Two new entries, as it’s been more than 10 years since some of the flicks on my original list were released. Besides, I had to find room for …
*Juno: I was hoping she’d abort (more here);
*Mystic River: Wrongly slighted in my first compilation, it definitely belongs. Overwrought, overacted … and I’m over movies set among Boston’s working class. Best actor winner Sean Penn proved you could scream and weep your way to an Oscar. Turgid.
*The Sixth Sense: The only thing scary about this movie was Haley Joel Osment;
*Almost Famous: So, so precious. And this is the flick that spawned Kate Hudson on an unsuspecting public. Cameron Crowe’s act is wearing thin;
*The Truman Show: Good idea, poorly executed, plus we had to endure critics fawning over Jim Carrey;
*American Beauty: Hollywood looking down its nose at suburbia. Condescension is never illuminating, and Annette Bening was way over the top;
*The Matrix: Marked a seminal moment in cinematic history; the geeks have taken over, and it’s only getting worse. Who put “Comic Book Guy” in charge?;
*Chicago: Saw it with my mother. After 30 minutes, she suggested we leave. I have never been more proud of my mom;
*Magnolia: I’m in the minority on Paul Thomas Anderson, but I find his alternate universe tiresome, showy and grounded in nothing but film school reality. Who was he fucking kidding?
For those counting, you’ll notice I’m short one flick. Tell me what I’m missing.
If people keep seeing M. Night Shyamalan movies, he’ll only make more. When will people learn?
His latest “thriller” made more than $30 million this weekend despite horrendous reviews:
(Mark)Wahlberg turns in one of his worst performances ever, but then he’s saddled with preposterous scenes (like one where he tries to placate a ficus) and such lame lines as “Could this really be happening?” Funny, I was wondering the same thing myself.
So I drop off the newly anointed Mr. and Mrs. Hitt (introduced by yours truly) at the Five Points MARTA station Sunday afternoon en route to their honeymoon on Vancouver Island. Before they could lift their suitcases out of my trunk, a homeless guy approaches them, cup in hand. They try to shrug him off, but he persists, shadowing them to the escalator. I drove off and within 20 yards slam into a massive pothole (guess the mayor’s “pothole posse” missed that one, and about 1,000 others).
Barely an hour later, I’m chatting on the phone outside when a guy passes the building, yelling in my direction (wanting either change or cigarettes). I motion to my phone and he responds by glaring angrily, berating me before finally walking away. Yeah, I’m the rude bastard.
It’s been two months since I wrote about Atlanta’s panhandling problem, and the city has yet to enact any noticeable changes. Without bringing it up, several out-of-town visitors at the wedding I attended Saturday mentioned how many beggars they encountered during their brief stay.
I plan to revisit the story in four months for an update. Hopefully my expectations will be surpassed.