Or whatever the equivalent is for a website… I’m sorry, the constant whining about Hollywood’s annoying yet unsurprising (because anyone who is older than twenty can remember this being not so much a new problem as a tradition of Tinseltown) behind-the-times clinging to outdated and tired political notions is one thing, but claiming that the Titanic movie (the 90s version that came to us courtesy of James Cameron’s cliché-raddled mind) is “an event, an experience, one for the ages” as well as “what movies are all about”? No. Just– no. Sure, Kate What’s-‘er-name looked nice in her outfits, but everything else was either bloated with hackneyed ideas of what life was “really” like back in the early 20th century (life below decks was more wholesome and lively than the dessicated existences of the rich stiffs above! Wow! Excuse me while I try to recover from that feather-blow!) or else just plain wrong (Florence King pointed out — it’s in one of my books of her columns, I am too lazy to look for it right now — that the slow waltz-type dancing the rich bores were shown doing was wrong for the period), and was hideously acted by almost all the principles with the possible exception of Kathy Bates (the worst was Billy Zane, who must have added considerably to the cost of filming for all the scenery he chewed). And let me add the cherry on the craptastic sundae: it starred as the Heartthrob Love Interest none other than Leonardo Di Caprio, who is to sex appeal what Roseanne Barr is to the push-up bra. People keep telling me he’s supposed to be sexy as hell, but stringy arms, tiny noses, and a general ephebic appearance in males are a buzzkill to me.
So, that’s the end of me taking Libertas at all seriously. Call me when you get your critical faculties back, guys.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.