Oh I'm sorry, Did I Break Your Conversation........Well Allow Me A Movie Thread by S&T

Lady Bird's Glaring White Mediocrity

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http://theweek.com/articles/741399/lady-birds-glaring-white-mediocrity

Lady Bird, a movie so popular it has made history as Rotten Tomatoes' best-reviewed movie ever, focuses on the life of the titular Lady Bird, whose given name is Christine. Lady Bird, who crafts a persona of alternative artsiness with her name, dyed hair, and awkwardness passing as weirdness, is the heroine of this coming of age tale. Critics have lavished praise on the film and its writer/director, Greta Gerwig, calling it "big-screen perfection" and "exquisite." The problem withLady Bird isn't so much that it's a bad movie, but that, like its protagonist, it's not a terribly remarkable one.

Lady Bird, who finds it "ridiculous" that people just accept the names their parents give them, struggles throughout this movie to find something unique about herself. She has, for better or for worse, an ordinary, fairly good life — a stable middle-class family, good schooling, and seemingly good mental health (aside, of course, from the first scene, where she literally jumps out of a car mid-argument with her mother). She is surrounded by people less privileged than her, yet she still feels like she has been dealt the lesser hand. Her personal drive for uniqueness and imperviousness to outside issues is often aggravatingly solipsistic.

The universe in which Lady Bird lives is chock full of complex characters — Lady Bird just isn't one of them. I would rather learn about Julie, the talented-but-fat friend who doesn't get to go to college and isn't "built" for happiness, or the mother, whose compassion is masked by rough practicality, or the father, with his outstanding warmth and humor, or the brother, who was adopted by white people and has an unkind sister, or the girlfriend, who in her early 20s is living with her equally young boyfriend's white family, or the drama teacher who is still grieving his son's untimely death. The film's writing is great enough to create these characters, but not attentive enough to spend time on any of them.

I wish I would have found Lady Bird more interesting. I have extraordinarily similar memories — I, too, went to a school with fairly rich people, felt left out because of class dynamics, was the skinny friend who was the default center of attention. I also went to an Eastern liberal arts school I couldn't afford because I had a notion I would "belong" there. But the Lady Bird experience for me was strangely alienating. The movie brings up tendrils of intersectional discourse — race, class issues, reproductive rights, mental health — only to leave them shriveling in the backdrop of the movie, their importance not even secondary to Lady Bird's white girl problems. These topics were thrown into the film in the same way left-leaning people toss words and platitudes into regular conversation to make themselves seem "with it" and well-rounded thinkers, while simultaneously avoiding any meaningful discussion or real-life engagement with the issues.

The movie doesn't shy away from showing Lady Bird's flaws — it is remarkably self-aware — but it doesn't quite do anything with them, either. By focusing on small episodes of often-disagreeable adolescence, the film almost fosters the entitlement of the main character. In the ways only wispy white women know, Lady Bird flits from relatable problem to relatable problem largely unchanged, and barely touched (except for an incredibly awkward "deflowering" scene that, I'll admit, was expertly handled with both humor and gentleness).

White mediocrity is the lowest common denominator for experience — heck, even I, a random South Asian who went to high school in India, found things to relate to in this film. It is also key to this movie's enormous success. Lady Bird isn't exceptionally gifted, or exceptionally awful. She's neither a winner, nor an underdog. She's not a bad kid, just an angsty kid. The film's relatability hinges on its lack of specificity and the stasis of its character study — Lady Bird, who is propelled by a sense of isolation from her surroundings and a notion that she doesn't have enough, is in the same place at the end of the movie as she was at the beginning. And maybe that's the point. I would even question whether this is really a coming-of-age film at all. In failing to allow Lady Bird to move past her attachment to being "different," the film feels almost like a missed opportunity, when the premise was so wonderfully ripe for evolution. Instead, it finds itself with about three false endings and a tacked-on driving scene celebrating Sacramento.

Indie films are notoriously white and privileged. They come from whiteness and privilege. And while Lady Bird makes a ploy to include people of color, the protagonist's coldness to her brother Miguel and his girlfriend doesn't quite amount to attention. They are often depicted in silence and watchfulness, Othered within the story and the frame. This, however, didn't nearly prepare me for Lady Bird's meltdown after getting into UC Davis, a school she looks down on because it is known for agricultural studies (a classist derision if I've ever heard one). She snaps at Miguel, who "even" majored in math at Berkeley while she, the biological child, didn't inherit her father's mathematical mind. He latches on to her insinuation, defending himself: "I didn't even list my race!" (as if affirmative action is something bad). She throws it back at him, saying his name was a giveaway. Their parents hardly condone her casual racism — "we didn't raise you this way" — but we do not see Lady Bird make amends, or even show her brother a modicum of attention.

Attention and love are often the same thing, as the sister in charge of the Catholic school says in a "wisdom-giving" scene. In this film, it's the entitled, unchanging, mediocre Lady Bird that gets the most love. And from film critics, the most attention.
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The Success Of “Lady Bird” Shows White Stories Can Work Half As Hard For Twice The Acclaim

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https://quartzy.qz.com/1167831/the-...-can-work-half-as-hard-for-twice-the-acclaim/

Like Moonlight before it, the critically adored Lady Bird is a film of unexpected highs and very few lows. This unusual coming-of-age tale centers around a character type that is often overlooked for top-star billing—a young, working class, and struggling teenage girl, desperately seeking a place in a world that frustratingly eludes and confounds her. Moonlight focused on a similarly sidelined type: a young, black, gay man.

It’s not that Lady Bird— the film’s titular character—fails to understand the circumstances that surround her adolescent Northern California existence (unrequited and misguided love; disapproving mom; unemployed father). Rather, she views these obstacles as mere technicalities: present-tense challenges that should not necessarily define her fate or future. Her boyfriend may be gay and parents broke, but Lady Bird remains definitely determined to lose her virginity by prom—and somehow study in New York after graduation.

And, that’s about it. Lady Bird is full of pointed writing and poignant performances—a credit to its cast, as well as to writer and director Greta Gerwig—but not much else happens in the movie. Still, the film has garnered nearly unprecedented accolades—most notably, a perfect 100 critics’ score on Rotten Tomatoes. “Big-screen perfection,” the New York Times called it.

To be sure, it’s a good movie. But the sting of the #oscarsowhite debacle is barely two years behind us; and Moonlight‘s nail-biter of a best picture victory in this year’s Academy Awards offered little reassurance about the future of Hollywood diversity. In that landscape, the massive acclaim for Lady Bird reflects how little films focused on white characters have to do to succeed stratospherically.

Both Moonlight and Lady Bird come from the same studio—the “anti-Hollywood” newcomer A24. Their protagonists are each young, urban, and striving. And both films were heralded as groundbreaking achievements. But that is where the similarities end.

Moonlight is a multidimensional masterpiece—a triumph not just for its writing and acting, but its direction, soundtrack and cinematography. Everything about the film is heightened and supreme—transcending mere race-based applause while never forsaking race as a core of its being.

Lady Bird does not reach such heights—nor does it particularly attempt to (or, apparently, have to). The film has been rightly admired for shedding light on young women’s stories—which are increasingly rare amid our cultural obsession with bro-flicks and billion-dollar action franchises. But as ground-breaking as her narrative might seem to young people today, Gerwig is not covering new ground.

Nearly three decades ago, the iconic director John Hughes invented an entire cinematic genre around awkward high school girls grasping for distinct identity and self-expression while still trying to score the hot boy. Molly Ringwald perfected the gawky-cool striving teen heroine in Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink, and provided the perfect foil to Ally Sheedy’s weird girl in The Breakfast Club. Those films were truly pioneering.

We live today in far more politicized times, where every cultural expression must be qualified with deeper meaning. Lady Bird is stuffed with this sort of manufactured meaningfulness. With its “indie darling” female director and fashionable lady lead, Lady Bird is ready-made for the #metoo moment. It’s good news that this constituency exists and is gaining cultural power—but the ease with which Lady Bird has used it to slide into prominence feels hollow, with little true gravitas to back it up.

Folks might retort that Lady Bird does reference the class, gender, and sexuality dynamics of Moonlight—and indeed it does. But other than Laurie Metcalf’s searing performance as Lady Bird’s lovingly bitter mother, they’re just too subtly realized to make much of an impact. Nothing about Lady Bird—not its script nor its actors or director—feels like it’s worked hard enough to deserve the near-universal approval it has garnered. Meanwhile, much like black America itself, Moonlight had to work twice as hard for half the praise.
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‘Mudbound’ Has More To Say About Whiteness In America Than Any Other Trump-Era Movie
A person doesn’t have to be hateful in order to be racist.
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https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/dee-rees-mudbound_us_59fd18d4e4b0baea2631d8fc

The new Netflix movie “Mudbound,” directed by Dee Rees, is an epic about race in the Deep South in the aftermath of World War II. It is also, in a way, about something that happened a few weeks ago.

“The other day,” Rees told me recently, “I was in my pajamas getting ready to walk my dog in the building where I live.” A white guy, “trying to be friendly,” struck up a conversation. “Oh,” he asked, “are you with the dog walking service? Can I get your card?”

Rees smiled, though clearly unamused. “I said, ‘No, I live here.’”

“Mudbound” is a movie about small moments like these, which almost every black person can relate to. Perhaps no other film has done a better job of capturing the role of emotional labor in the story of race in America, of teasing out the connection between the physical and emotional labor of black folk in this country.

The story centers on two families, the McAllans (white) and the Jacksons (black). Henry McAllan (Jason Clarke) moves his wife Laura (Carey Mulligan), two daughters, and ornery father Pappy (Jonathan Banks) onto a large plot of farmland in Mississippi. The McAllans own the land, and Hap and Florence Jackson (Rob Morgan and Mary J. Blige), sharecroppers with four children of their own, work the land.

Hap and Florence’s eldest son, Ronsel Jackson (Jason Mitchell), and Henry’s younger brother, Jamie McAllan (Garrett Hedlund), strike up an unlikely friendship based around the shared trauma of the war. The friendship ultimately leads to tragedy.

“Mudbound” begins and ends with acts of labor that are layered with meaning. In its first moments, we watch the McAllan brothers dig a muddy grave for their recently deceased father. Later, we watch Henry ask Hap, passing by with his family, to help them lower Pappy into the ground. The dead man was a virulent racist, one who bombarded the Jacksons with his disdain; a man who, as we learn later, endangered the lives of Hap and his family. In that moment, all of this history is left unspoken.

Halfway through the narrative, Florence must leave her children and gravely injured husband in order to tend to Laura’s two sick daughters. It’s an act she says, via internal monologue, that she’d vowed never to do ― to put the needs of someone else’s family over her own.

This is the reality of being black in America. “Their lives can be interrupted at any moment,” Rees explained.

“You could be reading a letter from your son who is away at war, or having dinner with your family,” she said. “But at any moment you have to stop doing what you’re doing. Your family connections are displaced or your emotion is displaced, and suddenly you have to perform someone else’s convenience.”

She is speaking of emotional labor, a concept wound up tightly with the story of white and black America. Emotional labor is the folding and contorting of one’s own emotions for the benefit of others, in order to put them at ease, making space for their feelings by burying your own. In the context of race, this means ignoring offhand racist comments and microaggressions for the sake of keeping the peace, absolving white people of their guilt and swallowing righteous anger.

Emotional labor is not an inherently negative thing. But it becomes so when it’s compelled, without any promise of reciprocation. Black people, especially black women, have perfected the art of emotional labor for the sake of survival.

There is a constant assumption that black women have a bottomless capacity to provide emotional labor for nothing in return. The “Mammy” figure is the personification of this idea: a woman who is always jovial, who is devoid of personal desires, who always places the well-being of the white people she serves above her own ― not because she works for them, but because it is in her nature, embedded in her very DNA.

This is what’s at play here, as Florence and Hap navigate the constant intrusions of the McAllan family, who demand physical and spiritual work from them with sheepish smiles that suggest a false sense of solidarity, even understanding.

Stuck at the McAllan home for days as the girls recover and as her own children and husband must cope at home without her, Florence shares a few tender moments with Laura, bonding with her as one mother to another. The next night, Pappy arrives home and accosts Florence with racist taunts and slurs and threats of violence. Laura looks on in silence as Florence de-escalates the confrontation by herself.

The McAllans and the Jacksons are tied together, tied to this land, whether they like it or not. It’s a perfect metaphor for race in America itself ― a problem that’s more than just a problem, that isn’t the burden of just one group but of many.

Because the other crucial thing “Mudbound” explores is the idea of inheritance. We inherit the burden of race, we inherit the burden of emotional labor, and we inherit not just the notion of whiteness as a form of social wealth, but the wealth itself ― just as we inherit the land and the power that goes with it.

“Each of the McAllans has whiteness as currency,” Rees said. “They just spend it differently.”

“Pappy flaunts his,” she went on. “He’s calling Ronsel a ****** and making him use the back door. Henry may not be calling you names, but he’s happy to walk up to your window and say, ‘Hey, get up on your broken leg and come help me out.’ And Laura, she barters with hers. She’s ‘asking’ Florence to help her girls, but she’s not asking.”

“And then with Jamie, he tries to pretend he doesn’t have it, which is equally as dangerous,” Rees added. “By pretending he doesn’t have his privilege, he endangers Ronsel’s life.”

In this way, the McAllans are whiteness in all its various shades, all the shades of complicity that come with choosing to accept or reject whiteness as a currency. By the end of the film, after its brutal conclusion, it’s hard to tell which of the McAllans ― Laura, Pappy, Henry or Jamie ― is truly to blame for all the bad things that have transpired between both families. And that, probably, is the point.

“A lot of people say, ‘I’m not racist,’” Rees told me. “I think what they’re really saying is, ‘I don’t hate.’ But you can be racist without being hateful.”

This idea, that one can be racist without being hateful, reverberates through the world of the film and, of course, through the real world as well. The image of Florence nursing the grandchildren of a man who calls her a black ***** lies on the same continuum as Dee Rees, a queer black female director, being mistaken for a dog walker by her white neighbor in Brooklyn.

Pappy is hateful. The white neighbor isn’t. And yet they operate within the same system; they demand the same emotional labor, the same compromising of one’s emotions.

Art about race, about America, should not live in the past. In this respect, “Mudbound” is a film that’s brilliantly contemporary in the way it explores race ― not as a concept, as a tool for a teachable moment, as a way to shock or awe an audience as some films about race in the past year have done. It has no agenda and no “lessons” to teach.

Some people glibly predicted in the days after Donald Trump’s election that it would inspire more meaningful and profound art. But many films about race in America that have been released in the past year, such as “Detroit” and “Beatriz at Dinner,” have had an unfortunate tendency toward a flattening didacticism. The movies march grimly under the banner of their message, taking care not to implicate too much of the white audience. The dynamics of race in America are oversimplified rather than interrogated, and viewers are ushered toward a predetermined reaction. That’s not what Rees is up to in “Mudbound.” Her wish is for those who watch her movie ― white and black ― to investigate their own inner lives as much as the inner lives of the characters.

“Unless you investigate what you inherit in terms of ideas, you know, attitudes and thoughts about the world, how can you be mindful about what you’re passing on?” Rees said.

America is a shared dream, a shared trauma, a shared problem. We’ve all inherited it.
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man somebody needs to make a new star wars thread so i can post in it. so much anger and hostility in that thread. it needs my humor :emoji_blush:
 
‘Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri’ Is This Awards Season’s ‘La La Land’
The inevitable backlash cycle (followed, of course, by a backlash to the backlash) claims one Oscar hopeful a year. The Golden Globes on Sunday cemented which movie has been chosen for the honor in 2018.

https://www.theringer.com/movies/20...boards-outside-ebbing-missouri-backlash-cycle

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Back in November, a rather anarchist member of the Ringer staff, who shall remain nameless, asked, “Do you think there will be a Lady Bird backlash?” By that point, Lady Bird had become the best-reviewed movie in Rotten Tomatoes history, and Greta Gerwig was appearing on late-night shows with adorable handwritten notes to Alanis Morissette in tow. It is a pop-culture law that everything generates a backlash, and it’s a time-honored tradition to dissect and mercilessly criticize an Oscar hopeful. Last year La La Land became a target, as the movie’s critics railed against its white-savior narrative in comparison to Moonlight’s depiction of a gay black man. And so it made sense to wonder whether Lady Bird’s universal praise would eventually turn on its head.

That hasn’t happened (nor should it!). Instead, the movie that seems destined to become this year’s La La Land, this year’s Argo, this year’s The Artist is Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri.

Three Billboards, written and directed by Martin McDonagh, is suddenly an Academy Award frontrunner after winning four Golden Globes on Sunday, including Best Drama, and earning nine BAFTA nominations — basically, the British Oscars — on Tuesday. Though neither awards show is a surefire Oscar predictor, the momentum is promising for a film whose Oscar ambitions seemed to begin and end with a Best Actress push for Frances McDormand just five months ago.

When Three Billboards premiered in September at the Venice Film Festival, and then the Toronto International Film Festival, the film received good-to-great reviews, drawing favorable comparisons to Fargo and earning praise as some of McDormand’s best work since, well, Fargo. It felt like the type of movie that might land on some critics’ year-end lists, but nothing about it or its reception screamed, “This is the movie that could win Best Picture.” As Variety’s Owen Gleiberman wrote at the time, “In its vortex of agony and anger, forgiveness and redemption, Three Billboards may play, during awards season, as a kindred spirit to Manchester by the Sea, yet that movie was a masterpiece of dramatic realism. This one is more like a quirky emotional puzzle put together by a trickster poet. It’s far from a masterpiece, yet it holds you, it adds up, and it’s something to see.”

It wasn’t until Three Billboards was released in the U.S. on November 10, when critics who didn’t attend the film festivals — as well as general moviegoers — were able to see it, that criticism sharpened. In particular, Three Billboards dissenters focused on Sam Rockwell’s character, Ebbing police Officer Jason Dixon, and the film’s poor handling of race. In the film, Dixon is introduced as a problematic, dim-witted, racist cop, reviled by everyone except police Chief Bill Willoughby (Woody Harrelson), who attests that Dixon is a good man at heart. To some — including The Ringer’s own K. Austin Collins — Dixon’s redemptive arc at the end of Three Billboards was unearned, and more alarmingly, the movie never addressed the character’s racism. At best, the movies used racism as narrative window dressing to emphasize that the character was an *******, and at worst, as The Daily Beast’s Ira Madison III pointed out, it absolved him of his own racism.

For a spell, that’s where things stood with Three Billboards: at a point of agreement that while one of the film’s actors was more than deserving of awards, the movie itself was not. For those familiar with the life cycle of the backlash to an Oscar contender, this was the dormant phase.

Things began to bubble when Three Billboards began racking up nominations at smaller awards bodies in December. Nominees for the Screen Actors Guild Awards included not just McDormand for Best Actress, but both Rockwell and Harrelson as supporting actors; the film scored six Critics’ Choice Awards nominations and six Golden Globe noms. On Sunday, the movie cashed in on four of those six nominations (McDormand for Best Actress in a Drama, Sam Rockwell for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama, McDonagh for Best Screenplay, and Best Picture — Drama) and became a legitimate Oscar frontrunner.

Cue the backlash! The criticisms began to resurface, especially on social media, with the general notion being: Oh ****, this problematic, not-that-good movie might be our future Best Picture winner.





Things won’t simmer down too much in the two-month lead-up to the Oscars. The SAG Awards winners will be unveiled on January 21; you can pretty much bank on McDormand picking up another win, and Rockwell may be right there with her. TheThree Billboards hot takes will spout from there. As it happened with La La Land and the La La Lands before La La Land, criticism of the film will be reexamined in new, scathing ways. Meanwhile, the parts that critics did enjoy — such as the way McDormand encapsulates female rage in the #MeToo era, or the movie’s sordid humor — will be reemphasized as backlash to the backlash builds, much in the way some critics came to the defense of La La Land. McDonagh will undoubtedly be asked to address his movie’s backlash, and whether he thinks a movie like Call Me by Your Name is more deserving of this acclaim. Perhaps someone will even risk their life to ask McDormand the same questions.

It’ll all culminate on Oscar Night, and we will all sit through the entire ceremony waiting to see whether The Movie That Shouldn’t Win actually wins. Should Three Billboards lose, the cycle of backlash will end. However, if the movie wins big, the Academy’s choice, and the cycle of scrutiny, will linger for years, perhaps decades. Just ask Crash.
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CP1708 said:
No.

(Why are you banned from it????????)
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apparently because i called rose, yes the rose in the movie, a walrus.

i never got an explanation for being banned and ive tried contacting the mods but never got a reply back

i dont even know which mod banned me from there
 
Heard some "stat" about how many "pre-tickets" have been sold for Black Panther.0]:sick:

I mean, I can see why....it's probably the best Trailer that I have ever seen.

I can't imagine if I were actually in the Theatre with the big screen and Dolby sound the first time I saw that preview, a tear would have legit dropped.

Trailer is amazing.
I hope the movie is as good.
 
macbk said:
I wasted 1 hr 30 minutes last night watching The Room. No doubt worst film ever released.

I must see The Disaster Artist now.
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Its much better to watch TDA first.

I never fully made it through The Room. It is that bad. Its not bad where you're fascinated by it (for my experience) like it seems to be for others. However, watching this movie even though they're depicting things as they happened still seemed to men that were making fun of it which is what made it so funny and what made it so funny when I watched The Room again.

We've all watched bad movies and they either become forgettable or stay with you. Its a different experience when you get the viewpoint and reasoning or lack thereof of the actors and ppl who made the movie and then watch it again knowing all that behi d the scenes stuff :lol:
 
My post from the Game of Thrones thread after finishing up last night.

CP1708 said:
This is my first real foray into this thread. I finally sat down from just before the holidays til last night and got thru it all.

I don't know if marathoning it helped, or hurt my viewing, as it was somewhat easier to stay on track vs waiting week to week/year to year for results in the storyline to play out, but I know I also missed out on tons of small info nuggets that I would have picked up on the web much like how we all fan theoried Breaking Bad for 7 days until that next hour began.

That said, I was more than happy to catch up. In a lot of ways, it reminded me of Breaking in that slow burn start, picks up steam, gains momentum, S2, S3, S4 etc etc until it appears it's going to just break the internet when the grand finale drops.


I don't know how to spell half these names, so forgive me, but I really loved Arya's storyline more than I expected, I thought she was just some little girl from jump, and never realized what/who she would become. She became a great damn character.
The little guy is AMAZING as a damn actor, and his scene in "court" where he's flat out growling at the other people was TREMENDOUS. God he was so great in that scene.
I had zero idea Lena lasted so long. I thought she was going to die earlier, ala Ned, I had no clue she'd still be around at the end. She is such a ***** :lol: But she too does an amazing job. That walk of shame tho.......
Jamie I flip flop on. One minute I hate him, the next I kinda like him. He's actually not bad, and here at the end, looks like he rides off to face the Whitewalkers. If he does, I will really like him for that.
Hound was great. Liked him more than I thought I would.
Jofferey needed to be brought back to life, so they could kill him again. I hated that ************ **** you you ***hole.

Ravens are faster than my internet connection. *****es be havin info on the other side of the globe same day & **** :lol:

Loved the Faceless God character, but......how did he get found, literally, in a cage for Arya to break him free? He's so skilled, how'd he get locked up to begin with? :nerd:

The scene when the Whitewalker come ****in **** up for the first time, when Snow escapes on the boat and the Night King puts his hands up in the air and raises his new dead, holy ****. THAT was yet another Breaking Bad moment for me, I was out my chair with my jaw on the floor like W T F is happening????????? :lol:

Nothing, NOTHING, beats Snow pullin his sword out against a charging army tho. THAT **** had me ready to run thru a wall. Gorgeously shot scene. That was just pure ridiculous filming. Incredible.
I had of course heard/scene all the Jon Snow references, everyone loves him, etc etc, I knew goin in he'd be a good character, but I didn't realize I too would enjoy his role so much. He put up with so much, endured so much bs, and it never controlled him. So well done, and I guess the payoff is he gets to bang his hot aunt now........ :lol:

I def could see there was "something" there, the way the dragon seemed to.....know him, sorta? When he pet it, I had a feeling something was going on, especially when I thought I heard his mom call Ned brother in one of Bran's visions. I knew something was up, but I didn't know it was that.

I did not like Bran's character, or storyline. It bored me, but, I guess I do understand the need for him to fill in story and show us things to connect the larger story. The Hold Door scene was fantastic. Really good storytelling.

Littlefinger........Baelish, Carceti, whatever his name is, that guy was greatness. What a piece of **** :lol: I damn near smiled every time he was on screen, he was so damn dirty. Loved the flip at the end with red head in court.

Blue fire dead *** dragon takin down the wall, bruh.......

Red wedding was crazy :wow:

The grandma might be one of my absolute favorite characters. Her humor was outstanding. :lol:

I truly, truly, truly lifted my eyebrow when Dany said "all of our fathers left this world worse than they found it, we will not do that" I loved that scene so much just for the possibilities of what could come.

My dude Friend Zone almost died fifty times, turned into a rock, traveled the world multiple times over in a row boat and somehow still kept coming back to watch the hot Queen bang other dudes was quite the adventure.

I will actually try to rewatch a lot of stuff in the next year and try to read up and learn on things I know I have missed, but off the top of my head, these were the things that stood out to me.
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i stopped watching i, tonya about 25 minutes in. acting was good but it just wasn’t holding my interest. i’ll give it another chance later. i’m about 30 minutes into the florida project but my computer shut down for updates when i took a piss break. so far, it’s ok.
 
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