Why do movies like this get made? Is there some sort of virus in Hollywood that disables the ability to differentiate between a well written script and a piece of drek so phony, so formulaic, so divorced from any human being's real life, that its mere existence insults intelligent filmgoers? Women and chick flick fans, arise and unite! Let's mount noisy protests outside movies like this. Let's demand that Hollywood hire people who can write.
"The Holiday"'s cast is top notch, except for the terminally mediocre Jack Black, whose entire film career is some sort of cosmic joke.
The very best thing about "The Holiday" is Eli Wallach's relatively large part as a great writer from Hollywood's Golden Era. Wallach is especially strong; being ninety years old does not diminish his charisma one whit.
It's ironic that a movie with such a disaster of a script features a character playing a classic Hollywood writer, who makes repeated reference to well-written chick flicks from yesteryear.
Jude Law is very winning here. He juggles his external beauty and inner complexity marvelously.
Miffy Englefield and Emma Pritchard are adorable as moppet sisters too cute to live.
Oh, but the script. It's drek. It's an insult. It's a random jumble of utterly bogus settings and complications that some cold heart in marketing stitched together, convinced that this would rake in some dough. You've got Christmas trees, poignant reunions, and tears that appear on cue.
You know, I saw "Apocalypto" this weekend as well, and, of the two, "Apocalypto" was the feel good movie, and "The Holiday" filled me with rage. One had some integrity; the other was an empty exercise in marketing.
How stupid do the folks who made this movie think women are? The answer is very grim.
Save your bucks; stay home, and watch one of the classic chick flick films this movie keeps talking about.
"The Holiday"'s cast is top notch, except for the terminally mediocre Jack Black, whose entire film career is some sort of cosmic joke.
The very best thing about "The Holiday" is Eli Wallach's relatively large part as a great writer from Hollywood's Golden Era. Wallach is especially strong; being ninety years old does not diminish his charisma one whit.
It's ironic that a movie with such a disaster of a script features a character playing a classic Hollywood writer, who makes repeated reference to well-written chick flicks from yesteryear.
Jude Law is very winning here. He juggles his external beauty and inner complexity marvelously.
Miffy Englefield and Emma Pritchard are adorable as moppet sisters too cute to live.
Oh, but the script. It's drek. It's an insult. It's a random jumble of utterly bogus settings and complications that some cold heart in marketing stitched together, convinced that this would rake in some dough. You've got Christmas trees, poignant reunions, and tears that appear on cue.
You know, I saw "Apocalypto" this weekend as well, and, of the two, "Apocalypto" was the feel good movie, and "The Holiday" filled me with rage. One had some integrity; the other was an empty exercise in marketing.
How stupid do the folks who made this movie think women are? The answer is very grim.
Save your bucks; stay home, and watch one of the classic chick flick films this movie keeps talking about.