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It’s all very silly, the ultimate in Depression-era escapism: a piece of Hollywood magic that’s impossibly romantic filled with people who are impossibly elegant, bantering and wisecracking constantly. Its fascinating and diverse characters and a rather dark ending, however, give Grand Hotel more heft than any of its hellish spawn such as The Love Boat or Fantasy Island.
The Broadway Melody’s snarky, wiseacre humor and effervescent charm save it from being completely dated, though the dance production numbers — pure padding, all — may try your patience.
Tom Stoppard, I’ll grant you, is infinitely more clever and more talented than your run-of-the-mill fan-fiction writer. But he’s doing exactly the same thing as those hordes of writers who have continued and expanded upon the adventures of the crew of the Enterprise, the owner of the TARDIS, those two FBI agents down in the basement, and the fictional denizens of a zillion other cultish TV shows.
Why isn’t Bill Paxton a bigger star than he is? Sure, he’s been in some of the biggest movies of all time: Twister and Aliens and True Lies and now Titanic. But I bet most moviegoers couldn’t put a name to his hunky everyman face…
I’m particularly struck by one key to Titanic’s success: repeat business from teenage girls. Usually it’s the boys making testosterone-soaked action movies big hits, filling the theaters for second, third, and fourth viewings…
Titanic is one of the best movies I’ve ever seen. If you haven’t seen it yet, stop reading this instant and run out to the multiplex. Titanic is simply a great film — and by *great,* I don’t mean *very good.* I mean *great* as in *epic and profound*…
Gosh darn it, but I liked this movie…
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