Waking the Dead

Bomb Rating: 

I'm not likely to explain this very well at all, but here it goes anyway: This film reminded me of an experience I frequently have while driving. I'll attain a certain driving inertia, in which I'm moving along steadily, strangely satisfied with my place in the world of motor vehicles, and then suddenly I'll realize there's something wrong with the car in front of me. I won't be able to put my finger on it at first, but it usually starts with the guy moving out of his lane slightly. Then he'll pull the other way. Then he'll hit his brakes. Then I'll realize what's wrong -- the guy is drunk, plastered, blotto. That's what watching this film was like. It all seems normal and then you slowly start to realize the people making the film are smashed. The thing is swerving around all over the place, totally out of control, and all you want to do is get past it.

I actually think there's a combination of drugs at work here, because it isn't that easy to make "The Sixth Sense" meets "Days of Our Lives." You really have to think hard to come up with that kind of crap. The premise here is that Fielding Pierce (Billy Crudup) falls for Sarah Williams (Jennifer Connelly). They're in love but their career goals start to tear them apart. He wants to be a politician and she wants to be an activist. Then she dies. Ten years later, about to be elected to Congress, Fielding starts seeing Sarah's ghost.

I was actually in the mood to tolerate a little melodrama in this film, but the kind of sticky drivel that begins pouring out of Sarah's mouth -- after a while you think she's selling love insurance. I was waiting for her to pull out papers for Fielding to sign so that for only 35 bucks a month he would have their memories when he was 70. Her super-liberal leanings don't help anything. If she's not talking about the beauty of pure love or telling Fielding how much she loves how much he loves her, she's spouting off about the importance of saving Chilean activists. She's like Joan Baez on ecstasy.

There's little doubt in my mind that had Sarah possessed smaller knockers, Fielding would have dumped her in a second, which really makes this film less about love and more about the psychological power of big knockers. That the filmmakers so desperately try to convince you it's about love gives you some indication of how pretentious the whole thing is.

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Finally a civil rights issue I can get a grip on

Dan_in_Cincinnati's picture

As a civil libertarian I just want the gov'mint to leave me alone when I ain't hurtin nobody.  These civil rights people think somebody (usually the taxpayer) owes them something.  Like housing or free medical care or free food.

That type o' thing is pure communistical! 

Well that's whut I thunk anyways, until the plight of big hootered English gals came to my attenshun. 

Did you know that them there British undy stores is charging more for big brazieriers?  This is whut we would call the DD and up range of over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders.  It's true!  Slap me up-side the head with a two-by-four if it ain't. 

Dang it, if these little British gals got so much to give the world shouldn't we try to be neighborly and help them out a little bit?  I would like to suggest that we start up a new hands across the seas effort.  Victoria's Secret is that she has a huge leftover inventory of the bigger sizes.  There is so much anorexia and bulemia in the US of A that they can't hardly sell no big gal sizes.  So let's ship 'em over to the other side of the Atlantic. 

Instead of Victory Ships it will be busty slips!

{;-) Dan in Miami




say what you will

Coaster's picture

but I, for one, am glad they got that off of their chests.

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