Cruise topples Guns

This new powerhouse feature coupling the jazzy Diane Keaton with the equally venerable Jack Nicholson was too easy to like, to love. I could not love it. In fact, I hated it at first until I resigned myself to the sad, awful "reality" that is Hollywood, the princes and princesses of life almost always scripted from the get-go. Everyone but the average movie goer is affluent, destined for charmed fortunes.

Well, what was I suppose to expect? They'd lined up all of their little ducklings months before the production. Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson, together for the first time, just milk the MacLaine out of Nicholson and the Woody out of Keaton, and the formula can't miss, right? But you know, it's tiring sometimes to pay out your six or eight dollars, or an hour's lifetime of labor, and watch the aristocrats, like this otherwise nostalgic enough, predictable romantic comedy. For sure enough, she's a one-in-a-million giddily successful New York City playwright and he's a so-called self-made music industry mogul, like these are everyday upper, upper, upper middleclass careers any of us can just go sign up for at the local state college. I'm self-disgusting here and genuinely Sorry, Jack and Diane, but I just felt terribly sad. Think about it, if you can. We'll never know the kinds of laughs you have in your penthouse scripts and your courtside lives.

So that's my small 'plaint. The flick's otherwise fine and a jolly good barrel of polite and sophisticated chuckles, to be sure. If my mom had a house in Westchester or Cape Cod and my dad paid alimony with his monthly travel allowance, I too would have smiled and giggled all the way through this merry tickler. I just couldn't get in touch with my sense of hope and entitlement and light-hearted existentialism, was all. Every other scene all I could think about was how useless Jack Nicholson is playing the myth of middle-aged legend again and again (As Good As It Gets, Terms of Endearment, About Schmidt, all great, truly, yet all remarkably the same, too), and nowadays everytime he's on the screen, I see him cozying up with Kobe Bryant and Spike Lee and the boys and never considering a role on the other side of NBA rape and coliseum owning payrolls, the father of a rape victim or a janitor at the Met, say.

I'll stop. This movie is very good. It just wasn't very good for me. I will see it again and add the reasons I liked it to this sad self-absorbed romantic tragedy reactionaryism here.

Welcome to my new web zine *Modern Movie Reviews. My name's Danielle Schlaffly and I'm a junior at Northside High. I hope you will use this site to get the scoop on phat flicks showing in our local theatres, what's worth paying $8 bucks to see on the big screen, and which flicks you should wait and rent for a couple dollars. NOW SHOWING: The Last Samurai* · Beyond Borders · Something's Gotta Give · Runaway Jury · Bowling for Columbine · Mystic River · Bubba Ho-Tep · Gothika
Something's Gotta Give: Director: Nancy Meyers Cast: Diane Keaton, Jack Nicholson, Amanda Peet, Keanu Reeves, Jon Favreau	You can afford it, just gotta give something This new powerhouse feature coupling the jazzy Diane Keaton with the equally venerable Jack Nicholson was too easy to like, to love. I could not love it. In fact, I hated it at first until I resigned myself to the sad, awful "reality" that is Hollywood, the princes and princesses of life almost always scripted from the get-go. Everyone but the average movie goer is affluent, destined for charmed fortunes. Well, what was I suppose to expect? They'd lined up all of their little ducklings months before the production. Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson, together for the first time, just milk the MacLaine out of Nicholson and the Woody out of Keaton, and the formula can't miss, right? But you know, it's tiring sometimes to pay out your six or eight dollars, or an hour's lifetime of labor, and watch the aristocrats, like this otherwise nostalgic enough, predictable romantic comedy. For sure enough, she's a one-in-a-million giddily successful New York City playwright and he's a so-called self-made music industry mogul, like these are everyday upper, upper, upper middleclass careers any of us can just go sign up for at the local state college. I'm self-disgusting here and genuinely Sorry, Jack and Diane, but I just felt terribly sad. Think about it, if you can. We'll never know the kinds of laughs you have in your penthouse scripts and your courtside lives. So that's my small 'plaint. The flick's otherwise fine and a jolly good barrel of polite and sophisticated chuckles, to be sure. If my mom had a house in Westchester or Cape Cod and my dad paid alimony with his monthly travel allowance, I too would have smiled and giggled all the way through this merry tickler. I just couldn't get in touch with my sense of hope and entitlement and light-hearted existentialism, was all. Every other scene all I could think about was how useless Jack Nicholson is playing the myth of middle-aged legend again and again (As Good As It Gets, Terms of Endearment, About Schmidt, all great, truly, yet all remarkably the same, too), and nowadays everytime he's on the screen, I see him cozying up with Kobe Bryant and Spike Lee and the boys and never considering a role on the other side of NBA rape and coliseum owning payrolls, the father of a rape victim or a janitor at the Met, say. I'll stop. This movie is very good. It just wasn't very good for me. I will see it again and add the reasons I liked it to this sad self-absorbed romantic tragedy reactionaryism here.


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You can afford it, just gotta give something

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