A gentle, assured bedtime story.
From Tita Dobson, North Hollywood, CA:
Puhleeze! get a reviewer that knows how to communicate. After I read Emerson's review of "The Illusionist," I realized that I still didn't know what the movie was about (other than that Leopold and Eisenheim don't like each other). All I knew is that, if the review practically put me to sleep, why bother seeing the movie?
As the reader slashes through the tall weeds of Emerson's literary ostentatiousness, one encounters prases like: "And as the movie peels back layers of its core conundrum, the images and their colors become clearer and brighter." It's hard to find stuff like this outside the arena of self-consciously artsy and intellectually pretentious academia.
I know Roger Ebert is ill (and I do wish him a speedy recovery), but, really. Can't you find someone who sounds like a real human being rather than a caricature of the "artiste" trying to impress the masses? How painful.
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