We saw Far from Heaven last night. We weren't thrilled with it. It didn't help that the tickets cost £15 ($24) for the
two of us. I don't think I've ever paid $12 for a movie ticket in my life, not even in Zurich.
Anyway, the only critic I agree with on this movie is Stephen Hunter at the Washington Post. He nails it on the
head when he writes:
"The movie has the sense of being embalmed, or pickled. With its stilted dialogue not quite kitschy
enough to be funny and not quite authentic enough to be realistic, the whole movie feels as if it's taking place in formaldehyde.
I'm certain that was Haynes's point, but somehow you're exiled by his ironic distance, his formalities, his sense of study.
And it's somehow more Fifties than the Fifties themselves were. That's because in the Fifties, of course, no one knew it was the
Fifties. It wasn't anything. It just was. Moreover, it was never so pure as this; rather, the shabby, messy struggle that was
reality then (as now) was clotted with memory and residue: old cars, old houses, old furniture, old clothes, old human beings.
Reality was a reliquary of yesteryear, not a display of perfect research. So this movie has the ambiance of the museum to it,
or a theme-park re-creation. It's achingly self-conscious and clumsy, something Sirk never was."
I pay attention to Stephen Hunter because he is the one critic I found who told the truth about
Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey.
"...it's less a visionary
masterpiece than a crackpot
Looney Tune, pretentious,
abysmally slow, amateurishly acted....
The movie is an annoyance wrapped inside of an enigma as constructed by a
cosmic ego that had been praised so much he believed it."
I also enjoy reading movie reviews by J. Hoberman at the Village Voice and Edward Guthmann at the San Francisco Chronicle. They
often get it right (meaning that I agree with them).
Previous Entry >>> Strong Nasdaq Stocks -- Week Ending April 18, 2003