Hate to Hate, Actually...
In another universe, I am confident that Wes Anderson and I are meant to be soul mate friends, lovers, and/or connoisseurs of all things symmetrically-shaped and saturated in a vintage, 1970s color palette. But the love stops there, hard and fast, as I consistently fall asleep 20 minutes into his latest and greatest blockbuster wannabe, filled with jokes beyond my capacity to laugh and appreciate, surrounded by audiences raving over the ridiculousness of his artistry. My first, second, and millionth impulse is who the @*() cares, as I hate to hate my aesthetically-pleasing-oriented hero, and would honestly rather be having dental work. Enjoy!
[Blog Reminder: Click on Subtitle Above for Article.]
No comments:
Post a Comment