Hail Sir Hopkins
The World's Fastest Indian puts the great Anthony Hopkins right where he should be: in his own movie. There's nothing else happening in this film except the master himself. It's a true star vehicle, looking back to the golden era of Hollywood and the real stars of the silver screen.
Hopkins gets his own film and while the book [do they call movie scripts books? i don't think so probably] is weak, it's one of those delightful flicks that is on the same plane as Life as a House... at least, for Beedow. [Beedow can be seen tearing up at both of these movies, and he's OK with that. You can be too.]
Sure it's quirky, predictable and light-heartedly odd. But it's got that emotional tug, albeit through conventional means [the neighbor boy, for instance] that just makes you want to hug your movie-neighbor. Mimi, I bet you'd really enjoy this movie a lot. JJ, I'm glad I didn't ask your advice before seeing it, because if you have seen it, you would have steered me away and I would have missed a grand opportunity at a lovely evening in front of the big screen.
[Plus, in this picture, I think he looks a lot like grandpa... right, Mom?]
2 comments:
I know I'm insane and cold. I'm insane and cold for dislking Life as a House and its cloying and deceitful nature, its ultimately egregious misuse of Kristen Scott Thomas, its impossible conclusion, and its confounding subplot of male prostitution (which would've been fine in its own movie, but not as the crucial plot device in a movie about a dying man's last effort to build a house on a cliff and then give it to a charity case that certainly deserved at least a passing mention in the preceding 119 schizophrenic minutes). I'm going to go check myself into soul rehab.
please remember to leave your scissors at the desk when you check in. sharp items are not permitted in soul rehab. you slut.
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