My Sister’s Keeper (review)
Cancer is pretty much the same as the Empire State Building or the White House getting blown up… by a fleet of invading aliens… while the beloved war-hero President escapes in the nick of time.
Cancer is pretty much the same as the Empire State Building or the White House getting blown up… by a fleet of invading aliens… while the beloved war-hero President escapes in the nick of time.
Like the most totally awesome artifact ever of the end of the American empire, a preposterously perfect reflection of who we are: loud, obnoxious, sexist, racist, juvenile, unthinking, visceral, and violent… and in love with ourselves for it.
Thanks so much, everyone involved in *Year One,* for setting back the noble causes of blasphemy, rational thinking, and humanism about a century.
What is the value of *stuff*? Perhaps it’s not at all paradoxical that as some of us begin to reject the rampant consumerism into which our culture has descended, the idea that at least some of our crap is not crap will start to see more play.
Stupid narrow-minded provincial Alaskans? Hilarious! Especially when they’re horny white grandmas appropriating native Inuit culture for their own use! Stupid narrow-minded provincial New Yorkers? That’s our heroine!
Some of the most vehemently anti-gay politicians at work in Washington DC and our state capitals are themselves gay. But they pretend not be.
Whom did the filmmakers think their audience would be? Did they actually have a particular audience in mind?
I’ve been waiting for a *Die Hard* movie to actually come close to approximating the spectacular cinematic experience that *Die Hard* was more than 20 years back, and this is the first movie to get real close to that.
If Noel Coward had written *Meet the Parents,* it might look something like this: witty and wise and totally lacking in poop jokes.
James Toback’s talking-head documentary portrait of the man serves only to show us a reprehensible example of the worst of American manhood, and of American celebrity.