Rachel Getting Married

The guy next to me on the plane was listening to the latest Coldplay album. He went straight to it and listened all the way through with no obvious side effects. There was plenty of good movies on offer. But all he wanted was Coldplay and, I suppose, each to his very own.

There were indeed plenty of good movies on offer. But I'd watched them already. I had no desire to watch Revolutionary Road, Slumdog Millionaire or The Wrestler again. I'd enjoyed them all, to varying degrees, on the way out. I did, however, want to watch Burn After Reading again. I thought it quite excellent and I decided to save it for the wee, small hours when contemplation is best.

So I watched Rachel Getting Married. I watched it from the very start right to the very end. In growing disbelief. I seriously considered switching it off several times. I should have done so the first time. Subsequently, I just felt I'd already invested too much to give up. I was in too deep.

Surely something meaningful would happen soon. Perhaps I might empathise, just slightly, with one of the characters. Possibly, with time, the writers would put some words into an actors mouth that resonated. Felt a bit like real life. Something an actual person would say. Eventually, maybe, the film would develop and swim away, Nemo-like, from the ever increasing, steaming, brown shit-bucket of pretentiousness heretofore on absolute unfaltering display.

I looked over at my Coldplay buddy. He seemed very happy with his choice.