So I watched Broken Flowers on DVD last night and can I say, the fuck?
First off, who thought that was a plot?
Who thought those were characters?
All right, the neighbor, Winston, he was *sort* of interesting. I *kind* of grew interested when he came on screen. And the woman who was an animal communicator -- vaguely interesting, in a marginal way.
But everyone else? First of all, not real human beings. Second, boring.
This reminded me, more than anything, of workshop fiction. The main character has to be surprised! We must have reversals! He must be on a Journey!
And, of course, always written (almost always written) by twenty-nine year old males who have never spent a solid week with an actual woman, so they write about MEN who FUCK women non-stop and leave them behind and women who LOVE this behavior in REAL MEN (as of course REAL WOMEN would...on planet REAL MEN...), well, good shit.
I knew when we met Lolita, bouncing about offering Bill Murray a popsicle -- and ten seconds later parading back into the living room stark naked -- because, yes, fifteen year old girls ALWAYS do this when they meet fifty year old ex-boyfriends of their mothers --- that the movie was fucked. Nor was I wrong.
The main problem, though, beyond the hideous misogyny of the movie, was the utter emptiness of the main character. Someone tell me why we're supposed to care about this guy? Why was I meant to watch this movie? Toward the end he squeaks out a tiny bit of Buddhist philosophy, but, come on. Buddhism doesn't make you an empty horndog, which is what this boy is. This is a depressive loser, not a Buddhist.
Give me Howl's Moving Castle any day.