Ceci n'est pas une critique de Little Women.
The Oscars are this Sunday and I am livid. Outraged. Incensed. Peeved. During my lifetime I’ve watched the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences prove again and again that they are out of touch. Remnants of a different era, shambling along past their expiration date; a dozen Crypt Keepers who stay frozen in stasis only to be thawed out once a year to pull the lever that says racism is cancelled. They are a relic that needs to be thrown into the trash, and that was made apparent by the complete and total absence of Dragon Ball Super: Broly at the awards.
The world is terrible and literally on fire, but at least we have horror movies. A new decade of #content is dawning, and I am waiting with open arms to be showered in remakes, sequels, sequels to remakes, and giant monsters.
Written by: T.S. Eliot, Lee Hall, Tom Hooper, Andrew Lloyd Webber
Directed by: Tom Hooper
Starring: Francesca Hayward, Robbie Fairchild, Judi Dench, Ian McKellan, Idris Elba, James Corden, Rebel Wilson, Jason Derulo, Jennifer Hudson, Taylor Swift
Imagine, if you will, being kidnapped on a stereotypical dark and stormy night, where rain assaults the pavement, and you're tossed into a burlap sack and thrown into the backseat of a car. The car drives for awhile; how many miles or how many hours, you're not really sure, you're in such a daze. It finally skids to a halt and you get tossed out onto the concrete. You emerge from the sack and look out into the most desolate city alleyway you've ever seen, dimly lit only by the dingiest of street lamps - and what appear to be eyes, glowing in the distance, watching you. You're scared, you're wet, you're weak, you're alone - and then a hand reaches out of the distance and you hear a voice that asks: "Would you like to watch me make the Jellicle choice?"