I have always found an unforgivable flaw in the logic definition of cinema entertainment." Cinema, as a means of expression and art, is already per se entertainment. The quality and type This, if anything, then depend on the invoice of the film, from the author's speech continued as a director and screenwriter as well as by numerous other factors, internal and external work.
That said, the true film lover should always vary. Love for one medium may not work for watertight compartments. If cinema is the tool to fascinate and delight, then no final product could earn injury. Everything should be first known, seen, studied and then - possibly - final. But love, you know, is anything but rational. And prejudice, since the conviction and salvation of our time, are always there to guide us, skimming the list of choices and making us accumulate an infinite similar experiences with each other.
That said, yesterday I was granted a vision of carefree. What I do often. I decided to use my Card to get to see Cinema 3 females against males. I had already seen Immature a month ago, and I was not disappointed. So I thought I needed something "light" for me some good laugh, and I chose an Italian film that I felt like and whose trailer was promising (Ficarra and Picone my beloved, my beloved Emilio Solfrizzi, the good Littizzetto The good Bisio, etc.).
The movie is cute. I laughed more than once. I should leave the cinema happy. Or at least satisfied by show, is more free. But something, it seems, is angrily fired. A state of mind that I'm not sure of being able to describe.
I think the word is disheartened.
disheartened by the usual old story of thirtysomething big babies who never want to engage seriously in love or in work. Disheartened by the omnipresence of pussy and tits different (and better if redone in the foreground) at any stage of the game of errors, which should create a comic effect on hypocritically betrayed when in reality does nothing but sell an image of the woman forever instrumental . Discouraged from seeing all the time defense obsession with football, good-natured element of distraction and sexual - together - all-male fetish, in the end made it increasingly tolerated as a harmless diversion or inevitable gender. Disheartened by the presence of the same, stainless steel sides, eternal lives in masks already unavoidable, suitable for export of entertainment television to the endless curtain of the room. Discouraged by tales of rimatrimoni pale, from the dialogue and predictable mode of fictional children, of all the representations by this pitted offensive neorealism forged by discounters. Disheartened by the excitement of Roman rhetoric, high or low it is, just by chance but absent in this film too applicant productions film and television related. Disheartened by the fact that, critical objectivity, I never real reason to lash out at such and such a light comedy, which are summed up in various intensities with the above steps.
And most importantly, disheartened by the idea that my scattered laughter and my will to try and find a haven in these visions of the end justifying everything, erasing any regurgitation analytical and giving my consciousness of the gross pat on the shoulder.
enough, then. Flat line for me. As the excellent death that occurs in males against females . Whatever that means this delirious outburst. Already
che ci siamo, sono sconfortato anche da quel maledetto biiiiiiiiiiiiiip che accompagna immancabilmente qualunque morte da ospedale sullo schermo. Nella vita vera, quando qualcuno muore in ospedale lo fa molto lentamente. E non c'è nessun cazzo di biiiiiiiiiiiiip.
Altro che lettere d'amore e figurine di Schillaci.
