COuldn't make it past minutes seventeen of Cheri the latest Stephen Frears costume drama [from the Belle Epoque] starring Michele Pfeiffer.
I've explained that I'm in the tank for most movies, but have also explained that my early exits from flicks are not always comments on the movie as much as on
My Teeny Head Full O' Shit and Anxiety About Something Else.
Cheri was somewhere in the middle.
I kinda didn't want to be there. But the movie also left me cold cold cold. By the fourth scene that was obviously just established as A SCENE -- possibly driving the narrative, but largely conceived by all concerned as a three-minute piece, to be linked with many other three-minute pieces -- I had had more than enough.
I also feared that I would not see M. Pfeiffer nekkid, thus letting all remaining air out o' the tyre [so to speak] . . . .