The movie that asshole Alejandro González Iñárritu was forcing them to be in? D
So there was this guy that was in the first film class I took in college with me. He made short films where he played with speed, like obsessively; every one of his movies involved something being slowed down or sped up, always looking very cool, very music-video-ish. And then, this charming fellow, was also always the first one to rip someone else's film work to shreds, asking what it meant or where was the meaning? Because, apparently, nothing has meaning if it's just at 24 frames per second.
Iñárritu is that kid. No, not literally, my classmate was some spoiled rich American brat who wouldn't have known meaning if he puked it up with last night's Grey Goose. And Iñárritu doesn't have that kid's obsession with slo-mo - though his screwing with time is starting to feel as pointless a tech-circle-jerk exercise as that.
I have to wonder if Iñárritu knows how to find any meaning in the endless barrage of misery that spills out of him without tricking it out in some sort of multi-cultural pluralistic hodgepodge of time-looping bullshit. I mean, what was the point here? Everyone will make the wrong decision, will end up put in the wrong place because of that, and then no one will listen to them and everything will go to shit because of it? Uh, okay? What again?
Maybe I just wasn't listening.
But it gets to the point where you just stop empathizing with his characters and just want to turn the fucking camera around and yell to his characters, hey, see this asshole pointing this camera at you? He's the one inflicting this shit on you because he seems to think that the more shit he piles on you, then the more "hardcore" or "real" he is; the more "meaning" he's flinging at the screen like some sort of diarrhetic monkey, the more Important what he's saying is; even if he appears to have nothing to say beyond "There's shit on all of our faces."
I have to give the man props, because it's been awhile since a movie's made me so angry that I've wanted to leave and/or punch the director in the face. I seem to remember having the same reaction to, hmm, oh right, 21 Grams as well. Hmm, I don't think I'll be seeking out Amores Perros any time soon, then. Unless, say, I feel the need to work myself into another righteous furor.