Oh, Anthony. Anthony, Anthony, Anthony. Could you please – just once – write a review that isn’t so damn cute! I’m just smarting from all the giggles you tickle me with! Tee-hee! Week after week you just write the cutest little reviews, which make all films, good and bad, seem like teeny tiny turds, gasping for a breath of artistic validity as they fall to the bottom of the cultural toilet bowl. Lo, it was just this week, you so deftly put CAPOTE in its place while validating M:i:III with charm to spare!
“To be honest, I prefer the Hoffman of “M:i:III” to the Oscar winner of “Capote.” The role of Owen Davian, though underwritten, is more of a piece and less of a turn than his chirruping Truman Capote. Say what you like about Davian; he may sell dirty bombs to Middle Eastern regimes and torture an American female agent, but at least he doesn’t drag William Shawn along to watch.”
What’s more – your candor: “We are primed for Ethan’s retrieval of the Rabbit’s Foot, but all we get is his spectacular arrival, not the theft itself: out he hops with the booty in his paw, and that’s that. And the grand finale? A fistfight, after which somebody gets run over. Listen, if I want to see that kind of action, I don’t go to Shanghai. I don’t even go to the movies. I go to the South Bronx and stand outside a bar. “
Oh, naughty Anthony. South Bronx. Hrrrumphh, little boy, have you been fibbing to your mother and playing hookie…
WTF. SERIOUSLY. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO THE BRONX?
ARE YOU JUST BEING CUTE?
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF A FIGHT BROKE OUT IN A BAR YOU WERE HYPOTHETICALLY AT IN THE BRONX?
“Make out with me, Lane.”