A couple of days ago, Tina said, “I’ve never watched It’s a Wonderful Life” all the way through. Have you?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
She looked on Netflix and any other OnDemand service we have and the movie isn’t available like that. In great American consumerism fashion, it’s either catch it while it’s on, rent it or DVR it.
We DVR’d it and watched it last night.
It’s supposed to be one of those top-ten Christmas movies of all time, and many seem to hold it dear to their souls claiming to watch it every year. It’s supposed to be this dear Christmas message. It’s supposed to blow your mind with amazing CGI and light saber scenes.
You’ve probably seen it. And maybe you like it.
But, damn, Tina and i were scratching our heads after it thinking, “What’d we miss?”
The buildup is like virgin sex. You’ve developed this high expectation in your head, and when it’s said and done, the payoff is a frown and a shrugged shoulder.
The message is shitty, too. It’s give up on all your dreams and revel in your failure, because otherwise, your town might have been filled with some really awesome sex shops and vice options.
Or some shit like that.
Another message is that if your hot wife doesn’t marry you, she’ll go to her grave as a hot spinster who happens to become a librarian. Boo hoo.
Jimmy Stewart’s character should have committed suicide so we could at least have a big splash in this pathetic piece of cinematic ennui.
Le Café Wittypoots 