Well, it came. It sold. It conquered. Box-office wise, I mean. But what can truly be said for what will likely be the last Star Wars film released? Well, in many ways, Episode 3 is much like Anakin Skywalker himself. It starts off well, with tons of potential, it looks swift, sports some killer moves and has a lot to offer in the sharp-dressed department. But ultimately, bad acting, awful writing and Natalie Portman lead to the dark side.
I feel bad for poor Natalie. I know I shouldn't (especially after Garden State...yikes) but I do. She's another Dicaprio: a good actor destroyed by a know-nothing director and awfully-written blockbusters. But let's be frank: sometimes even a Hollywood creampuff should be able to tell when something is just bad. No character, in any film, should be forced to say lines that are nothing more or less than character motives and intentions. I mean, its like watching Keanu Reeves at Improv Night: not a subtext to be found anywhere.
Not withstanding the truly wrenchingly bad scenes with Portman (who acts about as pregnant as an olympic westler, by the by...actually, make that less--they've got the walk down), the film does have some truly worthy moments which were, for a brief moment, magical. The saber-fights were breath-taking. Some of the shots were very involving, and the plot was very moving in places.
But missed opportunities stood out like sore thumbs pointed straight down. No connection with and no belief in the two lovers is even possible for anyone over five. Their actions and words simply are untrue, and a discredit to the film. A film which comes very, very close to good. Make that great. If more attention had been paid and better material had stripped the cheese from the romance, this would have been the best since the original (untampered) three. As it was, it was like watching a majestic lion struggling with cancer. There was power there, a grandness and true nature. But it was blindsided by ham-fisted plot point dialogue and stumbling moments of awkward dramatic posing.
To top this off, I received from the theater a small magazine that informed me that I could get a t-shirt saying "thank you" to his infernal majesty, ruinatior of classic scenes and storytelling, George "All For the Greenbacks" Lucas. Yeah. Thanks tons, George. Can ya spot me the ticket price? I mean, c'mon--what's $7.50 between pals, right?
I feel bad for poor Natalie. I know I shouldn't (especially after Garden State...yikes) but I do. She's another Dicaprio: a good actor destroyed by a know-nothing director and awfully-written blockbusters. But let's be frank: sometimes even a Hollywood creampuff should be able to tell when something is just bad. No character, in any film, should be forced to say lines that are nothing more or less than character motives and intentions. I mean, its like watching Keanu Reeves at Improv Night: not a subtext to be found anywhere.
Not withstanding the truly wrenchingly bad scenes with Portman (who acts about as pregnant as an olympic westler, by the by...actually, make that less--they've got the walk down), the film does have some truly worthy moments which were, for a brief moment, magical. The saber-fights were breath-taking. Some of the shots were very involving, and the plot was very moving in places.
But missed opportunities stood out like sore thumbs pointed straight down. No connection with and no belief in the two lovers is even possible for anyone over five. Their actions and words simply are untrue, and a discredit to the film. A film which comes very, very close to good. Make that great. If more attention had been paid and better material had stripped the cheese from the romance, this would have been the best since the original (untampered) three. As it was, it was like watching a majestic lion struggling with cancer. There was power there, a grandness and true nature. But it was blindsided by ham-fisted plot point dialogue and stumbling moments of awkward dramatic posing.
To top this off, I received from the theater a small magazine that informed me that I could get a t-shirt saying "thank you" to his infernal majesty, ruinatior of classic scenes and storytelling, George "All For the Greenbacks" Lucas. Yeah. Thanks tons, George. Can ya spot me the ticket price? I mean, c'mon--what's $7.50 between pals, right?