Clint Eastwood is old and still sick of your shit. Jim Carrey shoots up on heroin and lip-syncs along to Welcome to the Jungle. Liam Neeson has a ponytail. Patricia Clarkson is, uh, Patricia Clarkson. Thank God the Dirty Harry films ended here. I don't think the 1990s were equipped for Harry Callahan or vice versa.
I feel as though I am at a loss for words when it comes to The Grand Budapest Hotel. It seems as though all of my thoughts have already been expressed by reviewers far more competent than myself. That puts me in a weird spot because I don't want to just write the same things that everyone else has written. But, if everything has been said, what the hell am I supposed to say?
I suppose I'd like to begin…
I hated this film for years. I hated it because Mel Stuart's Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory was a staple of my childhood and remains one of my favorite films (and not just from nostalgic value).
However, I realized I was being silly and, after the chance to see Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory on the big screen, I decided to re-visit Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with an open mind. After all, I had only seen it once before,…