AMOUR
Only the most depraved, despaired and demented members of the Looney Liberal Left could find anything of value in “Amour”, a film under consideration for Best Foreign Picture. “Amour” is the type of film no one really likes, but it is chic to sing its praises in Manhattan hoi polloi parties, so folks talk about it in glowing terms. And, what do they talk about? Not the movie. They will discuss the cinematography, or music or acting; but not the movie. No one except the clinically psychotic would watch this film twice. The movie is depressing as hell. Bronco Bama comes out with 23 executive directives to ban guns to stop violence, but he should have added a few directives to stop the production of movies like “Amour”.
Many of you, dear readers, have had the experience of caring for a loved one stricken with a debilitating or fatal disease. The Looney Liberal Left generally either commit these folks to a care home, or chain them in the attic until Wes Craven comes along looking for a story. We humans go through the trials and tribulations of caring for the person; a physically draining, emotional heart breaking process which always endures far too long. So, what kind of sick mind, after working hard for a week, wants to take hard-earned entertainment dollars and spend it on two hours of watching someone taking care of a loved one in such a condition? This is entertainment? No! These are the truly sick and twisted people - not those who go home and play Call of Duty.
Michael Haneke directed and wrote this excrement on celluloid. He will be the toast of the town in parties where tuxedoes are considered casual wear for awhile (read after the Oscars) but won’t make any real money in this business crafting films of this ilk.
“Amour” stars Jean-Louis Trintignant as George and Emmanuell Riva as Anne. Outside of the occasional visit from their daughter Eva, played by Isabelle Huppert, the movie is over two hours of George taking care of Anne. Editors Nadine Muse and Monika Willi should be tossed out of the editors union for making this mess two hours long. If you look hard, there is a subplot about socialized medicine, but having reelected Bronco Bama, the American people are aware of the implications of socialized medicine. They all have their pillows ready.
I wish I could find something, anything, even if miniscule to say worthwhile about this film, but, alas, I cannot. It is truly that piss poor. You have no idea the euphoria I felt when the end credits began to roll. Fye on the Academy for even considering “Amour”. Fye on all those responsible for making it. Dante is reserving a place for you on the fifth level of hell.
AMOUR’ S GRADE = F
-30-
Fiore Mastracci is Pittsburgh’s true film critic with over 30 years experience.
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