I still remember the first of the worst films I've ever seen. It was 1975, and my best friend and I went to the Central Plaza, a relatively modern two-sceen house on a suburban NYC strip on the edge of our rough-hewn town, and it's more upscale neighbor. Anyway, the film was Michelangelo Antonioni's The Passenger, with Jack Nicholson, and Maria Schneider. It was a big film. Much promotion. Two stars very much on the rise.
And this film was absolutely beyond the mind of a young teen. My friend and I absolutely hated it. I remember the room was virtually empty, so our silly antics, pay fighting in a dark theater, didn't seem to offend those who paid their $3.50 that afternoon. And we didn't get thrown out for our immature behavior.
I wish I had been thrown out of this film.
The American, with George Clooney, has cloyed it's way to the top of my worst film list. And that list includes classics like The Prince of Pennsylvania, Belly of an Architect, and another Clooney romper, The Men who Stare at Goats.
Sure, it's European New Wave, but we are also living in 2010, not 1960. We've been there. And done that.
I don't know who Anton Corbijn is, but this sure as hell isn't one of the rock videos he's used to directly. Perhaps he might want to go back there, as opposed to subjecting us to his art school treatise.
This film is painfully, hurtfully slow, and terribly self-possessed.
If there's a way I can find to get back my 11 bucks, I would do so, and donate to a charity to de-couple directors from haughty pretensions, and haughtier executions.