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1 out of 1 people found the following review useful:
Brilliant character AND performance, 23 December 2010
4/10

*** This review may contain spoilers ***

If based more weightedly on Sandra Bullock's performance in this film, I'd probably give it a 7. When I finally saw this come around on cable, and realized it was the role for which Bullock had won a Raspberry Award for Worst Actress, 2009, I knew there was a not-uncommon failure to appreciate something of unusual genius. With all the attention these days to autism and its high-functioning variants such as Asperger's Syndrome and autistic savants, I am therefore surprised that reviewers didn't recognize this character as written in that vein. At least as much to the point, ACTED in that vein. Acted with a degree of controlled, comic consistency as to merit an Oscar nomination for best actress--that is, if "the Academy" were wont to give much consideration to an often vulgar (and over-long) comedy in the first place. I put this film in the universe occupied by Farrelly brothers films, e.g. "Stuck On You" and Judd Apatow romps (and their multiplying successors)--including its touching sentiments and final moral: let Mary be Mary. (and let Glenn Gould be Glenn Gould. and Temple Grandin ... etc.) For more worthy fictional treatment of high-functioning autistics, I highly recommend Mark Haddon's novel, "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time," which is written from the perspective of an adolescent boy who has Asperger's, who is preparing for his college entrance exams in math and who comes in for some shocks concerning the adult world that surrounds and faces him.

2 out of 5 people found the following review useful:
'Serious' film-osophical folly & a fillip of physics, 22 December 2009
9/10

*** This review may contain spoilers ***

Kathleen Falsani has written The Dude Abides: The Gospel According to the Coen Brothers. In an interview with her on National Public Radio on Dec. 20, Falsani explained the "moral order" she finds explored in the dozen and a half films of these sibling auteurs. Well, I've been exploring that theme in their films for years. In fact, who can watch "Raising Arizona" or "The Big Lebowski" or "The Man Who Wasn't There" and not recognize that the Coens are preoccupied by the way in which people bumblingly travel—or fall off (or off and on)—a righteous path. (The very title "Raising Arizona" invokes the phrase "raising hell"—not in the sense of partying, but in the sense of committing mayhem—and by so doing, calling up the forces of the underworld—with which H.I. and Edwina and others have to contend as they try to protect the newborn they've kidnapped.) The Coens' current film "A Serious Man" is as illustrative of their explorations of this theme as any, and that, as well as its fine acting, period verisimilitude and amusement factor leave it ranking with their best. The film opens with a scene that seems unrelated to the rest of the film, where a man's wife in Jewish Eastern Europe decades ago kills her husband's benefactor, thinking he's a "dybbuk"—a demon. But the astute viewer may realize the scene tips us off to the idea that our encounters with our fellow human beings are often fraught with moral dilemmas of serious import. Whether it's college math professor's Larry Gopnick's deciding what to do about his Korean student who leaves a bribe in his quest for a better grade (so he won't lose his student visa), or paralyzed in what to do about his free-loading, layabout brother (Richard Kind)—the question arises: What's best to do, and should one worry about the consequences—both in the here-and-now, and also possibly a hereafter—or try to do what's just right, per abstract principle? Into this question the Coens again throw the possible red herring of modern quantum physics, as they did more perfunctorily in "The Man Who Wasn't There." Here though, a blackboard full of the mathematical proof of what can't be known—Heisenberg "uncertainty"—is paralleled by Gopnick's brother's psychotic-seeming notebook containing his occult "Mentaculum"—a Kabbalistic-looking bunch of scrawlings offering a certainty that apparently guides him in his successful gambling ventures. The film plays a few visual tricks on viewers, but even they invoke some of the arcane notions of contemporary physics. Just when you think one driver is about to be harmed in a car accident, it's actually his counterpart (the unctuous friend who's having an affair with Larry's wife) who dies in a similar, simultaneous crash. (Thereby invoking current theories about certain paired subatomic particles separated by time and space, where what happens to one mysteriously affects the other.) As if the "Perplexed" of Maimonides' title, Gopnick seeks advice from his synagogue's senior rabbi as personal, professional and financial travails increasingly weigh on him. Unfortunately the rabbi doesn't do much pastoral work any more, so Gopnick (played with a perfect, barely suppressed, passive desperation by Michael Stuhlbarg) is first counseled by two associate rabbis—whose "help" is of questionable value. (The second rabbi is played unerringly by George Wyner, the former assistant D.A. "Irwin Bernstein" of "Hill Street Blues" fame.) Speaking of rabbis, Kabbala, Maimonides—this film is, as "The Daily Show's" Jon Stewart would say, undeniably "Jewy." But that's inessential; with a few tweaks you could pose all the same questions and themes in any other cultural milieu. Jewish suburban life in the Midwest in the '60s does lend itself well to the themes, however, and the setting is apparently closely autobiographical for the Coens—so, it's what they know. The film ends in a way similar to the Coens' recent Oscar-winner, "No Country for Old Men"—abruptly, unsettlingly and without resolution. Which, given the ultimately unknowable answers to the questions it poses, is thoroughly appropriate.

0 out of 1 people found the following review useful:
somewhat missed opportunity - on film and in life, 15 August 2009
6/10

With the advent of this film, everyone is acknowledging the role of Julia Child in "democratizing" real (and gourmet, French) cooking: bringing it to "servantless" American homes. However, what is worrisome if not outright tragic and disastrous, is the live possibility that her influence on homemakers and others of the '60s was at most a brief detour away from the otherwise nearly unimpeded march from the over-processed, over-industrialized, "convenience" food system that began to take shape in the '40s and '50s and has really gained steam since the '70s. Michael Pollan's recent piece in the Sunday New York Times Magazine laments how we're ever more avid to watch cooking on TV and increasingly loath to do it at home ourselves, to the detriment of energy policy, environment, public health, humaneness to animals, local economies and small-scale food producers, and our general happiness quotient. "Julie and Julia" shows the genesis of Julia Child's culinary career as rooted in her truly loving to eat. Where has that love gone? Where's the love? I share it--perhaps my own resolve to teach myself to cook came when, at an early age, I was served tuna fish salad made with Miracle Whip instead of mayonnaise. I resolved, as many say: If I wanted it done right, I'd have to do it myself. And so I have ever since. And I linger over not only the preparation, but the enjoyment, reading sections of the newspaper or whatever else is at hand as I eat. As I always have. (Not that I disdain the family meal as the forum for proper enjoyment of food; I just don't have family around.) But what's everybody else's problem? My own mother, who I once thought of as a decent home cook, picks up the menus and coupons of new area restaurants and waves them in my direction as if I will be interested in their crap. And increasingly buys overpackaged "food" such as a submarine sandwich, with each of its layers encased separately in cellophane and with its own included metal-coated cardboard microwave browning tray for some of its "components." What's so damn hard about using a damn toaster oven? And at least buying sub bread and fresh cold cuts? Oh, right, then you might have leftovers you have to use timely, and you might have to clean up after preparation (unless you line the oven tray with aluminum foil, greased with a little olive oil--but that--that--would be work). Well as to the film, Meryl Streep is a convincing delight as always; the tootling quality of her impression of Child almost never gets tiresome, till it's echoed by Jane Lynch. When Child and husband (underplayed nicely by Stanley Tucci) meet Dort Child (Lynch) at the train, listening to the sisters is like having a phalanx of Canada geese migrating low overhead. Or, there may be something from the Chronicles of Narnia it reminds me of, like the Dufflepuds? More to the point, that interlude, and Dort's wedding, ought to have been cut in favor of showing more of Child's TV-chef career, which is barely depicted. So much more color, character and comic mileage (and food focus) could have been gotten out of that--but the filmmakers chose instead to consider the publication of the seminal and historic Mastering the Art of of French Cooking as the culminating event in Child's life, in order that it parallel the completion of Julie Powell's (Amy Adams) blog documenting her preparing every recipe in it in the space of a year. Speaking of Adams, while she's a wonderful actress ("Enchanted"), other critics are right that here she is rather a cipher. Her alleged meltdowns? Her self-admitted bitchiness toward her oh-so-supportive husband? We wish! She's played as more nebbishy than naughty. Nora Ephron, if you ever again need to write and direct "bitchy," I'm available to consult. (No, I'm no bitch, idiots; I've just known my share.) Or, Nora, collaborate with Judd Apatow, he's got it down. Child and her husband are rightly depicted as having had what, for a reserved diplomat and a frumpy, matronly companion, was a rather torrid marriage. Fortunately, unlike in "Never Again" and "Something's Gotta Give," actual, graphic middle-aged nudity and sex was panned away from. But it was a welcome suggestion that for some people who come to love, marriage and sex later in life, there is a lustiness to the relationship born of maturity and self-knowledge. In the end, Child shares some responsibility for a failure to integrate good cooking of real food with other concerns. She insisted that flavor was the sole touchstone and that nutrition, sustainability and humaneness were rather irrelevant. Perhaps that's because she learned about food at a time and in a culture where some of those items were culturally not the issues they have become since, and here. But she stubbornly dismissed such concerns and values long past when she should and could have become a voice for them. (That said, I was gratified that Julie stabbed and boiled live lobsters with relatively little moral compunction, not withstanding a WSJ article a couple years ago that spotlighted increasing squeamishness at these tasks. "Cruelty" to a stray crustacean here and there pales before the massive institutional horror of our factory farms.)

1 out of 5 people found the following review useful:
"Does this meat taste funny to you?", 15 August 2009
8/10

Gosh, I sure hope Judd Apatow isn't dying. Ya gotta wonder, because he seems as if maybe he overidentifies with--or envies--his old roommate Adam Sandler (who is shown at the opening of "Funny People" being filmed making the inane prank calls in the goofing on people he was addicted to doing at that point in his life and career). The gaggle of young actors Apatow's cultivated have come from being freaks and geeks, as in his old TV show, to stars, and are now presumably tasting the perks of stardom--babes, money, the high life in the fast lane ... who knows? But Apatow, one assumes, can only enjoy those trappings of success vicariously. He's got other rewards--critical acclaim and money, yes, but also a beautiful wife and family (who he keeps putting in his films, too). So, you see, he can't live the same kind of celebrity lifestyle to which he might otherwise be entitled--perhaps yearns for, a little bit. If you heard Apatow recently on NPR's news quiz "Wait, Wait!--Don't Tell Me" and the estimable "Fresh Air," you heard him talk on both about his own nasty, brutish and short stand-up career--where he couldn't tell the sex jokes that were de rigueur "Because that would mean he'd had to have had sex." (So, THAT'S why I'm not a breakthrough hit--sex came for me too easy and at too early an age! I don't feel guilty and inhibited and repressed about it, unlike Apatow's other, truer-to-life alter-ego here, Seth Rogen's character Ira Weiner. Note the last name--about which the character does have a complex. As in "The Wrestler," it appears working in a supermarket deli is the down-and-outer's fallback of choice. Gotta give it a try.) So, Adam Sandler's character lives a star's life. Everyone at his beck and call, easy money, luxurious lifestyle--all the upsides of stardom (as well as the down, of course). Plus, he's a profligate asshole. And, we've seen Apatow verging on a little irritable, if not almost surly in an appearance on The Daily Show. The flippant, glib, asshole-y, obnoxious stuff he puts in many of his characters' mouths may also be what he's often thinking, but is too well-socialized and mature (now?) to say? All the dick jokes, the fart jokes, the politically incorrect and gender-tin-eared ones ... yeah, the ones we like, but which led the husband of a prominent journalistic source of ours to call "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" "awful." (When it and Apatow's other films such as "Knocked Up," are, for all their patent vulgarity and offensiveness, actually quite sweet.) Like the "bromances." And the romances: As in, "Funny People" is also, among other things, Apatow's love letter (no, a love "stand-up act") to his family. The promos show the gist: renowned comic and comedic film star George Simmons (Sandler) discovers he's dying, and he hires a somewhat mediocre, struggling up-and-comer (Rogen) as his assistant. Hires him, actually, to be the one person he confides in about his impending death. But they don't show the twist, and atypically we won't include spoilers here. Rather, only the usual filmosophical observations: Consider the film as if one of Woody Allen's (or Helen Hunt's), which opens with a joke or other exchange that is a key to the theme or moral. "Two cannibals are chowing down on a comedian (some versions have it: a clown), and one says to the other, 'Does this meat taste funny to you?'" Of course, the best comics' work often comes out of a deep pain long-lived-with; as Simmons says in the film, the younger comics' being kids of divorce can't compete with the torture that comes from growing up in f'd-up intact families. So, nor can their comedy. This is a film about "funny" people who are as if they are composed of "off" flesh--"tastes funny." Not so ha-ha. So, as usual, I find undertones of the human condition in this perhaps unexpectedly serious and smart film, which in the Marin County scenes almost starts to bog down. But then Eric Bana's character shows up. And he's more likable than as hyped in comments elsewhere. (At least to other obnoxious people with big personalities, I suppose.) Sandler here tops even his fine work in Mike Binder's deeply affecting "Reign Over Me," showing himself to be quite compelling in roles that are superficially comic and deadly serious. Physically these days, he's as if a hybrid of Dustin Hoffman and Ben Affleck, channeling a blend of Garry Shandling and Lenny Bruce. Leslie Mann has never looked more beautiful; must be the eye shadow and whitening strips. (And Katherine Heigl's absence.) But, while her Laurie's mixed up, at least here she sheds the insecure, controlling-bitch persona she played so convincingly in "Knocked Up." Good for her. And, if this is closer to the real her, good for Apatow. (Though we wonder whether he's a bit of a hangdog in his marriage, poor sucker.)

Away We Go (2009)
What do "family," "home," commitment and caring, mean to you?, 4 July 2009
7/10

*** This review may contain spoilers ***

It's hard to tell whether Sam Mendes ("American Beauty," "Revolutionary Road") is just trying to emulate the rough-edged feel and flaws of a low-budget indie, where you get a few decent "name" actors to more or less donate their work — or whether he couldn't drum up much budget (not that I know how close to scale the actors in "Away We Go" appeared for) for this script. Or whether this is just the kind of film he wanted to make, on its own merits, consciously and intentionally in this style. Hand-held camera not always keeping the principals in the shot. "Basement band" soundtrack, the mood and lyrics always a little too earnestly spot-on. The arc of the film reminds one of Alexander Payne's "About Schmidt," where the encounters occurring in the context of life-changing events serve to sharpen the image we have, our understanding of the main character or characters, the protagonist(s). In this film about a couple of young parents-to-be searching for the perfect place and community in which to raise their daughter, Bert (John Krasinski) and Verona (Maya Rudolph) certainly encounter their share of wackos — but also people in genuine pain, as opposed to the deserved social isolation experienced by their first interlocutors, played by Alison Janney and Jim Gaffigan (she shriekingly over the top, he rather low-key until he waxes didactic about the apocalyptic extinctions to come, culminating in our own). Bert and Verona veer from the encounter with that couple in Phoenix, who constantly verbally abuse their two children on the theory that they're pre-wired anyway to become who they will become, to visit the family of a childhood friend of Bert's in Madison, Wis. (Maggie Gyllenhaal, with Josh Hamilton), for whom it's the opposite: everything you do matters, and much of it is potentially deeply damaging (including pushing a kid around — hurtfully "away from you") — in a stroller. (This item provides one of the funnier vignettes in the film.) The deep sadness of a wonderfully "well-adjusted" family they then visit in Montreal — with a spectrum of adopted children of a truly sane but grievously unfortunate pair who just can't have their "own" kids, despite valiantly trying — is especially tragic to witness. As is the fear on the part of an abandoned husband (Paul Schneider) living in Miami — fear of the inevitable damage to be experienced by his now-motherless, prepubescent daughter, for lack of a female role model and nurturer. Even with some bizarre, grossly dysfunctional permutations depicted, this is a film that explores the form and meaning family and home take for different people —the different ways in which we seek and express commitment, seek security, take care of one another. In the end, the film suggests, in our particular fragmented, f'ed-up society, it may often be fruitless to look to a larger community, a social network of friends and family ("it takes a village"), to support us and our offspring. As Rick says in "Casablanca," "it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world." The most we probably do is to create the strongest partnership and sanest home we can, on a desert island in the stormy sea. If we're lucky, it will be in the eye of the hurricane. For more reviews like this one, as well as Fake news and other content and comment, visit midtownphoenix.blogspot.com

Duplicity (2009)
12 out of 20 people found the following review useful:
Elegant, clever film too clever even for itself, in the end, 22 March 2009
6/10

*** This review may contain spoilers ***

If Tony Gilroy didn't get the corporate universe "Duplicity" dwells in from John Jakes' 1963 novella "The Sellers of the Dream," I'll eat my hat. (I just ordered the anthology it was published in, since, because the tattered copy given me when I was 13 or 14, along with a pile of others, had pages torn out, I never knew how it ended. Or even middled. That tale (compared also to "Network," for example), was a less dark, more playful satire of a world in which two huge consumer products companies have supplanted the U.S. and U.S.S.R. as the world's pre-eminent rivals, and they each operate, as if in a permanent Cold War of commerce, their own highly antagonistic espionage services—to a degree never before seen on film, till now!) The movie is engaging from the get-go, at least for those who like to get lost in a maze, or who, like me, are constantly trying to stay a step ahead of the plots twists and turns and guess what's going to happen, figure out what's really going on, and predict how it will all come out. (In doing so, I often get to praise myself: "I could write these things!") Here, I almost got some of it ... e.g., I thought they were never actually going to name the game-changing new product, since it seemed to me that was never really what the film was finally going to be about—wasn't going to be part of the narrative payoff. I wasn't quite right. Close, but no cigar. The chemistry between spies Clive Owen and Julia Roberts works, akin to their bleak but intense romance in "Closer," though in tone it's really much more like the constant footsie, potential insinuation of backstabbing and pervasive mistrust as displayed best previously by Catherine Zeta-Jones and George Clooney in the Coen brothers' divorce satire, "Intolerable Cruelty." Ironic, since both movies were released as we here at Film-osophy Central were and are again going through that kind of high-stakes, anxiety-producing split-up. Be that as it may, the film increasingly trips over its own Byzantine cleverness. E.g., what, in the end, was Tully's motive? How indeed, did Ray (Owen) smuggle the product formula out—an especially compelling question because it seemed it was precisely Claire's (Roberts) seemingly gratuitous accusations that set him up for the search that would seem to have prevented it. So, if he outmaneuvered, we are owed the explanation of how (not to mention, why even have thrown her complicating behavior in there at all?) What, too, given the ending, were Tully (Tom Wilkinson) and Garsik (Paul Giamatti), the two CEOs, fighting about on the tarmac—why, and when? There's films that set up, then, in the end, frustrate your expectations and in doing so avoid clichés and the cheap, formula feel-good resolution ("The Wrestler"). There's films that end suddenly, abruptly cutting to black, so that you are forced to then wrestle with what just preceded—it hanging there, now confronting you with the need to digest it, it having been metaphorically rammed down your throat ("No Country for Old Men"). Those endings have legitimacy and do not retrospectively undermine the enjoyability of the preceding two hours. The ending of films like "Duplicity," by contrast—making little sense and leaving too many loose ends, AND seeming and unsalutary inconsistencies—makes you feel you've been duped into thitherto enjoying, and becoming intellectually engaged in, something that didn't ultimately deserve it.

'Stepford Wives'—The Prequel, 11 February 2009
7/10

*** This review may contain spoilers ***

"Revolutionary Road" is the other Kate Winslet vehicle of the season, based on an acclaimed novel by Richard Yates—whom I heard interviewed, drunkenly aggrandizing himself in an unearthed tape played on an NPR show. This one is clearly about something more focused than in all the broad hype: the hopeless, stultifying life that being a suburban housewife was in the '50s and '60s. Whether Winslet's "April" had little talent as an actress or it was just wasted where it was exercised, pearls before and among swine, isn't clear. (Though hubbie Frank, played by ol' Leonardo DiCaprio, sure did go on about it in an annoying case of verbal diarrhea.) But, damn, I'd sure love the little woman to clasp me around the knees, and urge me to forsake gainful employment to "find myself" in Paris, where she'd support me—because I am just that wonderful thing: a man! But Frank only reluctantly buys in, and especially after he takes a mistress and is offered a promotion at the office, it's clearer than ever that Paris is for April—it's her only hope for an alternative to decades of Stepfordian drudgery. Michael Shannon provides great, dark comic relief, as the son of a neighbor on furlough from electroconvulsive therapy (shock treatments) at a mental hospital. Nominated for a best supporting actor award, clearly he's intended as one of the few voices of sanity in conformo-land.

Defiance (2008/I)
1 out of 5 people found the following review useful:
Don't mess with us Jews. Really. Don't., 11 February 2009
8/10

*** This review may contain spoilers ***

As I've said before, notwithstanding the unique straits of those who were rounded up in the Holocaust, we Jews have no particular innate streak of meek subservience, as this film amply proves. Even in the scene where the weakened crowd subsisting in the forest to hide from the Nazis and their henchmen kick and beat the stray German soldier to death, I realized it was right and proper, even though your first impulse is to think Tuvia Bielski (Daniel Craig), their leader, is going to step in and stop it. But he doesn't, recognizing that their murderous rage is a just revenge for the ruthless brutalization of their loved ones at the Germans' hands. I must say, I disagreed with Roger Ebert's view that Craig's character is flat while his brother's, played by Liev Schreiber, is nuanced and evolutionary--he has it exactly backwards. It is Craig who gets to play the role where the requirements of leadership impose the toughest choices--choices he often wrestles with and resists, growing more resolute and decisive only when forced to; sometimes not soon enough. Directed by Ed Zwick of "The Last Samurai," "30something" and "My So-Called Life."

0 out of 2 people found the following review useful:
Life is like a box of buttons, and this film is too like "Gump", 11 February 2009
7/10

The odd premise is well-realized, technically, and the film's acting and production values are fairly flawless. But in its loosely episodic narrative with its patina of well-polished, folky wisdom, it reminded both of us independently of "Forrest Gump"—and that was before we found out it was written by the same guy. Tell you what: You want to watch Brad Pitt age backwards? Go rent "Thelma and Louise" and "Kalifornia." Otherwise, watching Kate Winslet in "The Reader" aging in the forward direction—though largely without accumulating much wisdom in the process—is much more satisfying. The casting, actually, was also good, putting Pitt and Blanchett together again as in "Crash." Enjoyed seeing Jared Harris in a more manly role than the sympathetic supporting one in "Igby Goes Down." It may be from the Fitzgerald story, but why does the main black female character have to be named "Queenie"? How about "Mildred," if you have to be period-accurate? Finally, the initial support for the premise, the human losses of the Great War--World War I--ought perhaps to have had its tragedy better woven into the subsequent narrative of a life lived backward, paralleling the idea of the clock that ran backward in honor of those tragic losses.

2 out of 3 people found the following review useful:
It's a mad mad mad mad mad mad dating world, 11 February 2009
6/10

*** This review may contain spoilers ***

I realized, watching this film, the formula of its title isn't quite right, requires some refinement. With so many new avenues for meeting potential romantic partners—and so many ways of juggling multiple prospects, for cheating, evading, dissing, blowing people off, putting them off, holding them off, keeping them in suspense, yet keeping them available—thinking they're in the running, or are The One—it's clearly more complicated than "Does he like me or not? Is he going to call or not? Is she into me or not?." So, the real formula isn't "He's just not that into you"—it's "He's just not that into just you."! I should know. I've got a book in the works on my life dating, preying, dumping, loving and losing using the personals; in fact I tried to interest Greg Behrendt's literary agency in it, it being in somewhat the same vein as his original book the film is loosely derived from. That said, and as much as I've seen a fleeting write-off of the film as superficial, it's not that bad. Ginnifer Goodwin, the ingenuous third wife in HBO's polygamist "Big Love," brings a similar energetic optimism to "Not Into You," though it veers over into obsessive, self-deluded microscrutiny of every "signal" sent by potential partners, suitors, dates. A lot of the film is somewhat lightweight genre stuff, but it also offers characters who are in genuine non-farcical pain, such as Jennifers Connolly and Aniston. The film is admittedly full of false notes, with the monologue by Drew Barrymore about the number of tech channels through which you can hook up or be blown off being exactly as "exhausting" to hear in the film as it was when incessantly repeated in commercials and trailers. Justin Long as Alex is only believable in his jaded, insensitive, cynical-realist mode, as the vehicle for the disappointing clarity of insight Behrendt's book purports to offer, and not in his transformation into the romantic lead. He wasn't too likable in either mode, as much as I identified with him in the first one. (And Marci identified with Goodwin's Gigi; and Long and Goodwin made improbable partners, just as—at least in others' eyes, M and I do.) The set of dalliances in which Scarlett Johansson is the link displays some reprehensible activities, but worst of all ... what was up with Kevin Connolly's hair? In one scene in particular, it looked like he had just been dipped upside-down in Grecian Formula and blow-dried on high. I kept expecting him to realize he was gay. You know, I guess this film was pretty bad, after all; it's certainly not more than the sum of its often flimsy parts. Especially in that, at the end, it upholds the contra-premise: that it's better in the end to be able to yearn, ga-ga- (Gigi-)like, eternally, hopefully, desperately wishing there is something there that may not be—and probably isn't.


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