs of improving. How can they continue to work and produce this crap in such high volume? There must be some explanation.
There definitely must be an apology.
1/10
This movie S.U.C.K.S.
The acting in particular is merely the second most awful thing in the film. Slater is Slater on a shoestring budget, as is Dorff. But TARA REID cannot act and is entirely miscast as the anthropologist curator-type person. Page One, uwe Boll, if your lead actress can't pronounce her character's occupation without being laughed at, you're in trouble.
Which leads me to the worst thing: Director Uwe Boll. House of the Dead stank to high heaven. But what i am wondering is this - can we really trust a guy who puts "An Uwe Boll Film" in the opening credits to figure out intelligent or creative input into his movie? And what about that 1 and a half minutes of scrolling narrated text at the beginning of the film. It's as if he wants to bore people before it's started. It's completely unnecessary.
However, I do believe there are a lot more worse goings-on than all this. I am thinking that, with Alone in the Dark, there may be some money laundering going on. It reminds me of Mel Brook's producers - if you make a bad production and shut it down, perhaps you can make a killing. Is it pessimistic of me to suggest that the $20 million spent on the film is done so to create a failure of a movie by shooting in cheap Vancouver and deliberatley ruin a movie by miscasting, both behind and in front of the camera? Are there ulterior motives at work here? At the time of writing this the movie has generously opened at #14 in the charts on its hopelessly unchallenging first weekend in January and has scraped a mere 5% of it back. By the time it hits video stores, it will recoup most of it, no matter how viciously ripped apart it gets from the critics.
I mean, come on, there must be *some* explanation for this incredible miss-step of a movie.
And now I hear that Uwe Boll is making Bloodrayne and Farcry - two more movies that are taken directly from video games. It's clear to me that such a talentless team helmed by an even more talentless director haven't learnt a damn thing and show no signs of improving. How can they continue to work and produce this crap in such high volume? There must be some explanation.
There definitely must be an apology.
1/10
This is about as low as the British Film Industry can get. I could have told those involved that this was a bad idea even before conception - and well before a script materialised. Surely someone, somewhere, throughout the entire shoot must have realized that this movie would turn out to be unfunny and a complete waste of time. I am simply at a loss for words. It amazes and, indeed, infuriates me that the British film industry is in the dolldrums and utter rubbish such as this still manages to fart itself out and splatter all over the big screen. For crimes against celluloid, Fat Slags deserves a life sentence - at the bottom of the smallest shelf in the smallest video store in Hell. And it can consider itself damn lucky, too.
It's funny the way these British Richard Curtis comedies come out: dead in the shower of Late April, every other year. First it was Four Weddings (the biggest grossing British film in the, then it was Notting Hill (the next biggest UK grosse)r, and now it's Bridget Jones's Diary
the next biggest grossing film in the UK. Then next year it'll be Hugh Grant in `Floppy Hair, Floppy D**k Donkey S**t': the next biggest UK grossing film
Bridget Jones is in her thirties. She's all on her own in much the same way William Thacker was in Notting Hill: everyone's trying to get her a date. But instead of falling for an American movie megastar, she is faced with a yucky-looking Colin Firth. But then, whilst working at her journalist job, she starts to fall for her boss, Hugh Grant. I'd like to be able to tell you the name of their characters, but you see, I can't remember them. I only remember Renee's character's name because it is eponymous. So, who's she going to end up with? Both of these men have their own quirks and vices: of course, one of them is a sad mummy's boy and the other is a charismatic a**hole. Such is the choice of everyday English men today. So, whilst hypothesising, drinking more wine, eating Tesco's Alpen cereal and generally making a right a**e out of herself (both with her friends and people she should be impressing) she dilly dallies around thinking she's made the right choice when, of course, she hasn't then she cries about it, makes a half-witty gesture, screws up some more and cries a bit more (usually in that order) until finally she ends up with someone some ninety minutes later.
But being fair Bridget Jones's Diary does have its merits. It's reasonably funny in places and the acting is generally very good. The direction by the practically unheard of MacGuire (a woman directing a box office smash? First for the record books!) is good, but a little flaccid in places. The film starts off with text on the screen describing how much Bridget weighs, smokes and drinks - something which I hope would have continued. There's also a nice `f******k' subtitle in one scene when she discovers she may have `f**ked up'. I thought those were nice touches. However, those touches and the direction of the film gets sloppy about half way through. Like its namesake, you can practically read the story of Bridget like a diary: girls like this have to end up with the right guy and be happy, otherwise nothing is achieved.
So, on to Renee herself. She makes an adequate English woman: her accent is fine and if you didn't know she was American then, A: you'd be fooled and, B: no-one in America would have bothered seeing this. Renee, in terms of superstardom, doesn't and probably won't ever have the bums-on-seats-guarantee of Julia Roberts or Andie MacDowell. Why? Because she's not got the drop dead gorgeous look to her, unfortunately. But that's not necessarily a bad thing, really: I think Renee was an inspired choice bearing in mind that an American had to have played her: a B list star is usually better than an A list in terms of quality. But why oh why couldn't we get an English woman playing Bridget? Keeping to the true text of the book, I would have rather Sally Phillips played Bridget Jones: we already know she's a terrific comedienne and actress (I'm Alan Partridge, Smack The Pony) and I firmly believe that Zelwegger and Phillips would've been better off swapping roles. Just a thought.
Luckily, to stop the English public from running out of the cinema, the film is BLITZED with cameos an stretched-cameos (not quite constituting bit parts) from literally dozens of well known British actors and comedians. We've got Salman Rushdie as a book enthusiast, Jeffrey Archer makes an appearance as a crowd member, Lynne from `I'm Alan Partidge' plays Bridget's co-worker, Sally Phillips pops her head in now and then, David Cann from `Jam' pops up as a cameraman, `Drop the Dead Donkey's Robert Duncan shows his face as a TV director and Jim Broadbent plays Bridget's father to name a few. Even Honor Blackman is in it for about 3 seconds. It's a shame really because for the most part all of the above are grossly underused and are giving very little to play with. With the possible exception of Rushdie and Archer, I would've liked to have seen these fine British actors in the film more.
As it is, Bridget Jones's Diary is a big sloppy, mush-riddled mess. None of the characters have any space to develop. But the excruciatingly fatal mistake in the film is totally exposed: none of us give a flying monkey about Bridget. Sure, she's had it tough, she's a bit ditzy and likes to think everything will work out. Well, sorry to be a party pooper but EVERYONE is like that. So, essentially, is Bridget Jones' a chick flick? Yes. None of the men who watch this, like her co-boss, will want to know her unless she gets satisfies her `Fitzherberts' and gets those jubblies out. As such, Renee is decked out in very, very risque costume for most of the time anyway: at one point she wears a bunny outfit and, lastly, the final scene just has her in knickers. Splendid. Bridget Jones is like a porn film with two alterations: the actors are great and there's no sex. And I'm afraid women will just find this Jones exercise a waste of time especially when you arrive at the last five minutes.
Now I'm hearing that they're planning a sequel? Trust me, one is plenty. The only way you'd get away with a sequel was if you named it `Bridget Jones Gets Killed in the Temple of Doom'.
4/10
Bridget Jones is in her thirties. She's all on her own in much the same way William Thacker was in Notting Hill: everyone's trying to get her a date. But instead of falling for an American movie megastar, she is faced with a yucky-looking Colin Firth. But then, whilst working at her journalist job, she starts to fall for her boss, Hugh Grant. I'd like to be able to tell you the name of their characters, but you see, I can't remember them. I only remember Renee's character's name because it is eponymous. So, who's she going to end up with? Both of these men have their own quirks and vices: of course, one of them is a sad mummy's boy and the other is a charismatic a**hole. Such is the choice of everyday English men today. So, whilst hypothesising, drinking more wine, eating Tesco's Alpen cereal and generally making a right a**e out of herself (both with her friends and people she should be impressing) she dilly dallies around thinking she's made the right choice when, of course, she hasn't then she cries about it, makes a half-witty gesture, screws up some more and cries a bit more (usually in that order) until finally she ends up with someone some ninety minutes later.
But being fair Bridget Jones's Diary does have its merits. It's reasonably funny in places and the acting is generally very good. The direction by the practically unheard of MacGuire (a woman directing a box office smash? First for the record books!) is good, but a little flaccid in places. The film starts off with text on the screen describing how much Bridget weighs, smokes and drinks - something which I hope would have continued. There's also a nice `f******k' subtitle in one scene when she discovers she may have `f**ked up'. I thought those were nice touches. However, those touches and the direction of the film gets sloppy about half way through. Like its namesake, you can practically read the story of Bridget like a diary: girls like this have to end up with the right guy and be happy, otherwise nothing is achieved.
So, on to Renee herself. She makes an adequate English woman: her accent is fine and if you didn't know she was American then, A: you'd be fooled and, B: no-one in America would have bothered seeing this. Renee, in terms of superstardom, doesn't and probably won't ever have the bums-on-seats-guarantee of Julia Roberts or Andie MacDowell. Why? Because she's not got the drop dead gorgeous look to her, unfortunately. But that's not necessarily a bad thing, really: I think Renee was an inspired choice bearing in mind that an American had to have played her: a B list star is usually better than an A list in terms of quality. But why oh why couldn't we get an English woman playing Bridget? Keeping to the true text of the book, I would have rather Sally Phillips played Bridget Jones: we already know she's a terrific comedienne and actress (I'm Alan Partridge, Smack The Pony) and I firmly believe that Zelwegger and Phillips would've been better off swapping roles. Just a thought.
Luckily, to stop the English public from running out of the cinema, the film is BLITZED with cameos an stretched-cameos (not quite constituting bit parts) from literally dozens of well known British actors and comedians. We've got Salman Rushdie as a book enthusiast, Jeffrey Archer makes an appearance as a crowd member, Lynne from `I'm Alan Partidge' plays Bridget's co-worker, Sally Phillips pops her head in now and then, David Cann from `Jam' pops up as a cameraman, `Drop the Dead Donkey's Robert Duncan shows his face as a TV director and Jim Broadbent plays Bridget's father to name a few. Even Honor Blackman is in it for about 3 seconds. It's a shame really because for the most part all of the above are grossly underused and are giving very little to play with. With the possible exception of Rushdie and Archer, I would've liked to have seen these fine British actors in the film more.
As it is, Bridget Jones's Diary is a big sloppy, mush-riddled mess. None of the characters have any space to develop. But the excruciatingly fatal mistake in the film is totally exposed: none of us give a flying monkey about Bridget. Sure, she's had it tough, she's a bit ditzy and likes to think everything will work out. Well, sorry to be a party pooper but EVERYONE is like that. So, essentially, is Bridget Jones' a chick flick? Yes. None of the men who watch this, like her co-boss, will want to know her unless she gets satisfies her `Fitzherberts' and gets those jubblies out. As such, Renee is decked out in very, very risque costume for most of the time anyway: at one point she wears a bunny outfit and, lastly, the final scene just has her in knickers. Splendid. Bridget Jones is like a porn film with two alterations: the actors are great and there's no sex. And I'm afraid women will just find this Jones exercise a waste of time especially when you arrive at the last five minutes.
Now I'm hearing that they're planning a sequel? Trust me, one is plenty. The only way you'd get away with a sequel was if you named it `Bridget Jones Gets Killed in the Temple of Doom'.
4/10