Oh my god, I just watched Sedona because I once knew someone in it with a bit part. Even dodged a romantic bullet with her - Chemtrails were her entry drug, a train wreck conspiracist who fell down the rabbit hole and is now lost. Long story.
But anyway! That's not this story. Sedona? The curiosity of a single cast member alone couldn't save this wan cliche of a story, plodded through by actors who probably thought Sedona was as obvious and dumb while filming it as I did while watching it. All in the space of about 4 hours, a hardened ad agency owner throws it all away because of a car, a coffee, a pedi, and a cast of quirky characters out of central casting, Sedona style. Oh, kid lost in the desert? Don't worry, a Native American will show up 60 seconds later and start tracking. Poor Christopher Atkins is just a lump, the great Barry Corbin fixes a car, and Lin Shaye dances around dredging up magic emotions in our protagonist, a bewildered Frances Fisher. Nobody gets used to any artistic potential. Then the whole thing is padded out to feature length by about 8 minutes of end credits, including an end credit scene a-la Kingpin, but with dancing.
Somebody set fire to a million + bucks to bring this reeking steamer to life, and that's a shame. What a waste, man. Starving artists could have used a tenth of the budget to make something brilliant. A twentieth! Instead, junk like this gets made. Boo.
But anyway! That's not this story. Sedona? The curiosity of a single cast member alone couldn't save this wan cliche of a story, plodded through by actors who probably thought Sedona was as obvious and dumb while filming it as I did while watching it. All in the space of about 4 hours, a hardened ad agency owner throws it all away because of a car, a coffee, a pedi, and a cast of quirky characters out of central casting, Sedona style. Oh, kid lost in the desert? Don't worry, a Native American will show up 60 seconds later and start tracking. Poor Christopher Atkins is just a lump, the great Barry Corbin fixes a car, and Lin Shaye dances around dredging up magic emotions in our protagonist, a bewildered Frances Fisher. Nobody gets used to any artistic potential. Then the whole thing is padded out to feature length by about 8 minutes of end credits, including an end credit scene a-la Kingpin, but with dancing.
Somebody set fire to a million + bucks to bring this reeking steamer to life, and that's a shame. What a waste, man. Starving artists could have used a tenth of the budget to make something brilliant. A twentieth! Instead, junk like this gets made. Boo.