Because my wife's business is life insurance, I'm routinely strong-armed into making sure I have enough coverage in the event I die tragically, like in a fire, or before the end of a good movie.
When I (jokingly?) tell her that she should just remarry immediately and not worry about the money, she makes this face suggesting this isn't a f--king joke you moron, we have kids and you can't leave them both fatherless and penniless, so stop being a moderately-clever asshole and grow the f--k up and be responsible for once in your pathetic life.
Seriously, it's quite the look.
But, I get it. I do. It's bad enough she'd have to deal with the sudden loss of her husband, and the last thing I'd want her to have to worry about would be money. Or the wives of the people I worked with. And their families. Or Chicago's corrupt political system, where nepotism and systemic racism run rampant.
At least she'd have our dog.
At least she'd have our dog.
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| (I've always hated it when the names and faces don't line up) |
Widows is too good a film, and Hell, too utterly f--king relentless to toss around a phrase like it's a slow burn, but I don't get paid for this shit, so go ahead and put that cliche in your pipe and smoke it. Slowly.
See, as I strolled out of the theater that day (with my lovely wife, no less), I simply wasn't wowed like I expected to be. It was good, sure, but it felt a bit like that mountain climber game on The Price is Right: all build up and a quick, not entirely satisfying ending. I know, I know, saying this film is anything but brilliant is sacrilege (at least on Film Twitter) so I should probably yodel my way off a f--king cliff immediately. But can I at least keep the waffle maker?
Unless you've repeatedly read the title as Windows, it shouldn't surprise you that this film tells the tale of four women (eh, let's go with three) coping with the sudden and violent deaths of their crooked husbands. And it wasn't just their dicks or their noses either, as these dudes were balls-deep in all sorts of illegal shit. While their charred corpses can be buried, it turns our their problems can't.
Well, at least not at first.
See, as I strolled out of the theater that day (with my lovely wife, no less), I simply wasn't wowed like I expected to be. It was good, sure, but it felt a bit like that mountain climber game on The Price is Right: all build up and a quick, not entirely satisfying ending. I know, I know, saying this film is anything but brilliant is sacrilege (at least on Film Twitter) so I should probably yodel my way off a f--king cliff immediately. But can I at least keep the waffle maker?
Unless you've repeatedly read the title as Windows, it shouldn't surprise you that this film tells the tale of four women (eh, let's go with three) coping with the sudden and violent deaths of their crooked husbands. And it wasn't just their dicks or their noses either, as these dudes were balls-deep in all sorts of illegal shit. While their charred corpses can be buried, it turns our their problems can't.
Well, at least not at first.
