Million Dollar Baby (2004)
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BEING TOUGH JUST AIN'T ENOUGH
Favorite Movie Quote: "The Sport of Boxing is an Unnatural Act - Instead of moving away from danger, you step directly into it."
CLINT EASTWOOD - The Master (?) of Manipulation.
A - G - O - N - Y !!
NO! - Not 10 - Not 20 - Not 30 - But a full 45 MINUTES OF PURE A-G-O-N-Y. Yeah. That's exactly what Director CLINT EASTWOOD put me through, as a viewer of MILLION DOLLAR BABY (MDB).
Yes. 45 minutes of absolute agony is what I had to endure as EASTWOOD forced me to watch while the aspiring, female-boxer, Maggie s-l-o-w-l-y deteriorated away into nothing (but a vegetable) following her tragic boxing-ring accident.
Director EASTWOOD, literally, manipulated my emotions with such deft skill that he had me begging and pleading with him to have his character, Frank, put an end to Maggie's miserable existence - A.S.A.P.
EASTWOOD must truly possess within himself a literal demon, bent on total sadistic audience-manipulation. The sustained suffering of Maggie went far beyond the realm of what I would consider reasonable. For EASTWOOD to have prolonged the carrying out of this inevitable mercy-killing for an unbelievable 45 minutes (where, on top of everything else, Maggie had to endure limb-amputation, and a nasty visit from her blood-sucking mother) was what I would call pure, intentional torture on EASTWOOD'S part.
In my opinion - If Maggie had died in the ring, the instant her head hit the misplaced stool, that would've certainly served as enough of a tragedy to satisfy most anybody. Or, if Maggie had managed to live for another 15 minutes of film-time - Yeah - That would've been acceptable, too. But not a relentless 45 MINUTES(!!). To be honest - That was a bloody ridiculous endurance test. I guess, EASTWOOD wasn't satisfied enough until he had sucked every last drop of emotion out of every last person in the audience.
MILLION DOLLAR BABY left me completely drained due to the deeply profound feelings of anguish and sorrow that Maggie's tragic ordeal had wrung out of me. (45 goddamn minutes of it) By the time that it was all over for Maggie, I felt as though my face had been ground right into that sorrow, as though my face was now, basically, covered with a pile of anguished dog-poop.
If only EASTWOOD could succeed, for once, as a Director and actually produce a film that would fill me with happiness and joy. I'm sure that EASTWOOD is quite capable of accomplishing such a wonderful feat as this. 'Cause the way I see it - There's presently way too much sorrow and anguish out there in the real world, already. And I'm one who's looking for some relief from it all, even if that relief may be only temporary.
So - Hey, CLINT EASTWOOD! Here's my movie-challenge to you - I want my 45 minutes of movie-happiness, now! Thank you, very much.
P.S. - I totally despised the priest in MDB - What a goddamn pious, little prick that peckerhead was. That snivelling, snot-nosed, little, bastard-of-a-priest was nothing but a slimy, self-righteous, little slug, so filled with self-satisfied smugness, hiding behind the hypocritical safety of his plastic crucifix and his wimpy god.
As I'm sure you can tell - It would have given me the greatest of pleasure to have seen Frank haul off and sock this big suckhole (pow!) right in the face. Yeah. Knock him right down to the ground and make him eat dirt. I figured for the callous, hoity-toity way that he repeatedly spoke to Frank (while right inside of the church) that he most certainly had it coming. It made absolutely no sense to me why Frank ever bothered to go to this religious, little asswipe for any advice, in the first place.
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