How is it that when a fellow who was clearly a cheating lying woman-using pig when he was younger becomes essentially a dirty old man, suddenly everyone has empathy for his character and attributes to him a quiet beautiful power for being the personification of age-stereotype bashing? Isn't that just ageism? Dirty young man becomes lecherous old guy, which somehow makes him sympathetic as a character? Whatever. Yes, the film has its points. But whatever anyways.
And on top of that, I adored that painting.
But alas, another piece of childhood innocence was stripped away tonight by my trust in the Balboa Theater's reliability as the source of All Things Good.
Not even the Bear Whisperer could save me from O'Toole's egomaniacal soft porn Lolita fantasy, so it must really have been a nightmare. Not even a de-pigmentizing full-body-emersion bleach bath + brillo + lye could fade the emotional scarring. Next time, I will at least familiarize myself with the movie's purported overall purpose. Next time.
No comments:
Post a Comment