Penkava: I’m no Roger Ebert, but what do you think?
I would love to be a movie critic. Imagine getting paid to sit in a theater and eat popcorn and watch cool movies. Then all you do is go home and write some stuff about what you saw. You get to decide how many stars the movie gets, plus you have the power to tell people whether they should see the movie or not. This job gets two big thumbs up from me.
So, for this column, I have decided to review a movie. The first thing to do was to select a film, so I went to the library to find one. Since I want to be an honest and unprejudiced critic, I decided to randomly select a title. I went to the aisle that contained the DVDs, closed my eyes, and ran my finger down the stacks. I then stopped and pulled out a movie. It was called “Fried Green Tomatoes.”
I brought it home and started to watch it. I’m sorry, but watching Kathy Bates play an introverted housewife who turns to chocolate to repress her disenchantment was too much for me. I couldn’t handle Idgie’s moroseness in her attempts to cope with Ruth’s crumbling marriage, as well as the director’s inept and obdurate endeavors at parallelism between the past and present. But when Ninny Threadgoode started talking about the secret of life, my thumb involuntarily pressed the “Open/Close” button of the remote, and the show was over. Sorry, but the inversion of cultural bias with culinary preference presented in this film precluded my being able to finish watching it.
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