Okay, I'm just going to cut straight to it. This film is cheesy as fuck. And not ironically (everyone knows that irony wasn't invented until 1990 to give people an excuse for watching The Word), but in the sort of way that ages a film dreadfully, when your childhood favourite's naive plot, awkward dialogue and horrendous over-acting is only saved by the warm glow of nostalgia reminding you that this is one of the building blocks of the person you've become.
Except I don't have that, because #ICBIHSThe Goonies.
Yeah, that's a harsh blow to open with, isn't it? Look, I didn't actually dislike the movie, but I rolled by eyes far more than I should have, perhaps expecting a previously uncovered gem of an action-adventure flick which is based around a gang of youths, but has a timeless, self-aware edge and a sincere emotional core. What I got was the Children's Film Foundation with a bigger budget. None of which went on acting lessons. Usually I'd put this down to the prepubescent cast, but since Rob Reiner made Stand By Me with one member of the gang less than a year later, I'll lay the blame at the feet of Mr. Richard Donner, demonstrating that he couldn't direct traffic down a one-way street.
And not to single out anyone unjustly, but Sean Astin is inexcusably bad, here.
But y'know what? I can't hate The Goonies. It's not without a lot of charm, but the charm is all it has, and my jaded expectations require more from a film that my peers swear by.
It's also faintly ironic that the closing song is Cyndi Lauper's 'The Goonies 'R' Good Enough'. At least it would be, if irony had been invented in 1985…
Oh, and there's a continuity error before the film even hits the five-minute mark, with Chunk's messy hand-print on the glass (or not) as he watches the car-chase through town.
There's a mistake before the film's even got started, Donner…
Yeah, never. 1985 was Ghostbusters and Back To The Future for me, and this one just slipped my radar. For 30 years.
Oh, I am. Because the next person who gushes about it in my presence had better be sitting down :p
I'd recommend it for parents to show their kids for the first time, but there's really nothing there for the older audience if they haven't grown up with the film.
I didn't hear one.
The film stars (Jonathan) Ke Huy Quan, who of course played Short Round in Temple Of Doom alongside Harrison 'Solo' Ford.
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
The obvious benefit to Robert De Niro's recent professional huff-taking, of course, is that audience awareness of this film's borderline graveyard-slot release will he higher, and more buzz equals more bums on seats; fact. However, the downside is that the same audience will be far more critical as a result, expecting the venerated actor to have been defending the honour of some magnificent cinematic achievement, a modern parable and homily for our distracted 21st century mindset…
Y'know, instead of the blandly offensive mom-com*1 that Bobby sleepwalks through using the same clockwork demeanour that's seen him cash the cheques from threeMeet The Parents movies and voice an animated shark.
[ …Say what you like about Radio Times journalist Emma Brockes and her veiled intimation that The Intern is perhaps not De Niro's most challenging role, but she's got a great fall-back career in carpentry lined up, having hit the nail right on the fucking head without even trying… ]
On the surface, Nancy Meyers' gentle comedy has all the hallmarks of a classic chick-flick, and there's nothing at all wrong with that. Anne Hathaway does a more-than-respectable job of bringing us Jules, the 30-something, hugely successful founder of an online fashion-house*2, and despite my grumbling, De Niro does pretty much exactly what he's paid to do as the loveable widower seeking a fresh challenge in the world to stave off the boredom and atrophy of retirement. A supporting cast of ironically-bespectacled hipsters and comedically-aged fogeys provide the comic/melodramatic backdrop in equal turn, and for a short time, the film pootles along quite happily in first-gear.
Then after a while, it dawns on you that this isn't really aimed at the girls-night-in crowd, after all (it's certainly not aimed at the girls-night-out one, either). The central conceits of the film seem to be:
a) old people are hilarious because they need glasses and have no idea how the internet works,
b) young people are ghastly because they can't stop looking at their phones,
c) lots of crying with no real character development.
d) just know your fucking place, everyone.
And then, you really lose all grip (as does writer/director Meyers) on who this film is actually for. As a comedy which purports to be about bridging the generation gap, it's insulting to all ages, and as a thesis on the modern businesswoman, its politics are astounding…
Nominally attempting to juggle a home-life with working all hours in the office, Jules is surrounded by staff who either think she's a foul-tempered ogre (she isn't) or that she can't cope with running the business any more (she can), and a sub-plot trundles away in the background where she interviews a series of potential CEOs to take over the company management. Meanwhile, the screenplay punishes Jules further for daring to succeed by having her whiny, stay-at-home-husband conducting an ongoing affair with the stay-at-home-mother of their young daughter's schoolfriend, ostensibly as a subconscious reaction to having given up his own career while Jules flourished in hers.
All of this would be fine if Jules was allowed to put her foot down take control of either situation; it's how characters are built, after all. But the choice hanging around Jules' neck like a narrative albatross isn't a progressive one, it's just about Jules choosing which part of her life to let go of, ie:
a)focus on being the boss at work and abandon your marriage like a selfish bitch..., or
b)let The Man take over the business and go back to fetching your husband's slippers as you should be doing anyway, you selfish bitch, can't you see how unhappy you're making everybody..?
In the end she decides to run her own company and try to rekindle her marriage. This doesn't require any real change or development, it's what she was doing anyway. Jules' inaction has made the decision for her; she hasn't chosen both, she's actually chosen neither. For the second hour of this movie, Anne Hathaway gets to cry on Robert De Niro's shoulder, proving that all she really needed was a non-threatening father-figure to pat her on the head. The facade of professional and domestic fulfilment is barely concealing the film's underlying message:
"Just keep working your arse off and making a shit-ton of money surrounded by underpaid, vapid cretins and unpaid interns, because while it's brought you nothing but unhappiness so far, being able to buy a $400 juicer on a whim or doing Tai Chi in the park is the same as having a home-life…"
And at no point in the film, - at no fucking point - when De Niro's Ben has proved himself to be a fully capable office PA; when he steps in as Jules' driver after spotting her regular chauffeur drinking on the job; when he inexplicably (ie it's not explained) breaks into her mother's house with three colleagues to steal a laptop - committing an actual felony in order to save his boss the embarrassment of having to explain a mis-sent and rude e-mail; when he supports his boss through tears, tantrums and vomiting in a bin outside the pub; when he finally has a heart-to-heart in which they discuss her husband's infidelity in a way that only best friends can… at no fucking point is it even suggested that The Intern might start getting a paid-job out of all of this…
"Thanks for your time and for helping me get my life back on-track, fucker; now good luck paying the bills while I earn thousands of dollars a week cycling around the office for no fucking reason…"
And the sad part is that De Niro's absolute coasting throughout all of this (and his subsequent press-trail snarkiness) will take the rap for Nancy Meyer's lacklustre, morally bankrupt writing.
Doe-eyed, narcissistic capitalism masquerading as feminism, like a Ben Stiller movie tangled up with a Special K commercial. The Intern says it can make you feel good, but you'll be hungry again by the time you get back to your car.
Soul-food for the spiritually bulimic.
And yet, somehow, I can't outright hate it.
I just hate many of the things about it...
No, it isn't.
Just wait until it's on telly one Sunday night.
Well, I think I've touched that subject already ^^^
Make me unaccountably angry considering I didn't actually hate the film?
I think it probably does…
With the best will in the world, YES.
There isn't.
The Intern features a segment of Singin' In The Rain starring Debbie Reynolds, who is of course Carrie 'Leia' Fisher's mum. A real-life Queen Amidala, if you will.
*1 There's nothing wrong with moms watching films, of course, or indeed films for moms to watch. But this is one of those DVDs which will only be bought as an uninspired last-minute present for the matriarchal-elder in a family, probably with some chocolates. Ironically, the film is also artificially sweet but offers slightly less long-term sustenance…
*2 The open-plan office is full of perky, dynamic youngsters, 'movie-type' computer displays, design software which doesn't exist (the Apple logos do, of course), and an over-riding air of "well, I imagine this is exactly what it would be like, rather than a dark room full of misanthropic coders muttering curses at the visual-merchandisers who drop scraps of paper on the desk expecting an instant result on the website as if there's a magic fucking button on the keyboard which translates this scrawl…" I just get the impression that Nancy Meyers has bought some clothes online and spoken to a customer-service rep at some point, and feels this qualifies her to write a film about an e-commerce fashion house. Which y'know, is a bit like thinking you can write The Fast And The Furious after sitting in Kwik-Fit's waiting room for half an hour…
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Now I'm not the only one who expected the decomposing corpse of Ray Brower to lurch forward, his undead facsimile of human senses brought out of stasis by the proximity of his former associates, and to sink his stained teeth into the leg of Vern, am I..?
"This is how it starts. Already in a state of shock at the sight of an ostensibly dead body, Gordie, Chris and Teddy can’t believe what’s happening; is this a joke? Some adolescent prank orchestrated by Vern’s older brother Billy, in order to lure them twenty miles into the wilderness and scare the shit out of them? But no, this is very, very real. As the hideous parody of Ray severs Vern's tibia with the ferocity of its bite, blood geysers from the wound as the head pulls back to strike further up the leg, tearing flesh from the stunned Vern. His screams had been quickly silenced by the flood of adrenaline into his system, and he now sits wheezing, shaking too much to co-ordinate the removal of the ravenous cadaver from his lower-leg.
Then, reality snaps back into play and Gordie knows what he must do. Ray Brower is no longer his acquaintance, his classmate, the macabre destination of the spiritual and physical journey he’s been sharing with his closest friends. This is a monster. A monster which is now attacking one of the few people Gordie feels - no, knows - he can trust in this world. The .45 which has been weighing him down for the last day suddenly dances in his hands, it too has reached its destination. Although a giddy feeling grips his chest as he aims, Gordie’s hands are unnaturally still as he aims the gun at Ray, and an effortless squeeze of the trigger discharges a deafening metal slug which throws the frothing animal back three feet. Half of the creature’s chest is now missing, the rapidly necrotising tissue proving no obstacle for the ordnance, but to everyone’s slack-jawed amazement, it plunges forward at Vern again; the red, quivering mess of his knee-joint acting like a magnet for the ghoul’s eager jaws.
The time for restraint is over; Gordie kneels forward and halts the thing's progress with the barrel of the pistol pushing into what used to be a face. There are no speeches, no farewells. All that squirms out of Gordie’s mouth is a weak “…fucker”, before the second shot within a minute tears the back of the undead cannibal’s head away, spraying the foliage in a range of hues which nature had never intended them to bear. It’s over. The three boys join Vern and the remains of their classmate by slumping to the ground, speechless.
After what seems like hours, the ear-ringing silence of the woodland is disturbed by heavy, hurried footsteps. Ace Merril enters the scene then quickly halts and surveys the carnage. “What the fuck? …What the fuck have you assholes done?”
Gordie hangs his head, exhausted. Where to begin? And is it all worth telling to this douchebag anyway? He wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked him in the face, and even then he wouldn’t care. Shit, he’s stepping forward. “Hey, asshole, I said---“
And without looking up, Gordie already knows what’s happened. Unencumbered by rigor mortis or decomposition, the thing which used to be Vern springs at Ace - no mean feat with only three limbs - catching him off-guard and clawing, biting, chewing at his throat as the blonde boy's high-pitched, withering scream accompanies them to the dirt. Ace Merril's final smart-assed quip is a gurgling sigh emitting from the morass of tendons beneath his jaw, his widened eyes glassing over as his feet twitch less and less. Billy and the rest of the older gang are standing at the top of the clearing at the railway track, transfixed by the carnivorous picnic on display; unable to move.
That's when the previously mute Teddy finds his voice, the psychotic swagger beginning to return amid the madness. "Yeah that's right, fuckers! You're not as tough now, are ya?" he jeers. Billy is shaking now, crying and pissing himself. Somehow it's this, rather than Teddy's yelling which makes the former Vern's eyes dart up, like an ill-mannered diner ready for the next course.
Throughout all of this, Gordie stands holding the .45, a small voice screaming at him to put a stop to all this. But the rest of his brain shuts that voice down. Not Vern, man. Not Vern. As one, Gordie, Chris and Teddy begin tumbling town the hill toward the riverbank, leaving Billy and his moronic cohorts to fend for themselves. Gordie doesn't even know how many shots he has left, anyway.
The voice reminds him that just one would suffice.
+ + + + +
And that was how it started. At least, that's how I remember it starting, although it was all so long ago now my brain may be playing tricks on me. We hardly spoke a word on the long walk home; we didn't need to. I guess someone from Billy's gang must have had the wherewithal to make it back to their pickup truck, because by the time we reached Castle Rock, some of the gang (all that was left) had long since returned. Although whoever was compos mentis enough to drive didn't have the common sense to leave their wounded friends behind, because they brought the infection into town with them. And that was how it started.
The town fought hard to quell the outbreak, but these things won't be contained. At least, that's what the CDC told us, in the days when they were still trying to offer advice. The lucky few who escaped the town were gone within a year, but once the surrounding cities became over-run, even the military stopped trying to clean up the mess. I've never been able to shake the guilt of not putting an end to things on that railway siding. Chris tried his best, telling me that Ray Brower would have bitten someone anyway as the authorities were looking for his body. But I could have stopped it. I could have stopped him.
Chris lasted around two months before being bitten. I was with him at the time, and I'd swore not to make the same mistake again. I know he understood. Teddy on the other hand? He disappeared three weeks after we got home; could have been his mind snapping, could have been bitten, or perhaps his Dad finally just finished what he'd been threatening to do all those years? I don't know, although I can't pretend I didn't enjoy taking Teddy's old man down when he was attacked by one of them outside the bar a month or so later.
And now it's just me. Cleaning up the walkers which drift into town, as well as the looters who think there's anything here worth taking. It's just me, baby. Just me.
It turns out I only had one shot left in that .45. One shot which could have stopped all this. Maybe. I've lost count of the number I've fired since then, but I've always kept that one shell with me. If I couldn't finish things in 1959, I'll sure as hell finish them when it's my time. It's not been my time all these years, but the neighbouring towns are spent and the fish are just about gone from the river.
So, I'm putting these words into the glove-box, not as a warning but a kind of record. Maybe even a confession, I guess. A message-in-a-bottle, cast into a worldwide ocean. I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve.
This is how it ends."
Because y'know: four kids just walking back home? "That ending sucks…";)
Really. I was more Back To The Future and Transformers in '86, and it just never crossed my radar after that.
Absolutely, it's marvellous.
I wouldn't have just written 1200 words of zombie-fanfic if it wasn't.
Well I would, except everybody else has seen it, obviously.
There isn't, although that eagle/hawk screech is in there.
The film stars Richard Dreyfuss, who appeared in 1973's American Graffiti, directed by George 'Baron Papanoida' Lucas.
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
The Martian (3D / thematic spoilers)
Cert: 12A / 141 mins / Dir. Ridley Scott / Trailer
Seriously Hollywood, can you just stop putting Sean Bean in films? You're only encouraging him. Now, The Martian represents great value for money to your average cinema-goer as a) It's almost two and a half-hours long, and b) It's pretty much two films rolled into one. There's the survival-thriller about an unintentionally abandoned explorer, left to fend for himself in a hostile environment which will kill him without a second thought, and then there's the heart-wrenching, rescue-mission, adventure, in which morality and plucky idealism come head to head with practical limitations and financial bureaucracy. I'll leave it up to you to guess which of these wins the battle for screentime…
Credit where it's deservedly due, The Martian is a visually gorgeous film, and to make a pleasant change, the 3D only makes the dusty, ochre landscapes of our celestial neighbour look even more welcoming*1. It just goes to show that 3D can be used well in live-action; it's just usually not. The settings of a desolate planet and semi-claustrophobic space vessel also allow Ridley Scott to retread some of the steps he took in Alien, although as cinematographer Dariusz Wolski was also Scott's DoP on Prometheus, you get the impression that it was an intentional group-decision rather than a subconscious one.
The film itself? Well, as I've intimated, I found it more of a mixed bag. Matt Damon is pretty great and carries the role in a stoically self-deprecating way. The crew of his (ex-)ship, The Hermes, give everything they can, given their limited screentime. Jessica Chastain gets to do most of the lifting (and does it well, as always), but Kate Mara, Sebastian Stan, Michael Peña and Askel Hennie are little more than pencilled in, with the focus falling more on the Earth-bound NASA team charged with formulating an efficient exit-strategy for their stranded astronaut.
And the only real problem I had with the film is that far too much of its time is spent on Earth watching Chiwetel Ejiofor and Jeff Daniels bicker about public relations, while Kristen Wiig and Mackenzie Davis pull concerned faces, and Donald Glover gets to be the clichéd, unconventional, "I've got a crazy idea… but it just might work!" guy who finally unveils a plan which should have been the first thing they thought of.
Short version: Anything which takes place on Mars or in space is awesome. Anything which takes place on Earth is an embarrassing mess full of mis-cast roles and hackneyed dialogue. The more the second one comes into play, the more loudly the wheels of the screenplay squeak. And to be fair, this could be the exact state of affairs in the book, but I wouldn't know as I haven't read it yet*2.
Vaguely spoilery question, highlight-to-read:Speaking of the book, can anyone who's read it tell me if Mark's burning of Martinez's crucifix in order to release the energy required to create life-giving water is covered in any more depth? Obviously the context is given fully in the film, but I thought this might have raised a question on the comfort of religion versus the facts of science, similar to Elixabeth Shaw's quandary in Prometheus. Then it's just never mentioned again.
Back on Mars, there's also the question of gravity. Occasionally, the exterior shots have been filmed in a higher frame-rate and then slowed down to standard to simulate the lower gravity (slower-falling objects, dus-plumes etc). But only very occasionally. The rest of the time, Mark's just padding around (indoors and out) as if the g-ratio is the same as Earth's. When it's not. Which is odd in itself, because quite a lot of work's gone into the zero-g effects onboard the The Hermes. As much as the film loves talking about science, it has a real problem showing it.
Astronaut Watney's mental health is also an issue which seems to be deftly avoided by the film. While his semi-emaciated form appears after months of surviving on dwindling rations, the extent of his inevitable breakdown is characterised only be him referring to himself as A Space Pirate, in a typically glib manner. I know I made pretty much the opposite point for Sandra Bullock's unstable character in Gravity, but in order for Watney to be so rational and upbeat after 300+ days alone on a world which is trying to kill him, he'd have to be unhinged to begin with. Obviously the mental strength and agility of potential astronauts is tested and measured before they get anywhere near a spacecraft, but we learn nothing of Watney's life on Earth, other than the fact that he has parents (…). No bar is set by which the audience can measure his stability, it's all just taken as read that he doesn't turn into a psychopath after a month without human contact.
Ultimately, Ridley Scott seems fascinated by the mechanics of survival on a hostile planet, but less interested in the isolation and insanity which would go hand-in-hand with it.
Watch The Martian for the visuals, and leave the existentialism to Interstellar…
Oh, and as if they would live-broadcast the rescue-mission on TV so that the world could potentially either hear the astronauts dying, or get really annoyed when NASA cut off the audio-feed of the astronauts dying…
For the spectacle, yes.
You're probably not going to watch it more than a couple of times, so a rental.
Matt Damon comes out of this very well, as do the crew of The Hermes.
Everyone on Earth, though..?
In terms of story, I couldn't tell you.
In terms of tension, sometimes.
In terms of visuals, yes.
Nope.
There isn't.
So let me get this straight: You can include a direct Lord Of The Rings reference in the screenplay (in one of Sean Bean's scenes, no less), and an Iron Man reference elsewhere, but no love for the GFFA..?
Okay, The Martian stars Jeff Daniels as the largely unconvincing Head Of NASA™, but in 1981, Jeff appeared in a movie called Ragtime, which also featured the late, great Bruce Boa; better known to audiences either as The Waldorf Salad Guy from Fawlty Towers, or General Rieekan in The Empire Strikes Back.
Shorter version:The Martian is basically a longer and more measured take on this…
*1 Seriously, we've got a pretty good idea of it now, and if that is what Mars looks like, I want to go. Granted, I want to go largely because it looks so much like Tatooine, but even so. Anyway, I'll be the guy standing atop the rock formations, making barking noises and waving a gaderffii stick…
*2 No really, I've barely got time to read all the 'Journey To The Force Awakens' material which is coming out before December 17th. I certainly don't have time to read standalone novels when I can just watch a movie of it in two and a half hours...
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
"Why are you taking philosophy?", Joaquin Phonix's lecturer, Abe Lucas, asks his student at the top Woody Allen's Irrational Man. "Because if you're trying to figure out what all this bullshit is about, forget it." This is screenwriting short-hand for 'look, the film may be asking the questions, but don't expect it to reveal any of the answers', and it's a first-act warning which serves its audience well. This is by no means a stupid film, but it's certainly more of a whimsical stream-of-consciousness than a measured thesis.
As I sat and watched the melancholic comic-drama unfold in upmarket Chelsea, the first twenty minutes saw Allen's sharp and exploratory dialogue accompanied by the chorus of a senior-audience, to whom the process of 'eating snacks quietly' remains an unsolved mystery (and bonus temerity-points to the couple sat behind me who started chatting to one another on three occasions during the film, being firmly shushed by a patron directly behind them each time. I wanted to quietly thank this code-enforcer after the film, but by the time I left my seat, they'd left the auditorium. Whoever you are, you have my gratitude).
Anyway, Irrational Man sees Phoenix as a morosely freewheeling, alcoholic Philosophy*1 tutor, arriving mid-year to a university where he begins an affair with both a student and a member of staff. Struggling to find meaning in even the baser pleasures of life, his joie de vivre is awakened by an anonymous, chance encounter and his contemplation on joie de mort. The film's about the justification of murder; I won't say any more than that. But I think you can guess the direction it's headed in.
The sporadic dual narration from Phoenix's Abe and Emma Stone as his student/muse Jill is interesting, but returning to both means that the film never decides who's story it wants to tell fully. As Irrational Man is primarily a study of Abe, his viewpoint is more instrumental, yet is also the least-convincing. Joaquin Phoenix's lecture-voice might be that of a philosophy professor, but his inner monologue isn't. And while his performance is perfectly acceptable, I think the writing behind it is a little hazier.
On a more technical level, the film looks as warm and inviting as you'd expect from Allen, and the titles and credits are pushed meticulously yet unceremoniously to the beginning and end of the film, respectively. Other than the soundtrack, there's no interaction between the faintly ornate white-on-black text and the film itself, whatsoever. It's the mark of a director who's focussed on telling a story and hasn't gotten around to thinking about the marketing of it. You sort of get the impression that Woody has looked blankly at a studio-exec at some point and asked "…what's a title sequence? Can't you sort that out?"
But for all the film's directness, Allen's lightness-of-touch doesn't really allow the themes to be explored firmly enough. Whereas the philosophy of pre-meditated murder was frequently distracted by action set-pieces in Solace, here it keeps devolving into relationship-squabbles, somehow. There are fantastic dilemmas, dialogue and performances here, but the film feels as fragmented as its central character. Yet at the same time, the story would be told by many other directors with Jason Bateman staring blankly into camera while Kevin Hart or Melissa McCarthy shrieked around him. Best enjoy it for what it is, than lament for what it could have been.
The inherent darkness of Irrational Man's story sits ill-at-ease with the charm of the production. Maybe that's the point, but I doubt it.
Best line:"Abe Lucas? He writes well, but it's the triumph of style. The substance just doesn't stand up to scrutiny", in which Woody Allen assures us that his sense of irony isn't lost here, even if his focus is floundering... ;)
For Woody Allen fans, yes.
Everyone else? Wait for the home-release.
Again, fans of Allen will be buying it anyway, but everyone else should get away with a rental.
Not really.
Not quite.
Not at all.
No (although come on, there's one perfect spot for it, and you could hardly say it would interrupt the film's realism).
The film stars Ethan Phillips, who appeared in Inside Llewyn Davis, alongside Oscar 'Poe Dameron' Isaac and Adam 'Kylo Ren' Driver.
*1 Which is to say that he's an alcoholic and he teaches Philosophy. An extra comma just looked out of place, there. He doesn't teach Alcoholic Philosophy, although if that was a subject I'd be banging on the door of the enrolment centre first thing Monday morning...
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
