Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Tonight our recent streak of excellent film screenings came to a crashing halt, after viewing the exciting titles I've recently commented on here as well as Marc Forster's Finding Neverland, Barbet Schroeder's Koko, le gorille qui parle, and Antonioni's Blow Up -- we are certainly taking advantage of our winter break! -- we went and watched an atrocious, ghastly, disgusting film by Alfred "the most overrated filmmaker of all time" Hitchcock called Vertigo.

This movie -- yes movie: does it really deserve to be called a film? -- was utterly ridiculous misogynist rubbish. How anyone could call it a "classic" or a "masterpiece" is seriously beyond my comprehension.

Throughout most of the movie Caitlin and I were trying to figure out what was happening and at the same time locate even a hint of character motivation. Why are any of these characters doing anything? Where did Midge go? Why are the women portrayed as weak creatures who beg for men's love and affection? What's up with the cartoon dream sequence? And those are only the tip of the myriad of problems with this picture.

Most unsettling to me was Jimmy Stewart's character. I've seen some seriously creepy, insidious things in my day (i.e. Visitor Q or Irreversible or etc.) but I can't remember ever being more creeped out than I was watching this slop. In fact, I wanted so badly for Jimmy Stewart's character to fall out of the bell tower in the last scene, as a form of personal catharsis; but alas...

ps - Hyperbole is the new black.