I Only Liked It Halfway

I Only Liked It Halfway

It’s heart-breaking when movies or books are only partially good.

Like, the idea is stellar, but then the author fucks it up. Or you only want to watch the scenes or read the pages when a certain character arrives.

This happened to me with Crazy, Stupid Love the other night. Every time Ryan Gosling or Emma Stone came onscreen, I sat up straight. The rest of the film was like my bathroom break.

More heartbreaking is Russell Banks’ Lost Memory of Skin. I can’t decide whether to keep going or what. I love the character of the Kid. I would follow him anywhere. But now The Professor just walked in and I’m all, ‘Get out of here, you’re clogging up everything!’

How frustrating it is to have a story poised in one position and then go in another that doesn’t appeal! It’s not that I want the Kid to have everything turn out all right; it’s that the Professor character does not intrigue me so I resent his intrusion into the plot. It almost makes me understand fan fiction. Though I’m quite sure there’s no Russell Banks fan fiction. And if there is, on this particular title, which chronicles the lives of homeless sex offenders, I really don’t need to seek it out.

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