Reviews

I wanted to like this film but from the first scenes of Jessica Castain's character tottering through the zoo holding and tending to huge animals IN STILETTOS (1940s style, about 4 inches) I couldn't take it seriously. Fine for the opening party, but it continued in every scene, bar one where she was wearing boots. The most cursory google images search show Polish women in the war wore flat shoes. If you're ***MINOR SPOILER*** dashing around the city out-running Nazis, or in a zoo tending large, messy animals, flats would surely be the heel of choice.

This lack of attention to reality annoyed me. It smacks of oppression, a world where a women's silhouette is unacceptable unless she's in crippling high heels - arguably the Western equivalent of foot-binding. Even though the film has a female director and is about a real life courageous WWII heroine, it falls for this trope. Disappointed that Niki Caro, whose 'Whale Rider' is stunning, made this choice.

Throughout this film, all I was thinking was: "Beautiful cinematography, amazing soundtrack (it really is), incredible acting, gorgeous design, wonderful casting..."

Meanwhile I struggled to care, struggled to find a story, struggled to derive an ounce of meaning beyond the obvious and, ultimately, struggled to stay awake. Sadly failed in all these struggles.

Have had this reaction to PT Anderson films before. He shouldn't be allowed to write his own scripts, they are woeful: trite, boring, sophomoric. If he turned his substantial directing talents to great scripts by others, his films would be incredible.

I know why you're reading this. You're smart, you have great taste, a passion for cinema, and you see CK near the top of every 'Great Movie' list ever compiled. So with great anticipation you borrow a DVD copy and sit down for a real treat, and... you can't get through the first half hour. You fall asleep.

Surprised, you think, 'It must be me, maybe I'm tired,' so a month later, you try again. But you don't even get as far as before, and wake up drooling out the corner of your mouth as a bloated Orson Welles, with really bad age make-up, groans 'Rosebud, Rosebud'.

It doesn't make sense. You're perplexed. You've watched other films on the lists... Casablanca made you stand up and cheer, cry, laugh, feel connected to all humanity. You even adore films on the list that some might consider oblique, like 8 1/2, which you reckon reinvented cinema language, weaving in and out of memory, dreams, psyche, reality, putting the human spirit up on the screen, making you cheer, laugh, and feel connected to all humanity.

So why does CK leave you so cold? You wonder, 'What's wrong with me? Am I stupid or something?'

Your borrowed DVD copy gathers dust (notice how the lender never asks for it back?), taunting your unquiet mind: "You must watch me: I'm the greatest film of all time!" But you shudder at the thought. Life's too short and, after all, there's more engaging things to do - like scraping plaque off the dog's teeth.

Years pass. Finally, you can take it no longer. You think, 'To be a serious film lover I MUST watch Citizen Kane! Maybe I was too immature before - yes, that must be it!' So you gird your loins and sit - awake! - through the whole thing. The whole turgid, ponderous, dull, vacuous, plodding, dank catastrophe. It's even worse than you feared. An emotionally and intellectually empty story. Your average six year old can invent a more complex, engaging tale.

Genuinely puzzled, you ask people who name it as one of the greatest films of all time why they like it, and with barely concealed superiority that phoneys are wont to adopt, they wax lyrical talk about the haunting mystery of the final words, "Rosebud, rosebud". You notice there's no feeling behind what they say. They also talk a great deal about Gregg Toland's cinematography, with liberal references to "deep focus", and you appreciate this, you really do, the cinematography was damned fine, best thing about the movie. That shot which started outside the window then tracked back into the room was really cool. But you just don't believe a movie is made great by cinematography alone.

In all your inquiries, you never once hear the following phrase, spoken from the heart: "God, I love that film".

So here you find yourself, reading IMDb comments.

Well, let me tell you this: There's Nothing Wrong With You! You Are Right! It's Overrated Flashy Unintelligent Rubbish!

One day, perhaps (one can but dream), the coolest, greatest, most admired film being in the world will point out the bleeding obvious nakedness of this bloated Emperor, and the assorted film critics, film studies teachers, and others who need to be told what to think by an authority figure, shall squirm, and CK shall drop off the lists once and for all.

Until that great day, don't be afraid to speak the truth.