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Heidi, Brynn and I love to read. If you live in America, this may come as a surprise to you. Then again, if you live in America, there's about a 50/50 chance that someone is reading this to you. Not to worry, we're not judging you. We just think you're stupid. A few weeks ago I bought The Spiderwick Chronicles for our daughter. There were five "books" in all. When I say books, I mean hard bound chapters. For sixty bucks. Given that each one took about half an hour to read, I didn't really feel like I got a whole lot of bang for my buck.
The story was enjoyable enough, although clearly designed for a younger audience. Brynn loves the books and has read each several times. By the time each of us had turned the last page, you can imagine how excited she was to see the movie.
Unfortunately, the movie and the books had practically nothing in common. They added new things that didn't help the story and left out a lot of the original elements that kept us reading in the first place. What we were left with was a half-assed Hollywood formula movie that could have been a hell of a lot better.
This isn't the first time. Eragon, The Golden Compass, Stardust and dozens of others are just a few of the fine literary accomplishments that have been twisted into horrible cinematic train wrecks. Oh, ok. Stardust was still pretty fun. But the stories didn't need any fundamental changes. They were good as they were. Hell they were great. It baffle$ me how anyone could let $omeone el$e $o gro$$ly mangle their life'$ work. Then again, I $uspect I have a price, too.
(Spoiler alert.) There's a new movie in town and the critics just loooove it. That should be your first clue that something in the movie No Country for Old Men is absolutely, hopelessly, screwed up. It started out and continued strongly, but when the movie ended, that was it.
There was no warning, reason or resolution. Out of nowhere, it just ended. Ended like when someone changes the channel in the middle of the show you're watching. There wasn't even a sense of disquiet to imply that it had ended on purpose. Apparently the writer's strike had a trial run.
No one in these settings wants to say they don't like the film because they don't want to admit that they might not be in on what the critics and "intellectuals" are. No one wants to feel stupid. So they watch a show that leaves them baffled in a way that reminds them of all the times they've been taught to appreciate "art". After a long pause and a whimper they proclaim, "that was great!"
It's exactly how I felt when I finished watching Brokeback Mountain. No one could stop talking about what a bold, groundbreaking show it was. Of course, none of the critics had the spine to say what I thought after watching it—that it was pointless, hopelessly dull movie whose underdeveloped characters I couldn't force myself to give a damn about.
You see, there's this phenomena among critics that takes me back to the days of my fine art classes in college. The scene goes something like this. Everyone sits around a piece of art that no one understands or likes. The reason no one understands or likes is that said piece of "art" is a turd in a frame that some con artist actually managed to collect payment on.
Insult is added to injury as the professor makes everyone talk about why it's great. The honest people are ridiculed while the bullshitters get accolades and high marks.
In other words, Rosebud.
