That feeling one gets sometimes that maybe, just maybe, Godfather Part III can't possibly be really all that bad? Then one watches some of it and wants to gouge their own eyes out with a jagged piece of bottle? Well, I had that feeling over the weekend...no, Friday afternoon, when I saw that Eyes Wide Shut was available streaming on Netflix and thought those six dangerous words: it can't be all that bad.
Oh, man, the languid lapping of boredom crept upon me so stealthily that I could barely register it until I was near death. WHY does this exist? I will leave it to you to enumerate the ways it's terrible...the leaden pacing. Tom 'n' Nicole (has Suri seen this?). The so-not-New York New York. This was the non-Austin Powers version, so the purportedly "hot" stuff was intact, but boring.
Then this made me think how there were TWO (at least) articles in Vanity Fair defending this stillbirth. James Wolcott, maybe? How it attained a dream senescence (probably). No!
Only good things in this are: 1) Alan Cumming, 2) Sydney Pollack (RIP) and the red pool table. That's IT!
Sigh. Why is it up to me to issue these fatwas twelve years after the fact??? SO much responsibility. And all on my lonesome. Come back in 2023 when I will excoriate, I dunno, Night at the Museum.
C U then!
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