In the immortal words of Jean Paul Sartre, 'Au revoir, gopher.'

Translation: Surprisingly, this blog has very little to do with Bill Murray. Which is a little sad, but I’m too confused to go into details, because I just finished watching the movie Vicky Cristina Barcelona. And I just have one thing to say- WHY?

The movie was truly me just waiting and waiting for 93 minutes for something, anything to happen. Aside from Penelope Cruz smoking ANOTHER cigarette while cursing in Spanish or Javier Bardem looking more confused than usual while he finger painted. I like to give anything with Scarlett Johansson a chance because I’ve been told I resemble her by a lot of people (yes, other than just my mother). So it would seem my vanity has once again gotten the better of me. Damn you, narcissism, my lust for myself knows no bounds.

I was told the film was artistic and exotic. Read: nice way of saying long winded, and oh yeah, there’s a split second kiss between two chicks.

So I wonder…am I missing something here? For a movie that was critically acclaimed two years ago…I had to poke myself a record 33 times to stay awake (not to mention I was confused as to whether Vicki Cristina Barcelona was one person before I watched, and now I'm just mad there's no punctuation in the title).

I usually appreciate “artistic” films! I didn’t waste spend a whole semester in my undergrad in film criticism classes for nothing, you see. I know more of montages, apparatus theories, and rack focusing than I particularly care to…because I find I can no longer just watch a movie. I have to dissect every little detail (note the running theme here that I am insanely OCD). Unless of course, the movie is Caddyshack. No analysis necessary- just general badassery.

"Because remember Danny- Two wrongs don't make a right but three rights make a left." And anything will Bill F*cking Murray in it is worth watching at least 36 times in one weekend.