Like Water for Chocolate

You know what I hate? Extended metaphors.

There's so many of them in this movie. For instance, the protagonist, Tita, crochets a seemingly neverending blanket to attempt to warm herself from the cold she feels from seeing the man she loves marry her sister. Okay, if my man did that and I was never allowed to be married period and had to take care of my cruel mother (this woman makes her daughter give her sponge baths. If that's not cruel, I don't know what is) until she croaked, I think the last thing I'd do is make a quilt. This is heartbreaking. I want to see profanities in the subtitles (therefore improving my Spanish) and a number of broken vases, not some image of Tita in a carriage with the endless quilt cascading in the wind as she abandons her only home. I want some quality tears and suffering instead of metaphors for how one can never fully leave their past. Jeez, is that really so much to ask?

And let's not forget the whole rose bit. Pedro (aka Tita's secret lover) brings roses to Tita and Tita makes food out of them. Apparently cooking becomes Tita's way of expressing herself and she creates some kind of aphrodisiac, as the food makes Pedro and Tita both feel an overwhelming sense of passion throughout the meal. Ok, if they're so horny, maybe they should actually do something about it. I mean really, Tita? Stop finding groundbreaking ways to communicate with your lover that surpass physical touching and just get on with the scandalous affair. I'm still waiting for the drama and profanities and you're just not delivering.

The most annoying metaphor of all though is the one with the matches. Tita's doctor friend tells her this old Native American myth where people all have matches inside of them and that things in their life trigger the matches, but that people have to be careful not to light all the matches at once. Um, does anyone else realize how severely anatomically incorrect this is? Anyone? I don't care if it's supposed to show that passion, no matter how long it is supressed, is embedded within each person and can ignite them at any time, or that no hardship in life can compete with the fulfillment that true love gives a person. I like my movies to be like my reviews: full of sense.

So hit the road, Like Water for Chocolate. And take that simile of a title with you, while you're at it. I've had enough with the figurative language.

Lost in Translation

Don't think I'm done with the Coppola's just yet. Oh no. We still have wee little Sofia to worry about.

Let's talk about Lost in Translation.

Ok, first off, what is with the fact that every time the Japanese language is audible, there are no subtitles to follow? I could care less about Bill Murray being "lost in translation"...it's my viewing pleasure that's at stake. I mean, what are you trying to do, Ms. Coppola, make me just as confused as the protagonist so I could better connect with the story or something? Come on.

And then Bob's wife just keeps faxing him and faxing him in the beginning (as if their marriage suffers from a general lack of intimacy or something). I mean, it takes this woman FOREVER to pick up a phone. I don't know about the rest of you, but I like my characters like I like my shopping skills: SMART.

Oh, and let's not forget that ending where Bill Murray gets out of the car and whispers somethnig in Scarlett Johannson's ear. See, if it was something spontaneously kinky, this would probably redeem the film in my eyes. BUT NO. Coppola makes it unintelligable (heck, inaudible). I mean, trust me, I cranked that volume UP. All I heard was "ashooshkabooksashhoo". Or something. I mean, come on! Bob was visited by a Japanese prostitute who asked him to rip (or nip? lick? see, Coppola, this lack of clarity is infuriating) her stockings. After that bizarre experience, surely nothing Bob whispered in Charlotte's oh-so-delicate ear could come close to surpassing THAT.

Also, Bill Murray is, erm, how do I put this delicately? Prehistoric, compared to Johannson. And yet they get all kissy-faced in the end. I mean, what is the point of that awkward age difference? To show that true human connection is rare and yet the possibilities of such a strong bond cannot be restricted by anything physical or understandable? Honestly, just put in Ryan Reynolds and we're good. There's your connection--it's called eye candy.

All in all, I wasn't "lost in translation" (except for the parts with the Japanese. And the Japaenese accents. And the overall strange culture and atmosphere). I was just lost.

Ouch.

Introduction/The Godfather

Movies always think they're SO cool. "Ooh, look at me, I'm a silent film and I show 1,000 frames per minute!" Guess what? No one cares. We go to the movies so we can hang out with someone without actually having to talk to them. So stop trying to show off. It's not always about you.

My relationship with movies is this: if they don't bother me, I don't bother them. If they know they're bad, I won't say a word. It's the so-called "great" ones I don't like. Pssh, get over yourselves.

Like The Godfather. Especially The Godfather, because everyone says it's the best movie of all time. Um, alright.

Everyone always praises Marlon Brando like I don't know what. Please. He walked around with cottonballs in his mouth--that contributed about 90% to the "acting". And the raspy voice? Give me a pack of Marlboros and a wisdom tooth removal surgery and I can do the same "Oscar-worthy" performance for you.

Oh, and that "I'll give him an offer he can't refuse" line--that's a REAL keeper. Except not. Because there is no offer, Vito Corleone. You just put a bloody horse head into some guy's bed, freaking him out enough to do whatever you want. That's not an offer, that's a threat. Let's make some sense here, okay?

And let's not forget how the movie ends. The closed door. Ooh, get it? It's a metaphor for how they can't communicate! But what if Diane Keaton just decided "hey, I'm not going to wait until the second movie to become mildly interesting when I whine about my abortion" and just, wait for it...opened the door? There we go, problem solved. Bet you didn't think of that one, did you, Coppola?

But hey--don't think I forgot you, The Godfather Part II. If there's anything I can't stand more than The Godfather, it's the second one. Like DeNiro's acting. There we go again with that raspy voice. Because he's supposed to be Brando in his heyday and is trying to create continuity. Um, the captions saying "Vito Corleone" are enough. Stop trying to be believable.

And Fredo's Hail Mary/Fishing monologue is just...ugh. No one cares that you were the only Corleone brother to catch a fish, Fredo. You just pissed off Michael and your ass is grass. You sucked at defending your dad when he got shot five times at a fruit stand and, up until the middle of the second movie, you've pretty much been the least interesting Corleone. You even shave your 'stache to try and spice up your look. Am I supposed to magically like you more because you're a decent fisher and you happen to have an adorable child next to you listening to how that's the one thing you've ever had over your brothers? Because I don't.

So watch your back, The Godfather.