NICHOLAS SPARKS SPOILER ALERT!! (If that's even possible)
Nicholas Sparks has been the bane of my existence the past week.
The BANE, Nicholas. You are the bane.
The twins have been feeling sad lately, and going on and on about this damn movie for a week, so I let them drag me to Nights in Rodanthe after an incredibly mediocre dinner at Markt. It was just as bad as I expected, and MORE, replete with awkward old folks make-out scenes, no below the clavicle nudity, insta-love, wild beach ponies impossibly located out of habitat, angry children, horrible editing and camera-work, and cry, cry, crying - BOO HOO!
Still doing it. Horribly.
Oh and everyone dies. They die in septic over-flooding. They die on the table. They die of shame and anguish. Including the ponies; they die in the mock Hurricane Katrina, only to be resurrected by the magical power of love and more crying. I was hoping the Diane Lane character (it's one of those movies where the lives of the actual characters aren't executed well enough for anyone to actually care) would die from rolling around hysterically on the sand in front of a herd of stampeding horses, but she didn't. I was hoping she'd jump off the pier from adroit sorrow, but she didn't. She just blew a really lame kiss to her dead sometime lover.
Lesson of the story: if you're 40-something with bastard children and a sleazy ex, you can always fall in love again by being locked in a house in the middle of nowhere with another person and an unlimited supply of booze during a category five hurricane. See? There's always hope! Especially when the person you're shacked up with likes to put gerbils up their bum for kicks. They skipped over that night in Rodanthe.
After talking through the entire movie (I can't believe that nobody else did, although I do believe that someone farted robustly), I walked out and immediately began laughing uncontrollably for ten minutes.
As usual, I skipped out on paying the full-price ticket by purchasing my senior citizen's pass, thus saving four dollars (and probably the only thing that kept my mirth from being white-hot anger). By the way, movies are 12.50 now in NYC, so beware next time someone talks you into maybe going to see a movie that you just know is going to be 100% pure garbage. Or if you are in the mood to see a shitty movie, go see Saw V instead.
The BANE, Nicholas. You are the bane.
The twins have been feeling sad lately, and going on and on about this damn movie for a week, so I let them drag me to Nights in Rodanthe after an incredibly mediocre dinner at Markt. It was just as bad as I expected, and MORE, replete with awkward old folks make-out scenes, no below the clavicle nudity, insta-love, wild beach ponies impossibly located out of habitat, angry children, horrible editing and camera-work, and cry, cry, crying - BOO HOO!
Still doing it. Horribly.
Oh and everyone dies. They die in septic over-flooding. They die on the table. They die of shame and anguish. Including the ponies; they die in the mock Hurricane Katrina, only to be resurrected by the magical power of love and more crying. I was hoping the Diane Lane character (it's one of those movies where the lives of the actual characters aren't executed well enough for anyone to actually care) would die from rolling around hysterically on the sand in front of a herd of stampeding horses, but she didn't. I was hoping she'd jump off the pier from adroit sorrow, but she didn't. She just blew a really lame kiss to her dead sometime lover.
Lesson of the story: if you're 40-something with bastard children and a sleazy ex, you can always fall in love again by being locked in a house in the middle of nowhere with another person and an unlimited supply of booze during a category five hurricane. See? There's always hope! Especially when the person you're shacked up with likes to put gerbils up their bum for kicks. They skipped over that night in Rodanthe.
After talking through the entire movie (I can't believe that nobody else did, although I do believe that someone farted robustly), I walked out and immediately began laughing uncontrollably for ten minutes.
As usual, I skipped out on paying the full-price ticket by purchasing my senior citizen's pass, thus saving four dollars (and probably the only thing that kept my mirth from being white-hot anger). By the way, movies are 12.50 now in NYC, so beware next time someone talks you into maybe going to see a movie that you just know is going to be 100% pure garbage. Or if you are in the mood to see a shitty movie, go see Saw V instead.