I love how the New York Times always tries to inject some literary analysis into their movie reviews. For instance, in the review of Batman Begins (which I plan to see this weekend) the Times reviewer Manohla Dargis says that:
What Mr. Keaton couldn't bring to the role, and what Mr. Bale conveys effortlessly, is Bruce Wayne's air of casual entitlement, the aristocratic hauteur that is the necessary complement of Batman's obsessive megalomania. What Mr. Nolan gets, and gets better than any other previous director, is that without Bruce Wayne, Batman is just a rich wacko with illusions of grandeur and a terrific pair of support hose. Without his suave alter ego, this weird bat man is a superhero without humanity, an avenger without a conscience, an id without a superego. Which is why... with narrative economy and tangible feeling, [Christopher Nolan] stages that terrible, defining moment when young Master Wayne watched a criminal shoot his parents to death in a Gotham City alley, thereby setting into motion his long, strange journey into the self.
It just reads more like an english paper than a movie review, doesn't it? I guess that's why I like it. The review actually starts with this amusing section:
Near the big-bang finish of "Batman Begins," the title avenger, played by the charismatic young British actor Christian Bale, scoops up a damsel in distress, played by Katie Holmes, and spirits her away to his lair. Watching this scene, it was hard not to think how nice it would have been if Batman had instead dispatched the infernally perky actress, whose recent off-screen antics have threatened to eclipse this unexpectedly good movie.
which reminds me that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes got engaged yesterday. How gross-- she's my age for crying out loud!
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