The night before last we watched two hours of palely loitering Romantic poets. Yes, I’m talking about Bright Star. I’m still cross.

I’m so tired of writers and artists thinking that some pretty moments strung together make story. It doesn’t. Over two hours (two. whole. hours.) boys write poetry, boys move out, girls move out, boys move back, girls move back, girl kisses boy (that’s it–just…kissing), boy coughs, boy dies. The end. Neither protagonist (I use the word loosely) makes any active choice that influence the plot.

I’m thoroughly fed up of wussy emo boys. Throughout the film, I longed for Conan the Barbarian to show up, leaving blood and guts and a few hacked trees strewn about the meadow. Best thing about the film? The cat. The cat was excellent. Especially the bit where s/he whacked a butterfly. Splat. Only bit of action in the whole thing.

A film I’d really like to see this holiday season? Galaxy Quest II: action, humour, affection for the genre, a bit of wow. Most important: shit happens. Meaningful glances are followed either by sex with a tentacled alien or laser fire.