Because I never need to sleep, I popped "An Education" onto the XBox via Netflix tonight. Actually, this is a lie: I did it because I'd seen Rosamund Pike absolutely break my heart and kill with her eyes, her voice and just about every weapon you don't have to check on an airplane in "Barney's Version" last week, and because someone I once knew told me that it was a really, really good movie.
I think I'd agree.
I used the "star" thingy to give it four of those star thingies, because in a way I didn't think there was much to that last ten minutes after she asks Olivia Williams for a favour. Same sort of thing as in The Power of One (see my blathering about that last week), where, wonder of wonder/miracle of miracles, the smart kid gets everything they ever wanted.
Well, it's hard to begrudge certain kids that. Like The Power of One, the protagonist in An Education is standing in for a real, live person, who grew up fifty or so years ago and wanted to go to Oxford and was smart and witty and maybe teased a bit and learned his or her most important lesson from a series of adults of varying levels of duplicity and protectiveness. Jenny's stunning, flawless poise and her near-perfect rebuttal and dissection of each and every patronizing argument thrown her way was also a bit of a nice contrast to the simple solutions of Shadow of the Giant and Victim of Circumstance, about which I've blathered more recently. Every adult, from her adorable parents (yo, Alfred Molina, you make everything good, and Cara Seymour with your mix of mischief and earnestness, just spot on) to her Olivia Williams teacher (flashed me back to Rushmore, actually) to -- briefly -- Emma Thompson's headmistress just falls like domino after domino before her.
Until Emma Thompson gets to be the meanest she's ever been, though, with a single line that reached into my chest like she was Mola Ram.
Now, the whole other side of things, where you'd expect Jenny to be in over her head with Peter Sarsgaard, Rosamund Pike and Dominic Cooper's gang of worldly bon vivants, she STILL shows breathtaking poise and control, and it's very clear that Sarsgaard's enigmatic David doesn't know exactly what he's gotten into. For all that he tries to keep his own situations under tight control, he's no match for Jenny.
Really, Carey Mulligan -- Jenny -- is given every opportunity to completely carry this movie, and she does, and everyone involved looks and does great, and it's all basically very great. Nick Hornby actually wrote it, and it's very nicely written, and I suppose the pat conclusion couldn't veer that far from the memoir on which it was based. Still -- everything right up to the end was so damned good. I guess not every movie can be Bad Santa, and end with a dynamite scene that is so rock'n'roll that you just want to lift the TV over your head and sing an AC/DC song.
I think I'm gonna go watch Bad Santa again.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Shadow of the Giant
Shadow of the Giant is Orson Scott Card's swan song (well, he left one loose end) for the "Earth after Battle School" slice of what it's probably safe to call "the Enderverse", stories about a group of ambitious, self-righteous, tactically-prodigious children and the straw men they fight from time to time.
I've been a fan of the stories for a while, truth be told. The first book about child-admiral Ender Wiggin, called "Ender's Game" and read by every self-respecting kid that's ever aced an IQ test, high school entrance exam or real-time strategy game (and mandatory reading among remote pilots of USAF "Predator" drones, if my co-worker Colin is to be believed) was a fast-paced, focused story about the exigencies of war and the believably surprising emotional and cognitive maturity of six-year-olds.
Also, the author, a sometime Mormon missionary to Brazil, hadn't yet succumbed to the Brain Eater -- a condition affecting writers of primarily military science-fiction wherein their political views first veer wildly to the right, and then infiltrate their work bit by bit -- when he wrote that concise epic and its first set of sequels (though those were, admittedly, a lot less fun). Set a few thousand years down the road, the "Speaker for the Dead" books were a meditation on the nature of first contact with aliens. Some cool ideas but got dry and preachy, to the effect of "the meaning of life is Roman Catholicism".
So after entering the early stages of the Brain Eater, Card wrote a series about Ender's cooler, smarter friend Bean, a genetically-tweaked underdog who secretly made sure Ender wasn't killed or foiled or otherwise deprotagonized -- oh, wait. As expected, the "I, Jedi" approach to a, what do I call it, "retquel" maybe, is a little hamhanded and transparent, if at first harmless. It initially posits Bean as having not just a huge role in Ender's success at Battle School, but also as having an incredibly dangerous, malevolent nemesis who for some reason never appears in Ender's version of the story. The first book -- the "retquel" itself -- was called "Ender's Shadow", and the series continued from there, until it finally wound its way (as is this review; I'm getting there!) to this last book about Bean, about the kids at Battle School and their adventures/conquests back on Earth, and their collective solution to Earth's erstwhile predicament.
It's got a few touching moments. Certainly the story gets the parent-and-child, brother-and-brother, husband-and-wife and teacher-and-student relationships' cathartic, climactic moments out of its system by the end, and I definitely felt a pang or two, particularly at the parts where Graff and Bean get a quiet moment over e-mail, or Ender and Peter finally reach the last chapter of the original Ender novel. I suspect some people may find the author's preoccupation with BABIES, DAMMIT to be a little bit too reminiscent of his mouth-foaming pro-Proposition 8 agitation. And this deserves a special mention: from the "ex-gay" character of Anton ("Now I'm having babies the old-fashioned way!") to the straw-man Achillophile Randi (you win no prize if you can guess whom the author is awkwardly needling here) to the bizarre pro-America digression when talking about space funding to Petra's tiresome harping on how important it is to pretend to believe in God even if you intellectually feel, at a deep level, that you don't, Card's brain eater threatens to derail everything.
Thankfully, it doesn't. Barely. His skill at keeping action, narrative, and dialogue moving gets him over those weird bumps and into the home stretch, resolving just about everything (I'd say...90% of the story, which is a joke about babies).
In particular, the gigantic game of what I will now call "Riskwank" (a genre constantly popularized and repopularized, particularly by Tom Clancy in his Red Storm Rising and later Jack Ryan books -- basically, looking at a map and imagining how World War 3 would play out if the author were running things, 'cause as a red-blooded, right-thinking American Christian he's much smarter and ballsier than the clowns in charge right now) that formed the backdrop for the story wound to its inevitable conclusion (ie. we know that Ender's brother, murderous-sociopath-but-he-grew-out-of-it Peter, will eventually become Hegemon of the world in more than a "title-only" way). It had been growing tiresome in Shadow Puppets, particularly as it had a "bad in the box" (this is how I will describe characters like the aforementioned Achilles, much like the "character" Mr. Dark from Fables 12, who pop up ex nihilo to waste our time and provide a presumably "memorale" antagonist for the overpowered, wish-fulfilling author-insertion protagonists) manipulating all the players in the game with moustache-twirling subtlety, decidedly wearing out his welcome. The Riskwank was much easier on the brain in Shadow of the Giant, because it was evolving out of a pre-existing scenario, even if we did have to trudge through Shadow of the Hegemon and Shadow Puppets to get said scenario established.
So, if you feel that you have to read any more books than the original Ender's Game (and to be fair, Ender's Shadow wasn't terrible, but it definitely didn't feel necessary) you could do worse than to kill a day or two each working through the Shadow series. Just know what you're getting into. It's like watching a season of 24: well-crafted, full of power fantasies and too-competent, too-decisive characters, and profoundly political: trying to posit a simple, logical, direct solution to the fact that the world is just too complicated for the author to understand.
I've been a fan of the stories for a while, truth be told. The first book about child-admiral Ender Wiggin, called "Ender's Game" and read by every self-respecting kid that's ever aced an IQ test, high school entrance exam or real-time strategy game (and mandatory reading among remote pilots of USAF "Predator" drones, if my co-worker Colin is to be believed) was a fast-paced, focused story about the exigencies of war and the believably surprising emotional and cognitive maturity of six-year-olds.
Also, the author, a sometime Mormon missionary to Brazil, hadn't yet succumbed to the Brain Eater -- a condition affecting writers of primarily military science-fiction wherein their political views first veer wildly to the right, and then infiltrate their work bit by bit -- when he wrote that concise epic and its first set of sequels (though those were, admittedly, a lot less fun). Set a few thousand years down the road, the "Speaker for the Dead" books were a meditation on the nature of first contact with aliens. Some cool ideas but got dry and preachy, to the effect of "the meaning of life is Roman Catholicism".
So after entering the early stages of the Brain Eater, Card wrote a series about Ender's cooler, smarter friend Bean, a genetically-tweaked underdog who secretly made sure Ender wasn't killed or foiled or otherwise deprotagonized -- oh, wait. As expected, the "I, Jedi" approach to a, what do I call it, "retquel" maybe, is a little hamhanded and transparent, if at first harmless. It initially posits Bean as having not just a huge role in Ender's success at Battle School, but also as having an incredibly dangerous, malevolent nemesis who for some reason never appears in Ender's version of the story. The first book -- the "retquel" itself -- was called "Ender's Shadow", and the series continued from there, until it finally wound its way (as is this review; I'm getting there!) to this last book about Bean, about the kids at Battle School and their adventures/conquests back on Earth, and their collective solution to Earth's erstwhile predicament.
It's got a few touching moments. Certainly the story gets the parent-and-child, brother-and-brother, husband-and-wife and teacher-and-student relationships' cathartic, climactic moments out of its system by the end, and I definitely felt a pang or two, particularly at the parts where Graff and Bean get a quiet moment over e-mail, or Ender and Peter finally reach the last chapter of the original Ender novel. I suspect some people may find the author's preoccupation with BABIES, DAMMIT to be a little bit too reminiscent of his mouth-foaming pro-Proposition 8 agitation. And this deserves a special mention: from the "ex-gay" character of Anton ("Now I'm having babies the old-fashioned way!") to the straw-man Achillophile Randi (you win no prize if you can guess whom the author is awkwardly needling here) to the bizarre pro-America digression when talking about space funding to Petra's tiresome harping on how important it is to pretend to believe in God even if you intellectually feel, at a deep level, that you don't, Card's brain eater threatens to derail everything.
Thankfully, it doesn't. Barely. His skill at keeping action, narrative, and dialogue moving gets him over those weird bumps and into the home stretch, resolving just about everything (I'd say...90% of the story, which is a joke about babies).
In particular, the gigantic game of what I will now call "Riskwank" (a genre constantly popularized and repopularized, particularly by Tom Clancy in his Red Storm Rising and later Jack Ryan books -- basically, looking at a map and imagining how World War 3 would play out if the author were running things, 'cause as a red-blooded, right-thinking American Christian he's much smarter and ballsier than the clowns in charge right now) that formed the backdrop for the story wound to its inevitable conclusion (ie. we know that Ender's brother, murderous-sociopath-but-he-grew-out-of-it Peter, will eventually become Hegemon of the world in more than a "title-only" way). It had been growing tiresome in Shadow Puppets, particularly as it had a "bad in the box" (this is how I will describe characters like the aforementioned Achilles, much like the "character" Mr. Dark from Fables 12, who pop up ex nihilo to waste our time and provide a presumably "memorale" antagonist for the overpowered, wish-fulfilling author-insertion protagonists) manipulating all the players in the game with moustache-twirling subtlety, decidedly wearing out his welcome. The Riskwank was much easier on the brain in Shadow of the Giant, because it was evolving out of a pre-existing scenario, even if we did have to trudge through Shadow of the Hegemon and Shadow Puppets to get said scenario established.
So, if you feel that you have to read any more books than the original Ender's Game (and to be fair, Ender's Shadow wasn't terrible, but it definitely didn't feel necessary) you could do worse than to kill a day or two each working through the Shadow series. Just know what you're getting into. It's like watching a season of 24: well-crafted, full of power fantasies and too-competent, too-decisive characters, and profoundly political: trying to posit a simple, logical, direct solution to the fact that the world is just too complicated for the author to understand.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Barney's Version
Heartwarming family movie with a little bit of an edge. Nothing near the savvy, knowing vitriol of the book (which was itself rife with contradictory footnotes from the protagonist's erstwhile-estranged son) but told the same basic story, got most of the characters largely right (giving Barney's father and wife larger roles, worthy of Dustin Hoffman and Rosamund Pike, respectively, who delivered back-to-back home runs) and filled the Montreal section with the requisite urban texture.
The cameos and extras deserve comment, particularly from me. Montreal Yiddim from my Shaar Hashomayim choir days, like Burney Lieberman and Jason Lipstein, pop up vividly in the background. Canada's best directors from Egoyan to Cronenberg to Arcand, not playing themselves, are casually bullied by Paul Giamatti's abrasive almost-Richler character Barney Panofsky, to their visible delight. The Alzheimer's theme, which permeates the novel, is quietly introduced into the movie as it goes along, which costs the movie some of the novel's humour and also some of its darkness.
But more profoundly, the movie sands off some of Barney's more loserish, nebbishy qualities. He doesn't have the scene with Duddy Kravitz which shows him to be no Duddy Kravitz (and what I wouldn't give for a Richard Dreyfuss cameo to have been crammed in); he doesn't have the ongoing resentment for McIver, or the go-forward, Garp-like "rest of the story" bits for the other characters from his entourage; and Blair is no longer a draft dodger he'd taken in. Barney is not the novel's arch-schlemazel. Instead, he's more carefully blended with Richler's persona, and as the movie tends toward its climax, it wears its heart on its sleeve.
I mean, it's also a murder mystery, ish. And it pulls that part off just fine. But in the end, unlike the novel, it's not about the unreliability of memory and its two narrators. It's a movie about being a bit of a mess but still doing right by the people you love, even when you fail. My mother made it clear that it's more for "Jewish Guys" than for women, but I think the movie did a better job of protagonizing Miriam than the book, even with Minnie Driver's appropriately insane turn as The Second Mrs. Panofsky.
Polarizing? Clever? Schmaltzy? Perfect for the annual Jewish Family Christmas Movie ritual.
The cameos and extras deserve comment, particularly from me. Montreal Yiddim from my Shaar Hashomayim choir days, like Burney Lieberman and Jason Lipstein, pop up vividly in the background. Canada's best directors from Egoyan to Cronenberg to Arcand, not playing themselves, are casually bullied by Paul Giamatti's abrasive almost-Richler character Barney Panofsky, to their visible delight. The Alzheimer's theme, which permeates the novel, is quietly introduced into the movie as it goes along, which costs the movie some of the novel's humour and also some of its darkness.
But more profoundly, the movie sands off some of Barney's more loserish, nebbishy qualities. He doesn't have the scene with Duddy Kravitz which shows him to be no Duddy Kravitz (and what I wouldn't give for a Richard Dreyfuss cameo to have been crammed in); he doesn't have the ongoing resentment for McIver, or the go-forward, Garp-like "rest of the story" bits for the other characters from his entourage; and Blair is no longer a draft dodger he'd taken in. Barney is not the novel's arch-schlemazel. Instead, he's more carefully blended with Richler's persona, and as the movie tends toward its climax, it wears its heart on its sleeve.
I mean, it's also a murder mystery, ish. And it pulls that part off just fine. But in the end, unlike the novel, it's not about the unreliability of memory and its two narrators. It's a movie about being a bit of a mess but still doing right by the people you love, even when you fail. My mother made it clear that it's more for "Jewish Guys" than for women, but I think the movie did a better job of protagonizing Miriam than the book, even with Minnie Driver's appropriately insane turn as The Second Mrs. Panofsky.
Polarizing? Clever? Schmaltzy? Perfect for the annual Jewish Family Christmas Movie ritual.
The Power of One
Just got to the end of "White Messiah (with punching)", also called "The Power of One" and essentially a roman-a-clef with a little bit of magical realism, a lot of punching, and a whole mess of Avatar.
It was gripping, mostly. I mean, for the most part it was a story about surviving the depths of degradation and coming out stronger. And boy, did Protagonist Kid come out strong! Able to speak English, Afrikaans, Zulu, Shangan, and a half dozen languages fluently. A flawless boxer, mathematician, and logician, and "angel" to about a zillion African tribes. However, based on the author's website, largely biographical. Hard to believe, and at times hard to swallow, but it's clear that if there were any opportunity to show PK failing or being further humiliated, we'd get it. It's not supposed to be a hagiography, really. But it gets laid on pretty thick.
And so here we have the dilemma. In the wake of seeing Avatar, which came across loud and clear as a work of Colonial Literature or whatnot, and with a clear mandate of decrying apartheid, racism in general and colonialism, The Power of One read like a book that didn't know what it was trying to do. After a fashion it was Ashitaka-style "seeing with eyes unclouded by hate", sure. But you don't go around having every non-white character sacrifice their lives for PK's own life, for his education, for his comfort on a train ride, for his ability to impress a bunch of people with a concert, without sounding like you're writing about The Great White Hope.
The book exuded love for Africa, of course. The landscapes, the tribal cultures and language (I really would like to learn to understand Zulu, after reading about its inherent poetry). Still, for all the author's protest, there's a quiet tolerance and even quaint yearning for the braivleis and tiekkidrai and other aspects of Boer culture -- yeah, he's just a kid, but he doesn't go around saying "let's go full-on postcolonial and truly empower the Black Africans". Maybe he's trying to suggest a kind of middle ground. Maybe he's just naive.
Still, the characters were memorable, if a bit cartoonish. The boxing matches were fascinating, as good as any I've read (which doesn't extend that far -- I may need to read more Hemingway, but certainly it stands up well next to Hammett). The mysticism was potent and invigorating. And the matter-of-fact tone was at odds with the slightly unnerving themes.
I recommend reading it. But reading it, and then thinking about it.
It was gripping, mostly. I mean, for the most part it was a story about surviving the depths of degradation and coming out stronger. And boy, did Protagonist Kid come out strong! Able to speak English, Afrikaans, Zulu, Shangan, and a half dozen languages fluently. A flawless boxer, mathematician, and logician, and "angel" to about a zillion African tribes. However, based on the author's website, largely biographical. Hard to believe, and at times hard to swallow, but it's clear that if there were any opportunity to show PK failing or being further humiliated, we'd get it. It's not supposed to be a hagiography, really. But it gets laid on pretty thick.
And so here we have the dilemma. In the wake of seeing Avatar, which came across loud and clear as a work of Colonial Literature or whatnot, and with a clear mandate of decrying apartheid, racism in general and colonialism, The Power of One read like a book that didn't know what it was trying to do. After a fashion it was Ashitaka-style "seeing with eyes unclouded by hate", sure. But you don't go around having every non-white character sacrifice their lives for PK's own life, for his education, for his comfort on a train ride, for his ability to impress a bunch of people with a concert, without sounding like you're writing about The Great White Hope.
The book exuded love for Africa, of course. The landscapes, the tribal cultures and language (I really would like to learn to understand Zulu, after reading about its inherent poetry). Still, for all the author's protest, there's a quiet tolerance and even quaint yearning for the braivleis and tiekkidrai and other aspects of Boer culture -- yeah, he's just a kid, but he doesn't go around saying "let's go full-on postcolonial and truly empower the Black Africans". Maybe he's trying to suggest a kind of middle ground. Maybe he's just naive.
Still, the characters were memorable, if a bit cartoonish. The boxing matches were fascinating, as good as any I've read (which doesn't extend that far -- I may need to read more Hemingway, but certainly it stands up well next to Hammett). The mysticism was potent and invigorating. And the matter-of-fact tone was at odds with the slightly unnerving themes.
I recommend reading it. But reading it, and then thinking about it.
Impact: Victim of Circumstance
Last week I finally got to see one of Vikki Velenosi's shows outside of the context of the Alexander Singers and Players. The show, from Impact! Theatre, was in the "forum theatre" style, which was a little unusual. While there's a narrative, characters, and a linear sequence of events, there's also the opportunity for members of the audience to meddle and interfere with the proceedings.
The first time through, it was a fairly straightforward emergent fiasco. A touch of the "after school special" to the tone, but Vikki gave an insanely controlled and nuanced performance as the "voice of reason" character. I was very impressed with how controlled she was able to be -- every other bit of the play threatened to veer into the sanctimonious.
And unfortunately, on the "forum" run-through (after the "default, worst-case" run was done), people injected their most facile, after-school-special solutions to the scenario into their participation in the play. Everyone who came up to take on a role basically simplified things as much as possible, ignored character motivations and existing information, said "no", broke every rule given for the format. There was nothing safe about it; it was just an exercise in forcing a wish-fulfilling agenda onto the scenario.
Eventually, I protested when it started to ring too false. So I was called up, and all but shouted down by the other participants.
I don't know what I think, in the end. It's an interesting format, but improvisation relies upon trust. The format was just too ill-defined, the audience underprepared, and ultimately there was no trust, the rules unclear as to consequences and parameters, and it left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
Not to say that the actors, director, writer, and so forth don't deserve credit for a compelling scenario. Definitely gave me something to think about.
The first time through, it was a fairly straightforward emergent fiasco. A touch of the "after school special" to the tone, but Vikki gave an insanely controlled and nuanced performance as the "voice of reason" character. I was very impressed with how controlled she was able to be -- every other bit of the play threatened to veer into the sanctimonious.
And unfortunately, on the "forum" run-through (after the "default, worst-case" run was done), people injected their most facile, after-school-special solutions to the scenario into their participation in the play. Everyone who came up to take on a role basically simplified things as much as possible, ignored character motivations and existing information, said "no", broke every rule given for the format. There was nothing safe about it; it was just an exercise in forcing a wish-fulfilling agenda onto the scenario.
Eventually, I protested when it started to ring too false. So I was called up, and all but shouted down by the other participants.
I don't know what I think, in the end. It's an interesting format, but improvisation relies upon trust. The format was just too ill-defined, the audience underprepared, and ultimately there was no trust, the rules unclear as to consequences and parameters, and it left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
Not to say that the actors, director, writer, and so forth don't deserve credit for a compelling scenario. Definitely gave me something to think about.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Online.
Vinnie, you suggested that I write a general-purpose blog, focusing on culture and commentary. I'll continue to maintain other blogs related to personal goings-on and mad brainstorming, but I'll talk here about things I see.
Tron: Legacy was wide-released last friday with a per-theatre average revenue of greater than fourteen thousand dollars. I'd seen the first movie when I was in pre-school, and I'd read the picture-book adaptations even before that. I played the video game in arcades back in New Jersey and again in Toronto. Twenty-five-plus years ago I was riding my BMX with bright yellow tires around the track near my house, pretending that the yellow line was the bike's Light Wall.
Was I excited to see the film? Well, I'd seen the trailers, particularly the first major theatrical trailer, set to the tune of Daft Punk's magnificent new track from the soundtrack album, "The Game has Changed."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9szn1QQfas
This is the track, and the set of images, to which I keep returning when I think about the film. The movie has a very transparent set of tropes -- MacGuffin, Dragon, "Yeehaw" Dogfights -- that don't add a lot to the core story, and in some cases drag it perilously close to "Star Trek: Generations", a movie made out of reverence for an old cast, with only a subset remaining, and an ill-defined conflict dragging the previous hero to his nemesis.
Nowhere near that bad, really.
But what I would have done to make the whole thing more satisfying at the climax? Put the laser discs back into the pivotal scene, man. Quorra was a frisbee superstar. I would have liked to see her step up into that role, and given Tron and Flynn a final "Greetings, Program!" moment that we'd been waiting for since we first heard that they were actually getting Bruce Boxleitner and Jeff Bridges to revisit their iconic 1980s computer superhero characters. And really, not give CLU claim to that line. That's Flynn's line, dammit.
So, occasional emotional and dramatic missteps aside, I am glad that the movie was made and that I saw it.
Cheers,
[^]
Tron: Legacy was wide-released last friday with a per-theatre average revenue of greater than fourteen thousand dollars. I'd seen the first movie when I was in pre-school, and I'd read the picture-book adaptations even before that. I played the video game in arcades back in New Jersey and again in Toronto. Twenty-five-plus years ago I was riding my BMX with bright yellow tires around the track near my house, pretending that the yellow line was the bike's Light Wall.
Was I excited to see the film? Well, I'd seen the trailers, particularly the first major theatrical trailer, set to the tune of Daft Punk's magnificent new track from the soundtrack album, "The Game has Changed."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9szn1QQfas
This is the track, and the set of images, to which I keep returning when I think about the film. The movie has a very transparent set of tropes -- MacGuffin, Dragon, "Yeehaw" Dogfights -- that don't add a lot to the core story, and in some cases drag it perilously close to "Star Trek: Generations", a movie made out of reverence for an old cast, with only a subset remaining, and an ill-defined conflict dragging the previous hero to his nemesis.
Nowhere near that bad, really.
But what I would have done to make the whole thing more satisfying at the climax? Put the laser discs back into the pivotal scene, man. Quorra was a frisbee superstar. I would have liked to see her step up into that role, and given Tron and Flynn a final "Greetings, Program!" moment that we'd been waiting for since we first heard that they were actually getting Bruce Boxleitner and Jeff Bridges to revisit their iconic 1980s computer superhero characters. And really, not give CLU claim to that line. That's Flynn's line, dammit.
So, occasional emotional and dramatic missteps aside, I am glad that the movie was made and that I saw it.
Cheers,
[^]
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