I will probably get kicked out of the femme's club for this, and potentially chased out of town by an angry mob (comprised entirely of women between the ages of 25-49 wielding dog-eared copies of Fifty Shades of Grey), but I have to complain about the movie Silver Lining's Playbook.
I was desperate for any distraction to pass the remaining 3.5 hours of my flight to Dubai, after being fully awakened by a near miss with a well-disguised, egg-laden breakfast sandwich. Bogue. Shaken and alert, I turned on my in-flight console and chose this film, partly because it was the best option out of those I didn't want to save to watch on a larger screen, but mostly because I had heard drooling reviews of it.
As the movie progressed, I got increasingly annoyed by the balanced ratio of contrived:absurd story line. None of this would ever happen ever, ever, ever in any semblance of reality. The outrageous extremity of each of their mental conditions, the utter unlikelihood of an average man (prone to rage and bouts of uncontrolled machismo) agreeing to learn to dance, and then the head-slapping improbability of the ending. Honestly, it's stories like this that contribute to the degradation of legitimate romantic relationships. Or, more, what our expectations of them should be.
Jesus. I feel stupider for having watched this movie, and still pissed enough at those who recommended it to me that my fist involuntarily balls up when I see their faces. (Sorry if you're one of them.)
If it's not too late: save yourselves!
No comments:
Post a Comment