This movie is long. I mean long like the Nile, long like a Bill Clinton speech, long like a trek across the Outback, long like John Holmes.
A three-hour-and-fifteen-minute movie does not speak well to director James Cameron's intelligence. Not only did he spend two hundred million dollars on a film with a predictable ending (though you know that some producer suggested Arnold Schwarzenegger beat the crap out of the iceberg and save the day), but he made it so long that theaters can only show it three times a day instead of four. This significantly increases the chances Cameron will succumb to the "curse of the water picture," lose money and have people call him an idiot.
If they don't call him an idiot for his expenditure, they'll surely call him one for his writing. Obviously, Cameron was going to sink or swim with this project, but couldn't he have subsumed his world-class ego for one second and given the writing assignment to somebody with an imagination? His clever story features a poor boy, Jack Dawson (Leonardo DiCaprio), sneaking onto the Titanic, then falling in love with the aristocratic, soon-to-be-wed, Rose (Kate Winslet). Naturally, none of Rose's family or friends wants that to happen, so the clandestine couple spends the entire trip avoiding people. Pardon me, but was that plagiarized from "Wings of the Dove" or "Out to Sea?"
Cameron had a titanium camera housing designed so he could film inside the actual wreckage of the Titanic, thereby necessitating an extraneous storyline involving a treasure hunter (Bill Paxton) poking around the wreckage. Cameron flashes back to the main story when Paxton finds the elderly Rose (Gloria Stuart), who has survived the disaster. If suspense were nickels, Cameron's epic would earn him little more than a hot, steaming cup of 1912 coffee.
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