. . . and now we must survive what feels like FIVE THOUSAND YEARS IN 'EL. Plus, just when it seems that the Wishy-Washy Indecision cannot possibly get any worse, the end credits for this flick disclose that it's ACTUALLY some sort of a trilogy, so that masochists can savor HIM and HER after persevering all the way through THEM. I once had a classmate who timed each entry into single-user home bathrooms at parties if the line got too long. After two minutes, she'd yell out something like, "Time to tinkle, Tina, or GET OFF THE POT!" THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ELEANOR RIGBY appears to be a story in which no one ever comes close to tinkling. My viewing partner said that watching imaginary paint dry on a canvas that an abstract artist has left intentionally blank would seem like the trailer for MAD MAX: FURY ROAD compared to RIGBY. If a film student wastes eight minutes of your time on an Artsy-Fartsy non-story such as RIGBY, one would hope they'd have to repeat the course. There should be a law against Hollywood charging the going rate to see a two-hour film with a mysterious title and a totally limp tale!
