whirrrrl

What an over-rated film. The opening sequence on the L.A. freeway was nearly unbearable with its artificial, Politically Correct nonsensical 'this is L.A.' vibe. I'd say the only fun thing to watch in this film was Ryan Gosling. He really does justice to well-fitting clothes, he must have a perfect body. Emma Stone was fish-like to me, her bulbous eyes like a flounder in the beautiful briny deep. The director deserves credit for trying to make romance happen in the digital age, but in general, it's too late: everyone in privileged America is pretty much a soul-less zombie drone driving a Prius and numbly staring into the glow of their iPhone. In a fantasy world where people dance and sing, only Gene Kelly, Stanley Donen and Jacques Demy could do that possibility justice. Don't believe the hype, this movie is flat, dull, wishful thinking for a bygone era. It will sweep awards, no doubt, because, in a soul-less 21st Century, this film is the closest anything released by a mainstream film industry will have resembling 'heart.' A flounder Dead On Arrival, wrapped in pretty yellow paper, in my humble opinion. Two stars for Ryan's well-fitting pants and tight shirts.

Hmm, Does anything actually ever happen in a Terrence Malick movie? Let's see, in this one, some people at an expensive estate, including Antonio Banderas, well-dressed in Prada and Miu-Miu, jump into a chlorinated swimming pool and ruin their beautiful clothes. Then there are scenes with Christian Bale looking up woefully at the sky, in Las Vegas, Joshua Tree, at Santa Monica pier, at Will Rogers Beach, and at various homes in Malibu, Palm Springs and Desert Hot Springs. I think that's about it. Oh yeah, Cate Blanchett, consummate actress that she is, wearing a nurse uniform, massages and cares for various African American men afflicted with late-stage diabetes. Great Stuff (NOT)...1 Star, Terrence.

This is a pornographic avant-garde scatological Egyptian-lite opera with an all-star cast, so if that is your cup of filth, you might enjoy it. However it runs six hours long, so even people who want to see the 'Woody Allen' sequence with a star-studded Brooklyn Heights literary cameo crew for a Mailer memorial wake will then have to sit through eternal slow moments of slurping genitalia, penetration, rotting pig flesh, flies and maggots, anal penetration with plumbing pipes, and excrement wrapped in gold leaf. The theater I saw this film in was not full -- and that did not bode well since the director would soon be present for a Q&A! Let me say this: It's time for Matthew Barney to focus on Children's Fairy Stories. I think he could remake 'Into The Woods' or 'Hansel & Gretel' properly. This film just looked like...what's that four-letter word that starts with S and ends with T?