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Reviews:
Requiem
for the $9.50 I paid to be miserable:
Requiem
for a Dream
by
Christian De Matteo
Solid
Maybe you don’t remember, but back in the
eighties, Ozzy Osbourne caused quite a controversy
with his album Suicide
Solution. The
gist of the story was that parents wanted the album
banned because two suicides had been connected to
kids who’d bought the album, and parents were
afraid more would result.
Personally, I feel that sort of things is a
bunch of hooey (for lack of my usual word) and
people should be responsible for their own actions.
If they are truly weak-minded enough to act
as a result of an album, movie or TV show, screw
‘em.
That said, I was damn near being one of those
weak-minded screwballs wanting to off myself at the
halfway point in Requiem
for a Dream. By the end, I’d almost completed
gnawing through my own wrists.
Here’s the In Fairness section: In
fairness, it must be said that Darren Aronofsky (Pi) is an excellent director with an obvious talent and a fine
ability to maneuver the audience via the camera. His writing, as demonstrated here along with Hubert Selby
Jr.— the author of the novel Requiem
for a Dream— also shows him to be a skillful
and powerful writer.
But the movie plays like a Calvin Klein ad
that’s been let run too long.
It’s dark, dreary, ridiculously oppressive,
depressing and rife with non-stop heroin use.
It’s awful.
There is no comic relief from spiral of
utter, unalterable depravity that characters spin
into… each frickin’ character, that is.
The acting is phenomenal with Jared Leto (Fight
Club) and the incomparably hot Jennifer Connelly
(Dark City) doing
powerhouse jobs.
Both of them are totally convincing and— I
never thought I’d be able to say this— Connelly
actually has a nude scene that disgusted me. I didn’t think that could be possible. (There is another one in the film that makes up for that.)
Most surprising of all is Marlon Wayans (Scary
Movie) in a
role I believe could change his career due to the
perfection of his performance in a totally non-comic
role. Ellen
Burstyn finishes up the roster with another
roller-coaster performance, all adding to the
atmosphere of incurable misery.
There is no redemption, no relief, and no
room to breathe with the hefty weight of the movie
crushing your chest and lungs.
Obviously, if this were Aronofsky’s
intention, then he has succeeded admirably.
I am seriously in awe of his ability to
reduce his audience into unrelenting misery and
horror… but why?
Granted the title tells you it ain’t gonna
be a laugh-fest, and, to paraphrase a similar film, Airplane, “I
bought my ticket, I knew what I was getting into, I
say let me crash.”
And yet, when I do crash, do I really need to
burn for two and a half hours?
This plays more like the most horrid
anti-drug message you’ve ever seen, and its point
is well taken.
I agree with the film.
But I will never see this movie again.
Viewer
beware.
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