| Inflictor's Review | Victim's Review |
|---|---|
|
After leaving this movie, we walked from the theatre to the
"T". When we got to
Harvard Square station, Eon whirled about, pointed an accusatory
finger at me and shouted the first words he'd spoken to me since
about halfway through the film: "This is entirely
YOUR fault!"
Sadly, there was nothing for me to do but agree with him. My thinking had been something like this:
Oh, was I ever woefully, tragically, epicly wrong. I can't really find one single good thing to say about this movie. In fact, it's one of the three movies on my personal Top Ten Worst Movies Ever Made list. I mean it. This movie is terrible. Nobody in the movie can act, the protagonist least of all. The plot is horrible, and there isn't really a decent action scene anywhere in the entire film. As if that's not bad enough, what is the freaking deal with that harmonica? It adds nothing except pain for the viewer. "NOOOO! Not the harmonica again! Please, God, nooooooo!" If you must, imagaine "La Femme Nikita" without any of the good qualities, make it an hour and a half long, and you'll still have an idea of a more enjoyable film experience than "Black Cat". |
Imagine a man. He sits in a room. His eyes are open. His mouth is slack. It is dark. Lights and shapes flicker before him. He stares straight ahead. He sits very still. Inside, he is wailing. His mind is desperate. It craves release. It flails futilely against the solid cage of his skull. It gibbers. Trapped, it begins to bite. Somewhere, a harmonica plays. Later, he does not remember. His mind has gnawed off his memory of the room. Only a stump remains: The name of the flickerings, the sound of the harmonica, and the face of a friend. He knows one thing: Dave is to blame. |
