| Wednesday, October 29, 2003 |
 | The idea of a biography in film of Sylvia Plath is a pretty dire one to begin with, so part of me is quite glad that it seems to have been handled appropriately badly. Movies about poets are bfundamentally a bad idea, as the rather limited actors produced by Hollywood struggle to portray characters brighter than they are. Thus, Neo works in The Matrix because, barring a bit of shadow play at the start about him having some sort of useful skills, he is pigshit thick, and his utility lies in his supernatural ability/power of will/nice coat. Matt Damon as a genius - less good. This is not, to be fair, entirely the fault of the actors - how do you communicate the signifiers of being very clever indeed to the audience? Mainly by talking fast and writing on blackboards a lot, apparently.
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