Nov 05 2002
Right is wrong
And then again, sometimes it’s not.
All the critics have been drooling over Punch Drunk Love, the latest movie from the brilliant Paul Thomas Anderson. I love Boogie Nights, a completely perfect movie of its kind, and expected to like the new one, too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone to see it in the theater, since there are so many annoyances inherent in movie-going (you have to go when they feel like showing the movie; you have to pay; you can’t pause it; there are other people there; you have to more or less sit up the whole time). But it turned out to be the first movie we actually walked out on in some time (the debate continues as to whether we actually left Leaving Las Vegas or just wanted to).
All the things that worked in Boogie Nights didn’t in this effort. The harsh SoCal light just made everything and everyone look horrible – and yes, I realize I’m shallow, but everyone looked absolutely terrible in this movie. If I were Emily Watson, I’d be first in line when the botox clinic opened. The story, such as it was, meandered aimlessly, things and devices that should have been funny weren’t even remotely, and it tried so hard to be hip and arty that I just felt embarrassed for everyone involved. Finally, the scene where Sandler and Watson start having sex made us flee before it quelled every urge we’d ever have for the rest of our lives. John restored himself with a cigarette while I restored myself at Mac.
I am one of the world’s slowest learners, but I have finally learned this: if the critics like it, I’ll probably hate it. And vice versa. And no matter what they say, I should just see it for myself and make up my own mind, even if I have to wait for it to be on HBO.