Oh, c’mon — he gets shot? And he gets into a car chase? In the snow? Never mind the abuse the car takes rushing through snowy Russian streets — at what point does Jason Bourne bleed to death?
It takes some effort to suspend your belief while watching the big, ending action scene of The Bourne Supremacy. Of course, the movie’s star, Matt Damon, likened action movies to porno films, which themselves require some suspension of belief. (Oh my God … he can’t possible do that! Oh my God … he is!)
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The first time I watched this movie, I couldn’t relate to it at all. It dealt with friendships between gay men, and at the time, I felt isolated because I didn’t have any gay male friends. I’ve got acquaintances, ex-dates and ex-boyfriends, but when it comes to platonic relationships, all of them are with straight people, mostly women.
But for some reason, I wanted to see Dean Cain play a gay role, even though he doesn’t shed his shirt for his sorta gay sex scene in the movie. So I rented it again.
The Broken Hearts Club was the first feature film directed by Greg Berlanti, who would go on to create the WB’s Everwood and Jack & Bobby. Watching The Broken Hearts Club again in this context made sense.
The Broken Hearts Club makes for a good TV drama, but it isn’t that great as a theatrical film. (Which I’ve said before.) It’s billed as “romantic comedy”, and it does a good job of painting within the lines of that billing.
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I originally saw this film at aGLIFF in 1999, and I liked it enough. It wasn’t mind-blowing in the same way as the original Queer as Folk or Bedrooms & Hallways, but the coming of age story was handled in a novel way.
I rented it again because for some reason, I wanted to see Roger Daltrey — yes, the lead singer of the Who — play a gay record label executive. I’m on the fence about whether Roger Daltrey is handsome, but he is definitely sexy. There’s a scene where he’s walking around in a tight tank top, and he’s got nice pecs and biceps for a guy who’s 60 (or late 50s, when the film was made).
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When I watched Lost in Translation in the theatre, I was squirming.
The long shots of Scarlett Johannson bored stiffless in her hotel room bored the hell out of me too. Which is part of the appeal of the movie — Sofia Coppolla wanted to make it clear just how stifling Charlotte’s boredom was.
I didn’t actually like the movie till after I left the theatre. Thinking back on the little details — the inaudible dialog between Charlotte and Bob Harris at the end, the fluster Bob feels over choosing carpet swatches over long distance, the stark difference between the night Bob spends with Charlotte and the one he spends with the jazz singer (Catherine Lambert).
I won’t go so far to say A Home at the End of the World achieves a similar effect, but the film’s storyline might leave a viewer pondering the nature of attraction.
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