Sunday, March 30, 2003

There's something missing from movies these days. I think you all know what I'm talking about:

Robots falling in love.

Sure, Chicago was lauded by critics and lavished with Oscars and Golden Globes and blue ribbons at the local 4H livestock show, but it felt a little hollow. Richard Gere singing is a poor substitute for a lonely pile of tubing and steel mesh achieving sentience and expressing the futility of its unrequited love.

The Hours was all about Virginia Woolf, but couldn't it have been helped by a little levity? Something along the lines of #5 from Short Circuit eyeballing Nicole Kidman longingly? Of course.

You may point out, quite correctly, that I didn't actually see these movies. But I am relatively certain there are no robots, and certainly not lovesick machines mooning at a feeling they can never truly know. Unless there are. Then, never mind.


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