The Adjustment Bureau
I'm also going to spoil the movie for anyone unstable enough to actually buy a ticket for this monstrosity: it's all about God.
Want to be edgy in today's Hollywood? Find an obscure sci-fi short story that you couldn't possibly ever understand, cast a couple of bland big shot faces in the male and female leads and then create a plot so complicated and far-fetched that as soon as the credits start to roll at the end the audience almost feels as though it has just failed the SATs. I am referring, of course, to the blueprint behind the film "The Adjustment Bureau."
Let's get this out of the way: Matt Damon is not aging gracefully. It used to be that his youthful vim and vigor was somewhat charming, but at this point in his career he comes off like that desperate guy at the club on a Thursday night who doesn't want to spend another night alone in his one-bedroom apartment masturbating to the Sears catalog. That's right, ladies – Damon needs to get laid, and by get laid we mean have some kind of Rourke-esque scarring accident, because his babyface credibility just doesn't fly anymore.
I'm also going to spoil the movie for anyone unstable enough to actually buy a ticket for this monstrosity: it's all about God. Specifically, it's all about angels, although God is referenced every third line as "The Chairman," an act of subtlety that would have impressed even the recent iteration of Charlie Sheen. Unfortunately, neither George Burns nor Alanis Morissette have cameos in "The Adjustment Bureau," leaving us to wonder just who exactly was originally cast as the heavenly father, and why he, she or perhaps it had their scenes cut. Maybe the world wasn't ready for a monotheistic figurehead in the form of a giant Sloar. I guess we'll never know.
Perhaps the most ludicrous aspect of "The Adjustment Bureau" is how the angels are portrayed – 50's-suited worker drones wearing fedoras and forced to move through the world through a seemingly random distribution of doorways that act as portals from point A to point B. Turn the handle counterclockwise, you go to heaven, turn the handle clockwise, you – oh look I'm bored already. Movie angels should fulfill only one of two roles: disgraced, sad beings stripped of their powers and sent to Earth to live among the mortals, or enormous muscled-up warriors ready to cleanse our planet of its human infection. I know which side I'm on.
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