August Rush.
Hardly the best movie I ever saw. That lame ass Jonathan Rhys Meyers, whom I passionately loathe in each and every film he's ever made (it's his face), may have something to do with it. But, to be fair, it's not entirely his fault: the script is also quite thin and predictable, the characters taken from an assembly line for sobbing cliches and the whole thing is so thoroughly undermined and fucked by its own hippie redundancy that even Robin Williams can't save it.
But! But.
It does speak about music and what it can do to you in a beautiful way, overstated as the speech may be. Freddie Highmore, the little brilliant bugger, actually manages to lift the whole thing on his tiny shoulders and make you believe you're watching a good film.
It's like this: I know I love music, but I often forget it and merely use it as background for insipid activities. Watching this film slapped me back into (my own private) reality and I remembered that music is, for me, one of the very few acceptable forms and proofs of divinity and that without it, I'd probably be dead or in jail by now.
p.s. And don't even get me started on that little black girl, I choked on my peach and died twice when she opened her mouth.
Hardly the best movie I ever saw. That lame ass Jonathan Rhys Meyers, whom I passionately loathe in each and every film he's ever made (it's his face), may have something to do with it. But, to be fair, it's not entirely his fault: the script is also quite thin and predictable, the characters taken from an assembly line for sobbing cliches and the whole thing is so thoroughly undermined and fucked by its own hippie redundancy that even Robin Williams can't save it.
But! But.
It does speak about music and what it can do to you in a beautiful way, overstated as the speech may be. Freddie Highmore, the little brilliant bugger, actually manages to lift the whole thing on his tiny shoulders and make you believe you're watching a good film.
It's like this: I know I love music, but I often forget it and merely use it as background for insipid activities. Watching this film slapped me back into (my own private) reality and I remembered that music is, for me, one of the very few acceptable forms and proofs of divinity and that without it, I'd probably be dead or in jail by now.
p.s. And don't even get me started on that little black girl, I choked on my peach and died twice when she opened her mouth.
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2 comments:
finally, someone else who dislikes Jonathan Rhys Meyers' face.
Every time I see that face I hear "I feel pretty" sung by some french heroin whore.
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