From JASON PETERS
Front Porch Republic
…almost all movies leave me feeling robbed of time: time, whose wingéd chariot ever at my back I hear—time, that subtle thief of youth, that running grave that tracks you down.
I’m quite sure I haven’t seen any movie that came out in the last decade. I remember how treasonous it was that I hadn’t seen ET. It was ill-breeding and lack of intellectual curiosity that kept me from seeing Matrix. I once heard someone call Fight Club a “must-see,” an epithet that resounded in my ear like an interdiction from God not to see it, so I didn’t.
But I do remember making a grave error once. I allowed a student write an essay on American Beauty, and this, like most mistakes, led to a second: seeing the movie. American Beauty is far and away the most puerile flick I know of—and, of course, it won Best Picture. Not even Kevin Spacey’s line about the couch could redeem it. I find it hard to believe that anyone not suffering a severe rectal-cranial inversion could utter a single unaccented syllable in its favor. It is, plainly and simply, a P.O.S. But that’s just the technical term for it.
And of course I didn’t see—hell’s bells, I don’t even know what else it is I haven’t seen. I know only that I won’t be seeing it. I don’t have any plans to see anything.
The reason is that movies are by nature, and in principle, boring—and I can’t see the sense in parting with my money to bore myself…
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