This is not The Haters Club You're Looking For discussion
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'Across the Universe' is SUCKTASTIC
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The only part that I didn't like was for "For the Benefit of Mr. Kite", which was creepy and pointless as far as moving the storyline along.

excuse me, wimmen, but THIS IS THE HATERS CLUB!!! If you want to sloppy sloopy goopy love all over 'Asscross the Uranusverse' go post a "Rock Musicals Make Me Shine With Rainbows" thread over at MiniMarijuanaAmSoDamned Club.
Jeeeze. Can't a gal get a little hate going over here???

Otherwise, it's all boring, "yeah, I hated it, too" "me, too" "that movie sucked"...
Hate that!

harumph.
Jackie... actually the only saving grace that film had was that Eddie Izzard was in that "Being for the Benefit..." sequence... and he clearly knew it sucked ass as he was doing it. It was as if, with every line he was thinking to himself... "One hundred thousand dollars, two hundred thousand dollars, three hundred thousand dollars.... "
come on Jackie, you can do it... hate with me... grrrrrr... arrrrrr...
Sarah... I would tell you to see it just so you could hate it, but I wouldn't wish that on Al Gore.

Umm, how about I hate Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, instead? Now, THAT sucked.


Julie Taymor is purely fabulous. She created the stage adaptation of The Lion King, which is a feat worthy of much praise. Not to mention she directed one of my all-time favorite Shakespeare adaptations, Titus. Sooo dark, sooo twisted- sooo great. She also directed Frida, which I think more than balances out the suckitude of Across the Universe.

Everything doesn't have to be so serious and rigid, does it? Flying Fuck, people, loosen up and take a little room out in your spandex. Enjoy something once in a while. I hate people who get so wound up about "filminess" of popcorn movies!
And it's the Beatles? Who can be unhappy in a movie imbued with the Beatles?


Sally... this is the haters club... if you want rainbows go look for them shooting out of your anus.
I steadfastly refuse to see Across the Universe because of my stance on Beatles covers...I think there should be an international law passed preventing any further covers of any Beatles songs. Since this film is chock-full of Beatles covers, this will make me gnash my teeth until I dropkick my television.
On a related note, the Todd Haynes biopic of Dylan, I'm Not There, was a masturbatory wreck. Skip it.
On a related note, the Todd Haynes biopic of Dylan, I'm Not There, was a masturbatory wreck. Skip it.

Although Superstar was funny if only for the furor it created.
Mattell hated it, Carpenters fans hated it...

But it WAS interesting, and perhaps better than your usually adulatory biopic. So, I didn't HATE it. I just didn't think it was successful.


I wish Scorsese would continue, and follow Dylan's career in the 70's and 80's.
I'm a big Dylan fan, so I was able to follow I'm Not There. Regardless, it was a flaming mess. It goes without saying that Dylan in the 1960's and early 70's was a self-indulgent egomaniac, but, fucking hell, c'mon! Had Todd Haynes focused less on what a dick he could be and focus more on his enigmatic genius, I could have tolerated the film more. I didn't expect much, but, still, I'm very disappointed.
No Way Home is a better intro to Dylan, from his own words. Martin Scorsese did him justice.
No Way Home is a better intro to Dylan, from his own words. Martin Scorsese did him justice.

I started doing research some time ago on why enigmatic geniuses are self-indulgent egomaniacs. Some of the geniuses I examined were Picasso, Miles Davis, Marlon Brando, and Bob Dylan. I found they all shared one common thread: they're all assholes deep down inside.
Therefore, genius = asshole.
It's not much of a theory, but I'm stickin' with it.
Therefore, genius = asshole.
It's not much of a theory, but I'm stickin' with it.

I guess I don't have a problem with artists that I enjoy being jerks, it doesn't detract from what I get out of their work.

Um, I guess we already know that Hillary Clinton is...

Monk and Mingus were certainly difficult. What sets Miles Davis apart from them was his particularly repellent personality. He was cruel to the women in his life (and I use the word "cruel" rather loosely), a bully to other musicians and producers, and he left very little for his children after his death.
I absolutely worship the music Miles Davis produces (as I do with Monk and Mingus), but he was a horrible, selfish human being. He even admitted this in his warts-and-all autobiography.
I absolutely worship the music Miles Davis produces (as I do with Monk and Mingus), but he was a horrible, selfish human being. He even admitted this in his warts-and-all autobiography.

I knew through reading other biographies and histories that his personality left much to be desired but obviously you've read some that I haven't (any suggestions?).
Have you heard any of the outtakes from Mingus recordings where his temper flares up? They are not to be missed.

Glenn Gould was very odd, but I don't think he was an asshole. Howard Hughes... again with the odd. But perhaps sometimes odd is interpreted as asshole because it is poorly understood.
here is an essay I found on artistic genius:
ARTISTIC GENIUS AND TEMPERAMENT
Artistic genius is as highly temperamental as it is supremely intelligent. But it does not display any characteristics that are usually implied under "artistic temperament." Genius is not cranky, fussy, sentimental, gushing, soft, careless, eccentric in manners and dress, irresponsible, supercilious, mocking, aggressive, or blasé. These are invariably the signs of the amateurs, dilettantes, pretenders, and poseurs. As Mr. Roger Fry writes, "Most people lead dull, monotonous and conventional lives with inadequate satisfaction of their libido, and one of their favorite phantoms is that of the Bohemian-the gay, reckless, devil-may-care fellow who is always kicking over the traces and yet gets toleration and even consideration from the world by reason of a purely magic gift called genius. Now this creature is not altogether a myth--he or something like him does undoubtedly exist--he frequently practices art, but he is generally a second-rate artist. He may even be a very brilliant and successful one, but he is none the less a very minor artist. On the other hand, almost all the artists who have done anything approaching first-rate work have been thoroughly bourgeois people--leading quiet, unostentatious lives, indifferent to the world's praise or blame, and far too much interested in their jobs to spend their time in kicking over the traces."
There is nothing arbitrary or artificial in temperament any more than in intelligence. Temperament is the affective, emotional background of experience. It not only gives experience its color as pleasant or unpleasant, to be accepted or repulsed, but is the very motive power of action, the energy that drives the organism to react to the environment. An emotionless organism would be a completely inactive one, dead. Emotion is, in fact, what differentiates the living from the non-living. The mark of a non-living body is that all its movements are initiated and controlled by external forces acting upon it. A body is alive, on the other hand, when the force that activates it is generated by and is inherent in the body itself. A non-living body is set in motion by an external force and its reaction is passive, in that the only resistance it offers to the acting force is its own inertia. Its movements are therefore determined not from within itself, but from the outside. In a living body the external agent does no more than set off the inner stored-up energy, which means that its reactions are active, resisting, and hence its movements are to a considerable extent self-determined.

Jim Morrison, in the words of Lester Bangs (another asshole genius I adore), was a bozo Dionysius.
Lester Bangs' original article, Bozo Dionysius a Decade Later is hilarious and scathing. His pure loathing for Jim Morrison is so thick, it could be drizzled on French Toast.

There are things I like about The Doors, Jim Morrison is just not one of them.
How's this for irony: one would think KD would have hated it, but he didn't, and one would think Charissa would have loved it, but she didn't.
The world is gonna stop spinning on its' axis, folks.
The world is gonna stop spinning on its' axis, folks.

-That's the exact same storyline from HAIR, assholes.
-I loved LOVED the design. Julie Taymor is a controlling bitch so she definitely had her hands all up in it, even though she wasn't billed as a designer. Puppets and masks are her damn signature piece. Anyway. It was gorgeous.
-The segues from dialog into music were shit.
-The singing was good (for the most part).
-I don't understand why they had extremely famous people in the movie for short stupid bits. (Selma Hayak {or however you spell her name} was completely pointless. At least Bono {that was Bono, right?} had a whole number.)

I don't hate Bono though (and I don't really like him either), but I totally support you peeps in your hatred for Bono.
With me, it's mostly how seriously he takes himself:
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Like a stream of never-ending vomit it poured out of the screen at me, eroding my sanity like a new breed of flesh-eating bacteria.
Imagine (if you try to make me Imagine anymore I'm going to claw your eyes out)... Bono, in a paisley madras shirt and headband, on a tie dyed Further bus, singing "I Am the Walrus' while a chorus of tripping hippies accompany him. I only wish I were kidding. I only wish I could scrub the images from my brain. Bleach, please. I feel unclean.
It was an endless parade of circus mutants, every cliche from the 60s, and a Peg Tube of Beatles covers forced into my reluctant digestive system.
Worst of all, the film had NO IRONY WHATSOEVER. Oh gods, they are taking this all WAY TOO SERIOUSLY!!! (pssst... don't they understand that this is painfully horrible? No? Wait, not even the scene in the alleys of Liverpool where I though everyone was going to burst out in "Every Sperm is Sacred"? No? Not even then?? fuck. there is no hope for any of them.
not the actors (Evan Rachel Wood, please die in a flaming pit of roof tar), not the Director (can I please drag her behind a speeding vehicle through the broken glass of Compton?), and most certainly not the writers of this festering abortion of a screen play.
I have to go now and soak my brain in a tub of battery acid.
Thanks for playing. Please drive through.