- Mirror, The (1974)
- Fargo (1996)
- Fight Club (1999)
- Do The Right Thing (1989)
- Report (1967)
- Is "The Sting" The Best Gambling Film Ever Made?
- Pink Flamingos (1972)
- Ox-Bow Incident, The (1943), Or 28 Angry Men
- Rome, Open City (1945)
- Spring in a Small Town (1948)
- Drive (2011)
- Vinyl (1965)
- Seconds (1966)
- Rosemary's Baby (1968)
- A Hollywood Invasion of Casino Halls
- Thin Man, The (1934)
- In The Heat of the Night (1967)
- All In: The Poker Movie, Player’s Best Tricks
- Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956)
- Lone Star (1996)
- Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965)
- Slacker (1991)
- Shame (2011) Or Who the Hell is Steve McQueen?
- Wicker Man, The (1973)
- Buffalo '66 (1998)
- Flaming Creatures (1963) Or Infantile Art-House Orgy
- Enter the Dragon (1973)
- I Walked With a Zombie (1943)
- Out of the Past (1947)
- Princess Bride, The (1987)
From Art-House Obscurity To Grindhouse Schlock - With A Special Focus On '1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die'
Wednesday, August 27th, 2013
As for that aforementioned club, the web-address is super simple:
Visit. Read. Join. Post.
All are welcome.
The Mirror (1975)
Ad Education (2009)
Most Recent Reviews and Commentary:
Genre: Drama (USSR)
Starring: Margarita Terekhova, Filipp Yankovskiy
Directed By: Andrei Tarkovsky (Solaris • Stalker)
Overview: A dying man in his forties remembers his past. His childhood, his mother, the war, personal moments and things that tell of the recent history of all the Russian nation. - IMDb
Director Andrei Tarkovsky and I have never really genuinely gotten along. He's long and drawn out, he's ‘pastoral’, which is a nice way of saying that he often has long, rolling, meditative shots of the countryside but with zero content. Granted, I’ve only actually seen his The Mirror and Stalker, but Stalker burned away so much of my goodwill that I couldn’t climb back onto the Tarkovsky-wagon until I learned that he made a couple of movies that I’m actually interested in seeing in spite of its director: Solaris and Andrey Rublyov… which I have yet to screen.
The Mirror isn’t a story with a plot, it’s a series of slice-of-life vignettes – the recounted memories of a man’s life, mostly of his childhood and his mother. It’s told with archive war footage, colour film and slow-motion black-and-white dream sequence shots while poetry is narrated. Moments include the visit of a doctor on his way to town, a barn fire, shooting practice at school and the mother working at a newspaper.
Tarkovsky - thus far in my experience, and definitely the case with The Mirror - is definitely art-house cinema for the elite. His movies are for fans of Kieslowski, Fellini, Ozu and Bergman. Specifically, The Mirror is for the patient cinephiles who like to dwell on the honest minutia of the real stories of real people – in short it’s for people who aren’t me. Of course, like those other directors, The Mirror has occasional gorgeous shots and images rife with beautiful symbolism, but not nearly enough to make me happy. My favourite parts of The Mirror were those wonderfully indulgent scenes where poetry was narrated. I found the poetry beautiful, and the images that accompanied them were the best and most artistic of the film, usually because they were so lovingly crafted. And again, sadly, they were too few and far between to keep me entertained.
In all, considering the context of how this film crossed my path - as assignment for the 1001 Movies Club, I don’t imagine The Mirror is Tarkovsky’s best work and not nearly genius enough to be in the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book. Tarkovsky’s already got three other films in the 1001 Movies list, and I dare say he’s overrepresented.
When I started watching The Mirror, I knew that it would be more as homework than enjoyment. I had the patience of my 40 years but I got exactly what I was expecting. For those of you who like watching the common tales of a common people, enjoy, but I like a bit more Drama in my drama. For me, The Mirror is too slow and plotless to recommend to anyone but the snobbiest of cinephiles.
Performance: 8 Cinematography: 8 Script: 6 Plot: 5 Mood: 6
Overall Rating: 66% (After Some Reflection)
Ultimately, it’s unfortunate when you can distill 108 minutes of someone’s vision into the Overview above, check it off the ‘Seen it’ pile and move on with a shrug.
Genre: Drama Crime Thriller
Overview: When a kidnapping turns bad in North Dakota, a very pregnant police officer seeks out the escaping murderers.
No Overview could properly come close to capturing the essence that is Fargo. It’s not nearly as naïvely quirky as the Coen Brothers’ The Hudsucker Proxy. It’s not as stern as No Country for Old Men. It’s not pure buffoonery like Raising Arizona. The joy that is Fargo comes from having bits of all these things while still carving its own path in the Coens’ oeuvre. In my humble opinion, it’s one of the Coen Brothers’ best offerings, and definitive of their style.
We open – and remain – in a snow-buffeted landscape where two men (Steve Buscemi, Peter Stormare) are unhappily waiting for their contact Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy). Jerry wants them to kidnap his wife and hold her hostage until Jerry’s rich father-in-law pays the ransom. The goons agree and begin their rampage while Jerry does what he can to keep his head above the overflowing debt and fraud he’s gotten himself into long ago. When the kidnapping and its aftermath ends in murder, the seven-months pregnant Sheriff Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) is on the case to find the men leaving a trail of mayhem and chaos. You know me: I’m not much one for spoilers so hopefully that does enough to tease those of you who don’t know what this wonderful movie is about.
As ever, the Coen Brothers’ script is as tight and brilliant as it could be. The mood of that particular North Dakotan accent, the look of the tertiary characters all exuding a blankness as white as the snowscapes that are a prevalent cinematographic theme; it’s all wonderful entertainment. And the story, wrought with fraud, poorly-planned ploys and extreme consequences, sings with a wild tension that keeps you on the edge of your seat until you laugh along at the occasional sprinkle of the strange.
Some of the wonderful cherries that top Fargo include the characters of Marge’s husband (John Carroll Lynch) and Shep Proudfoot (Steve Reevis) - a stoic Indian reminiscent of Chief Bromden from One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest - and the subplot that comes from Marge’s reacquainted old friend from high school, Mike (Steve Park).
With a hint of Raising Arizona's wackiness and The Big Lebowski's over-the-top characters, yet with a serious profound depth and occasional frightening edge that I loved in Barton Fink and Miller’s Crossing, Fargo blends sweet and sour in equal parts to make the perfect movie cocktail. The Coen Brothers show us a story that’s less predictable than standard Hollywood, while still being Crime-Thriller-fun enough for the laymen to sing its bloody-murder praises.
Fargo is fun and light. Fargo is serious and dark. Fargo is wacky and weird. And above all, Fargo works to leave you wanting more. The Coens’ sixth film, made between Hudsucker Proxy and The Big Lebowski, is not one to be missed.
Performance: 9 Cinematography: 8 Script: 9 Plot: 9 Mood: 9
Overall Rating: 88% (Not to be Fargotten)
Just before I settled in for an evening with Fargo, I let a like-minded friend in on it: Fargo and an extra-large dram of GlenDronach? Yes I do believe I will.
His answer was not a surprise: Damn fine combo.
Starring: Ed Norton (American History X • Moonrise Kingdom), Brad Pitt (Kalifornia • The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford)
Directed By: David Fincher (Alien 3 • The Social Network)
Overview: When an everyday consumer meets an anarchistic rebel, they begin an underground fight club that grows into an underground revolution.
The Overview I’ve written could never do Fight Club justice. Those of you who have seen Fight Club (and if you haven’t: “You haven’t seen Fight Club!?!?! What is WRONG with you?!” – Yeah, you deserved that, just like you deserve that if you haven’t seen Blade Runner) know that it’s not a movie about two guys who meet and start boxing. It’s not about making soap, it’s not even about anarchy… Wait, let’s not get ahead of things…
Our hero (Ed Norton) is an everyday guy who’s an insomniac. When he works, he’s a button-down worker bee who travels from city to city investigating mechanical problems for a major car manufacturer. When he’s home, he buys clever Ikea furniture and doesn’t sleep. He begs his doctor for sleeping pills, and explains how much he’s suffering. The doctor tells him that if he really wanted to see suffering, he’d go to a testicular cancer support group meeting. Well, he ends up going. And he finds solace in the tears of others, and cries with them. Finally he sleeps. He goes to more meetings and cries more and sleeps more and his life is beginning to look up. Then Marla Singer (Helena Bonham Carter) shows up to all his meetings, faking like he’s faking. He stops crying and he stops sleeping and he’s back to living life in misery. On a business trip, he meets Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt). Tyler sells soap. When our hero gets back home, well, his apartment seems to have blown up. Stranded he calls Tyler, they drink, they have a friendly fist fight, and they move into Tyler’s dilapidated abandoned house together. They fight some more, they start a boxing club, and Tyler imparts his nuggets of wisdom as that club grows into something that can’t be contained in tavern basements. I guess that’s a good spoiler-free start…
So as I was saying, Fight Club isn’t about a man who becomes an anarchist, it’s not about a couple of people who become friends and change one another’s lives, it’s not about testicular cancer, and it’s definitely not about boxing. Without overstating it with halo’d fanfare, Fight Club is nothing less than a marker of my generation, of this generation. It’s one of – if not the – best films of the decade. It’s profound while being relatable. It’s a film that taps into the pulse of Generation X / Generation Y, and tells us loudly, with its brilliant script, what is wrong with this world. Yes it’s preachy, but it preaches a counter-culture sentiment that we all know and need to be reminded of from time to time. Part of what makes it so brilliant is how well-made it is. David Fincher paints with a bleak palate of sickly fluorescent greens and cold blues atop of greys, browns and blacks. The soundtrack is one of my personal Top 3 favourites, with the Dust Brothers electronica still current today, 15 years later. It’s Brad Pitt’s finest role, Meatloaf’s finest role, and one of Ed Norton’s best – American History X and The 25th Hour make it too hard to decide.
And then, when you think it’s told its message, there’s something else. There’s a brilliant twist - a beautifully original, mind-blowing cherry to top off the whole story, and it’s this awesome MOREness to Fight Club that makes it stand head and shoulders above the rest. It’s anti-consumer anarchist wisdom wrapped up in a hipster bow that consumer masses actually bought and loved and ate up. Hopefully it managed to make people actually think about the ‘less’ that we need.
There’s no hiding my bias for this one. It’s been my second favourite film since the day I saw it. My computer wallpaper is the 'This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time' quote. Fight Club is the only movie that I saw in theaters on a Friday night, and returned the next Monday to re-watch. The only one. 15 years later it holds up. It holds up like Atlas. But don’t just take my word for it. Today it sits at #10 of IMDb’s top 250 films ever made, between Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. Yeah. I’d say it’s about that important. Seriously, what are you waiting for?
Performance: 9 Cinematography: 10 Script: 9 Plot: 9 Mood: 10
Overall Rating: 94% (Join Up)
Starring: Spike Lee (Jungle Fever • School Daze), Danny Aiello (Léon: The Professional • Once Upon a Time in America)
Directed By: Spike Lee (Malcolm X • Inside Man)
Overview: On a sweltering-hot day in Brooklyn’s Bed-Stuy neighborhood, racial tension heats up at an Italian pizzeria.
I have a history with Do The Right Thing. It wasn’t good to me the first time around – back when it was still current. And now, as is plentiful in my 1001 tome, I need to re-watch it so that I can complete my quest of writing a review for each of the films in the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book. Sometimes work feels like work. But I’ve aged, and I have far more cinematic knowledge and context to make Do The Right Thing work for me rather than against me. What’s more, I had an eager friend who wanted to host it for me – so again, something to look forward to. Let’s see how Do The Right Thing fared for me this time around…
On one of the hottest days of the year, in the Bedford-Stuyvessant neighborhood of Brooklyn where Mike Tyson grew up, Mookie (Spike Lee) is a deliveryman working at an Italian pizzeria run by Sal Fragione (Danny Aiello) and his two sons. Being in a mostly black neighborhood, the Italian-Americans running the pizzeria face some racial differences, including one customer who insists that Sal’s Wall of Fame - which features famous Italian-Americans – needs to include blacks. With the temperature rising in a neighborhood that’s becoming all too aware of the gentrification happening in their streets, doing the right thing is becoming increasingly difficult.
Let’s get the horrors out of the way first: of all the scenes I dreaded, the opening credit sequence was, by far, the one I recall being most traumatized by. It was even more brutal the second time around. It was four minutes of Rosie Perez dancing like a buffoon in different outfits, including one as a boxer complete with gloves. Get used to the opening song, Public Enemies’ “Fight The Power”, because it never lets up. It is a tiring omnipresence throughout the film. The fact that it’s intentionally annoying doesn’t make it sound any better. There’s Smiley, a mentally handicapped character who sells pictures of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. This character was not originally in the script. The man who played that character, Roger Guenveur Smith, wanted to be in Spike Lee’s film. Well I guess Spike Lee felt bad enough for him that he let Roger’s Smiley character tip the scales to make sure that Lee’s film would become an embarrassing farce. I don’t know what it was like in ’89, but Smiley is almost downright plain offensive today.
Do The Right Thing’s exposition is palpable. For as script written in two weeks, I’m not surprised. Aside from the three main characters, nearly everyone is a caricature. The worst offenders include Buggin’ Out, unpleasantly played by Giancarlo Esposito of “Breaking Bad” fame. His one dimension of blind racial outrage is already tiresome by the time he gets in a white guy’s face for getting his new sneakers stepped on – and that’s barely halfway through the film. There’s Radio Rahim (Bill Nunn), a big black man with a big black ghetto blaster playing the same damn big black song in every single scene he’s in – you guessed it, “Fight the Power”. His ‘cause’ is playing his music wherever he wants to and drowning out everyone else. Clearly, a wonderful purpose to have in life. Now I admit that having characters who are fallible makes for added nuance and dimension, but Spike, come on, way over the line, seriously.
I think that about covers the ‘wrong’ of Do The Right Thing. The ‘right’, well, would be the entire finale. It’s dramatic, it’s worthy, it’s poignant. Danny Aiello and John Tuturro played their parts brilliantly. They made the film something to enjoy. They made the pizzeria scenes something to look forward to. It may very well be the best role of Danny’s career. His character has dimension, has values we can understand and streak of compassion that makes him real. Drink in his role, it’s refreshing.
I’ve said that Do The Right Thing wasn’t good to me back when it was still current. Today it holds up even less. It’s dated. It’s fundamentally theatrical, feeling more like a play than a movie. Too often did the scenes look like they were busting out of a Broadway musical, with overstated acting and choreographed group reactions. Yet, though the racial message is loud, it’s not drilled into you constantly like in 2004’s Crash. Do The Right Thing is still entertaining thanks to the climactic third act, and thanks to the talent of Danny Aiello, John Turturro, and Ossie Davis.
Luckily, I saw this with a friend who was passionate about the film. Seeing it alone, well, that would surely have been a bitter pill to swallow.
Performance: 7 Cinematography: 7 Script: 7 Plot: 7 Mood: 7
Overall Rating: 70% (Aaaaand Done)
One thing I noted - and have been unable to decide if I should appreciate it as an homage or be downright upset at Spike’s blatant rip-off - is Radio Rahem’s speech about the rings he wears on his hands. On one, his fist sized ring reads LOVE, on the other, HATE:
Let me tell you the story of Right Hand, Left Hand. It's a tale of good and evil. Hate: it was with this hand that Cain iced his brother. Love: these five fingers, they go straight to the soul of man. The right hand: the hand of love. The story of life is this: static. One hand is always fighting the other hand, and the left hand is kicking much ass. I mean, it looks like the right hand, Love, is finished. But hold on, stop the presses, the right hand is coming back. Yeah, he got the left hand on the ropes, now, that's right. Ooh, it's a devastating right and Hate is hurt, he's down. Left-Hand Hate KOed by Love.
Those savvy cinephiles out there will recognize this as a paraphrasing of the same love/hate speech by the Reverend Harry Powell in Night of the Hunter (1955). In his case, his knuckles are tattooed with those words.
Ah, little lad, you're staring at my fingers. Would you like me to tell you the little story of right-hand/left-hand? The story of good and evil? H-A-T-E! It was with this left hand that old brother Cain struck the blow that laid his brother low. L-O-V-E! You see these fingers, dear hearts? These fingers has veins that run straight to the soul of man. The right hand, friends, the hand of love. Now watch, and I'll show you the story of life. Those fingers, dear hearts, is always a-warring and a-tugging, one agin t'other. Now watch 'em! Old brother left hand, left hand he's a fighting, and it looks like love's a goner. But wait a minute! Hot dog, love's a winning! Yessirree! It's love that's won, and old left hand hate is down for the count!
Genre: Experimental Short
Starring: John F. Kennedy, Jaqueline Kennedy Onassis
Directed By: Bruce Conner (A Movie • Marilyn Times Five)
Overview: The day of John F. Kennedy’s assassination is recounted through archive found video and radio footage experimentally edited.
Report opens with audio footage reporting live from a confused scene where, apparently, the president’s vehicle may have been attacked. The intensity places us firmly in the moment. The reporter’s barely-contained agitation makes for a dramatic entry into a time capsule of historic news. Throughout this introduction of Report - and for several minutes - what we see is either a black screen or a screen that flashes from black to white. This flashing wasn't pleasant. It was easier for me to turn my head and take down some notes for this review.
The editing style of the film repeats shots deliberately, like a broken record. It’s not usually annoying - in fact I found it unique - but there is one ‘scene’ that repeats too quickly. The shot of the motorcade is another one that is quite difficult to watch. It cuts too quickly, then skips back and repeats again. This also made me prefer to look away and take notes than to invite eyestrain.
The 15-minute avant-garde experimental film has a distinctive documentary feel. The narration is all; there’s no music or other noise aside from the reporting. The first half of Report doesn’t linger however. The film takes a dynamic, staccato turn, jumping from a gory bull flight to a commercial for a freezer to clips of JFK visiting with people and exiting planes, to a slow motion shorts of a bullet flying through a lightbulb. The Statue of Liberty is juxtaposed with an atomic explosion, shots fly in reverse, upside-down and in negative, set against the consumerism and the doomed motorcade all while the narration confirms the death of President John F. Kennedy.
Maybe it was my mood; maybe it was the subject matter being audibly dynamic and interesting, but for all my doubts and the sum of its parts, I enjoyed Report quite a bit. In fact I’d say it was even too short. I expected a ‘third act’ of sorts, a conclusionary chapter. We experienced the confusion of the first few moments, we heard the report that the predident had been killed... I would've enjoyed another few minutes talking about the aftermath: the funeral or the assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald. That would have helped wrap up everything nicely for me.
As complaints go, "I would have liked to have seen more," is a pretty good one.
Performance: 8 Cinematography: 7 Script: 8 Plot: 7 Mood: 8
Overall Rating: 76% (Concise and To The Point)
Yes, dear readers, this is not for the mainstream. This is the sort of study film that finds a home only among the pages of the cinephile’s study. Fellow clubber Thomas Ostrowski, in his own review, said that it was too hard a film to find, and that director Bruce Conner’s more available A Movie would have suited us 1001 Clubbers just as well. Personally I’m of the opinion that a book like 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die should indeed lean more towards giving completists a fighting chance in finding the items it contains. I've learned long ago that if it's impossible to find a film in this day and age, it's usually quite a terrible thing, worthy of being lost to the ages.
Lucky this one wasn't a stinker.
Genre: Crime Comedy
Starring: Divine (Hairspray (1988) • Polyester), Mink Stole (Cry-Baby • Serial Mom)
Directed By: John Waters (Female Trouble • Pecker)
Overview: An obscene rivalry becomes full-fledged war when a couple competes with infamous superstar Divine for the title of “The Filthiest Person Alive”.
As the deadline for the 1001 review assignment of Rome, Open City approached, I looked forward to watching some Art History in cinema with a like-minded friend. Halfway through Roberto Rossellini’s essential Neorealist piece I was sighing at the decision I made in choosing Rome, Open City over the trashy Pink Flamingos that was my second choice. When it was over I felt educated, but I didn’t feel sated. I reluctantly asked my host if he was up for more. When I suggested John Waters’s entry into the 1001 tome, my film-freak friend popped it in, happily granting me a double-feature. Now I get to tell you if it fulfilled my need for entertainment or if it just made my evening worse…
Pink Flamingos’s plot is laughably simple. Trailer-trash drag queen diva Divine (as herself), apparently holds the ‘official’ Baltimore title of The Filthiest Person Alive. Raymond Marble (David Lochary) and his wife Connie (Mink Stole) are completely put off by this because they think the title should be theirs. They begin a battle of gross with Divine, who naturally does her best to get more than even. From things like the Marbles sending a special feces delivery to Divine invading the Marbles’ home, the war goes back and forth until the end credits. I’ll stop there because the actual things they do to one another is what ‘makes’ the movie, so I’d rather not spoil your ‘fun’. Yes those quotes are sarcastic.
Christ, where do I begin? Let’s start with the technical, the filmmaking ‘skill’, if you will. Pink Flamingos was shot on 16mm film, so you’re bound to find the graininess either annoying or rustic. Often static shots are done handheld, for that I-wish-I-could-see-this-establishing-shot-wiggling-constantly effect. But let’s forgive these things, especially when compared to the laziness inherent in the lack of over the shoulder shots. What this means for us, dear reader, is that we are mired in whole single-shot scenes where we see one actor speaking and the other actor hiding their face from the camera, because they’re looking backwards at the first actor. In the first half hour, I had already begged three times to those in the television, “Can you please turn your head to the camera?”
I don’t know if I gave up or if it was just being overwhelmed with more brutal elements of Pink Flamingos, but I stopped caring about that niggling little detail. It was much easier to dwell on Divine herself, that morbid, hideous clown of an abhorrent thing. There’s montages that are downright boring, there’s popular music that doesn't mesh at all with the scenes we’re watching, there’s incest with full-on and graphic drag queen-on-man oral, there’s sexual assault that really doesn’t fly anymore, especially when done in a weird, disturbing way that really doesn’t work at all in the context. But most unfortunate and absolutely-definitely-not-cool-at-all-even-a-little-as-a-joke is the on-screen killing of a chicken in a most definitely inhumane way – that being in the middle of the aforementioned sexual assault scene. Not cool John - reprehensible in fact. Shame on you. You should have had a testicle ripped out for that one. Asshole.
But worse - ok not worse but let’s say it anyway – worse still is Miss Edie (Edith Massey) and her idiotic subplot that was obviously written just to take up running time on the film. That corpulent, boring, one-trick kink of a character, played by a hideous, corpulent, talentless one-glazed-over-expression ‘actress’ has a storyline where she sits in a crib - and later in a wheelbarrow – goofing on eggs. Everything she talks about is eggs eggs eggs. “Where is the eggman?” “Where do eggs come from?” “Oh, God I’m starving, where’s my eggs?” Holy Jesus shut up you suck, and not in a fun way. It goes on and on and on… then on some more. Those scenes were eggscruciating. Yeah, they hurt like that last sentence did, but 18,034 times worse.
Yet, dear reader, I actually finished watching Pink Flamingos. Oh yes. And that’s because your humble critic actually enjoyed himself. I laughed. I laughed a lot. Partly it was because of the company I was with: the only friend who could appreciate Pink Flamingos as I could, the only friend who could appreciate the ballistic ridiculousness that just couldn't be held back. There’s a ton of nudity, the baby-breeding slavery scenes were side-splittingly golden and honestly, Mink Stole, who played Connie Marble, was the upstaging best - in that way that diarrhea is the most talented of feces. There’s just something about Pink Flamingos. It's horrible but it's funny. The fact is I laughed; I laughed genuinely, I laugh frequently. The fact that I was laughing at it rather than with it half the time didn’t make my enjoyment of Pink Flamingos any less grand. Rather, there was an ironic sarcasm that came off of this John Waters film, and yeah, reluctantly, I’m a fan of many parts.
Performance: 4 Cinematography: 3 Script: 6 Plot: 7 Mood: 8
Overall Rating: 56% (More Dirty Than Divine - But In A Good Way)
Now there’s an element of comparison that comes with that score. This year I’ve seen more stinkers in a row than ever before, and after films like Flaming Creatures and Vinyl, it’s actually refreshing to see Divine and her disgusting display, mostly because there’s an actual storyline - thin as it may be. Pink Flamingos is definitely one of the films in the 1001 tome intended to give us a break from Serious Study. And you know what? I support it. Sometimes it’s good to have a genuine jaw-dropper in your brain. I have fond memories of my time with this film, and that, my friends, isn’t such a terrible thing.