Melancholic cavities and Maple lattés

I had to get a cavity filled last week. I wonder if it's because of all the Cadbury Cream Eggs I ate. I wasn't expecting them to freeze me but they did. You see, last time I had a filling replaced, it was in a tooth that was dead following a root canal so it wasn't necessary since I wouldn't feel anything anyway.

So there I was, thinking this would be all quick and simple. Then I find out they're gonna freeze me and I'm all like: "What? Why?" I ain't down with that shit. Then, once I was all good and numb and drooling some drill thingy came out and I was like: "Oh, ok, I get it now."

Afterwards, I wished I had had a heartier lunch. "You'll be able to eat in about 3 hours", the dentist says, as I'm daydreaming of cheese curds. Not gonna lie, when your face is partially frozen, it feels f*cking weird, like you've been punched in the mouth and your lips are twice the size they normally are, except they're not. It's all a drug-induced illusion. Your face actually looks perfectly normal until you try to eat, drink or talk.

I'm pretty much off wheat and try to avoid sugar. However, a few days ago, while running errands, the boyfriend and I stopped into a local coffee shop. He gets a sandwich and tells me: "Take a bite. It's so good. You have to try it." "But, there's wheat, in the bread", I say. "It's too good, you have to try it." So I did. It was delicious. When you don't eat wheat, the experience of consuming moist, fluffy, gluten-filled bread is akin to a shot of heroin.

I then saw a sign advertising their "Maple latté" and thought that might be tasty. So we get one and the boyfriend surprises me with a wheat and sugar-laden chocolate chunk cookie. Who am I to say no to a gift? The cookie/maple latté combo was, quite frankly, indescribable. I felt like a pregnant Catholic school girl - it's so wrong, but at the time, it felt so right. I guess it was describable.

I tried to make wheat-free chocolate chip cookies once. I almost burned our house down and they tasted like cardboard.

The other night, we were perusing our On Demand service looking for a movie to watch. I see Melancholia. "Ooh, that's supposed to be a good movie." I say. We check the description. "The relationship between two sisters is strained as a planet approaches set to collide with Earth." "You want to watch that?" says the boyfriend. "It's a Lars Von Trier film." I say. "I see", says the boyfriend, in a faux grave tone.

I'd like to know who writes the descriptions of these films because, frankly, it sounded like some cheezy, low-budget science fiction flick. Had I not known it was a Von Trier film, I would have been like: "No." Now, it's a Friday night, we're both tired but the boyfriend says "Ok, let's give it a try." Within the first 10 seconds, I know I'll be watching this film alone. It's all slow motion art house images and after a couple minutes, I hear "No. I can't watch this. Too tired. Need something fluffy."

So I watched it the following morning. It was definitely not a Friday night, we're tired and we need fluff kind of film. This movie demands your full attention as everything is happening just under the surface, except for the advancing planet set to collide with Earth but even that element was subtly enfolded into the story, and took on more and more importance as the film progressed but not in an in your face "We will stop this from happening! We are human and we are unbeatable!" kind of way.

It was much more powerful because the film took the opposite approach. This planet is heading towards us and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. What does that mean? I cried at the end, as apparently, I do with all Von Trier films I've seen. I loved it because it took a fresh approach to a tired storyline and was very much about the characters, and not the strange circumstance in which they found themselves. It's a very quiet, philosophical film.

The description should have read: "It's Lars Von Trier, bitches. Watch this f*cking movie."

Sluts and the Tree of Life

I can't decide whether Terrence Malick's Tree of Life, starring Brad Pitt, Jessica Chastain and Sean Penn, is just another artsy wankfest or one of the most deeply moving films I've ever started to watch. I say started because the boyfriend was on the side of wankfest and could no longer tolerate watching it after the first half hour. I was still undecided and probably would have sat through the whole two hours and twenty minutes of the movie to find out. 

I was expecting to see a film about growing up in the fifties, with Brad Pitt as an overbearing, authoritarian father, and Sean Penn as the adult version of a son who still blames his dad for all his problems. However, we immediately find out that the family in question has lost a son at war (it looked like that event was set in the sixties, so I'm guessing Vietnam) at the tender age of 19. 

Then, the movie turns into a PBS special on how the earth and the first forms of life were created, then to dinosaurs, with a momma dinosaur looking for her son. Translation: the mother is forever looking for her lost (dead) son, even from the beginning of time. Deep.

Up to this point, the film was mostly filled with voice-overs of poetic lamenting. This was about where the boyfriend gave up. I have no idea what happened next, or if the movie shifted to actual dialogue and plot but I'm intrigued. I may have to go back to it. It's haunting me. I need to know whether there was a point to all that existential navel-gazing. 

Speaking of existential navel-gazing, what does it mean when a fat, conservative pig someone calls a woman a slut for requesting that birth control be part of her health plan? You may have heard that's exactly what Rush Limbaugh recently did on his radio show. 

Just when you think chicks are getting a break, making progress, someone says something so utterly backwards, it's wholeheartedly discouraging. Are women only supposed to have sex to make babies? If a woman uses contraception, implying she's just having sex for the "fun" of it, does that make her a slut?

What I find most offensive about people who utter such ignorant statements is that their own morals  are far from perfect, and they're usually the ones who are the most perverted and twisted behind closed doors, or struggling with their own sexuality. I mean, Rush has had four wives. I'm not judging, but if you want to throw stones, you better make sure your own house is in order. Or better yet, don't throw any at all.

It's sad to think this level of misogyny still permeates our culture. A statement like Rush's could be considered equivalent to making a woman wear a veil to "cover herself up". How dare we tempt men with our evil, seducing ways! How dare we have sex for the simple pleasure of it! How dare we demand the taxpayer cover the cost of our whoring!

When will this double-standard finally be abolished? The more women a guy sleeps with, the more he's admired. The more men a woman sleeps with, the more she's reviled. Are men that afraid of women who claim their sexuality and express it freely? It's not like we want to take over the world, we just want to get laid.

Besides, the ladies who do want to take over the world are considered "bitches", as opposed to men who are considered "ambitious". Frankly, all we really want is equality, to be treated with the same respect and dignity as men. 

I certainly don't advocate a "women take all" kind of philosophy in revenge of past and present oppression. Let's just share the pie and all try to get along. That way, everyone wins. Yin and yang, people. You need both, in equal measure.

They did it! They finally did it!

Almost a month after it opened, I finally saw Breaking Dawn, Part 1, the fourth installment of the Twilight teen vampire saga. I'm slightly dismayed to admit that I kind of enjoyed it. Ok, maybe a little more than "kind of". Or was it the popcorn doused in extra butter after my stepdaughter found the "do-it-yourself" butter dispenser... but I digress.

I'm still convinced that if you haven't read the books and attempt to watch these movies, you'll be bored out of your mind and wonder what the big deal is. Having read them fills out the missing details which must, necessarily, be omitted from the films due to time constraints and short attention spans. That being said, apart from the first movie, which was all teenage angst and longing (I'm a longer (is that a word?) anyway, I live for that shit.), I think this one might be my favorite so far.

It was beautifully shot in lush locations and Kristen Stewart didn't annoy the crap out of me. Taylor Lautner also had some nice moments, and his shirt was on during most of the movie so I wasn't simply blinded by his ridiculously defined, smooth chest. The kid actually pulled off some decent acting. Robert Pattinson took a back seat in this installment. Apart from Stewart's character, I think Lautner had more screen time than Pattinson who was relegated to the background, looking worried (constipated) in most scenes.

There were some great special effects where Kristen Stewart's character was concerned. (SPOILER ALERT). She basically gets the life sucked out of her when she gets pregnant with a vampire/human half-breed, and they did a good job of making her look like a completely anorexic pregnant chick. It was gross, ergo, successful.

I know, I know. You're all wondering when I'll get to the good stuff - the sex. Well, it was... meh. It was obvious the sex scenes and the violent birth were edited with a PG rating in mind. They were both underwhelming. But I've been ruined by True Blood which is basically soft porn and has set the bar extremely high when it comes to on-screen supernatural being / human sex.

My girl Anna Kendrick, who's in the movie for all of 10 seconds, still manages to steal every scene she's in. Love her. So does Michael Sheen, who plays one of the Volturi (bad ass vamps) in a "secret" scene that only appears after the first set of credits at the end of the movie. So if you go see it, don't leave once the credits start rolling. Wait it out people, there's some important info in that scene that sets up the sequel.

What do we have to look forward to in the next and final installment? What I hope will be hot vampire sex since Bella (Stewart's character) finally turns into a vampire so she and Edward (Pattinson) can have unbridled, damned creature sex, and Pattinson can stop looking like he's constantly trying to take a shit.

Yes, I'm a Twilight fan. Sort of. Ok! Are you happy now?

Last weekend I found myself in a strange, mysterious and slightly disturbing place - the teen vampire drama universe. My stepdaughter and I were trying to figure out what mindless drivel we would watch to pass the time, and I voluntarily (key word here) suggested Twilight, which I've seen already, like, three times.

We then decided that, in preparation for the release of Breaking Dawn, Part 1, the fourth installment in this wildly popular series, we would also watch New Moon and Eclipse again, both of which I've already seen, but only once, and at the time, I felt once was more than enough.

It's interesting what happens when time passes and you watch a movie again that you thought you kinda hated and it's... better than you initially thought. I'm already predisposed to these films due to my long-standing vampire fetish but I was surprised at my new found enthusiasm for what is essentially a lame-ass retelling of vampire lore.

I still can't convince myself that Kristen Stewart can act. She's shit, any way you slice it, and to this day, I can't understand why Hollywood has convinced itself that she's a talented performer. Luckily, the rest of the cast picks up the slack, especially my beloved Anna Kendrick, scene-stealer extraordinaire. She's awesome, any way you slice it. So is Taylor Lautner's bare chest. It's a character in itself.

I did sorely miss Rachelle Lefevre, who was replaced in Eclipse due to a scheduling conflict by Bryce Dallas Howard. How those bastards at Summit Entertainment couldn't work around Rachelle's shooting schedule is beyond me, but if I had to choose between working with Dustin Hoffman and Paul Giamatti on a film based on a Mordechai Richler story and the campy Twilight saga, I'd ditch the latter as well.   

Note to Robert Pattinson: hit the gym 'yo! Taylor Lautner is wiping the floor with your pasty, non-defined, skinny-ass torso. I understand your skin has to look abnormally white due to the vampiric nature of your character but that's no excuse not to get some bulk and definition. When in doubt, consult photos of True Blood's male vampire cast, most notably Stephen Moyer and Alexander Skarsgard. You should bare some resemblance to that body type to convince us of your truly irresistible vampire charm.

After having immersed myself in about six hours of Twilight saga-ness, I find myself actually excited to see the next installment, mostly because I'm curious as to how they dealt with a vampire/human sex scene and what can only be described as an incredibly unusual, violent birth. Sex and violence, that's all it really takes to lure me in. I know, how typically bourgeois.

Of course, I'm expecting some Kristen Stewart-esque bad acting but after having made us wait this long, we're finally getting to the good stuff, and they better not have f*cked it up. Of course, Breaking Dawn won't hold a candle to True Blood's sexual content but that's like comparing apples to oranges - it's a fruitless endeavour.

Black Swan = eating crow

Here's where I poo-poo another Oscar-buzz worthy movie. If you'd like to read my scathing review of last year's Best Picture Oscar winner, click here. 

About a week before Christmas, my boyfriend and I went to see Black Swan, Darren Aronofsky's take on some seriously psycho ballerina shit. It got rave reviews and I was totally stoked to go see it, especially since Aronofsky also directed one of my all-time favorite movies, Requiem for a Dream.

In a surprisingly packed movie theatre, we settled into our seats and prepared to be blown away by Aronofsky's latest cinematic creation and the brilliant performances we were promised were contained therein. 

My first clue that things were not going to go as planned occurred about two minutes into the movie when I noticed that it must have been shot with the ironically-named "Steadicam", à la Blair Witch Project. Tight, shaky shots. Unfortunately, watching a movie that's filmed in this way makes me nauseous - it's like motion sickness.

It then dawned on me that I would have to sit there, trying to repress the urge to toss my cookies, for the duration of the movie. This did not bode well. So, I tried to make myself as comfortable as I could, still thinking I would see cinematic greatness unfold.

After a long two hours battling low-grade nausea, the movie was over. It wasn't a completely horrid film but it left me feeling disappointed, like something was missing. "Meh" is the most appropriate word I can think of to convey the emotion this movie evoked in me.

Sure, the performances were solid. Natalie Portman did a great job portraying an uptight ballerina spiraling out of control when awarded the lead role in Swan Lake. It just goes to show: be careful what you wish for, you just might lose your marbles when you get it. 

Mila Kunis and Vincent Cassel also deliver, respectively, as a laid-back ballet dancer parachuting in from California and a hard-ass, perverted ballet choreographer. Barbara Hershey ramps up the creep factor as an overbearing ex-ballet dancer "mommy dearest" type opposite Portman's character. Even Winona Ryder has a small yet memorable role as the ousted prima ballerina and former object of Vincent Cassel's affections. 

However, the weakness of this film lies in its failure to rise above classic stereotypes of how to make great art and be a great artist. There is general, if perhaps unspoken, consensus that to be a truly great artist, one must be completely mad, a belief strongly upheld in Black Swan. Only in the absence of sanity can truly staggering heights of artistic genius be attained.

If that's the case, I may as well retire my proverbial pen right this instant and give up my aspirations of becoming a great playwright. I'm way too f*cking normal. 

Vincent Cassel's character can almost be pardoned for a sexual assault on his prima ballerina in the name of making her a better dancer. This is also a lame stereotype. Yes, a director should try to extract the very best work out of his/her performers but most certainly not by being abusive and manipulative. 

Also, the much touted girl-on-girl make-out scene between Natalie and Mila felt superfluous and didn't, in any way, advance the storyline. It was a predictable end to a predictable scene of ballerinas gone wild in NYC.

All in all, a disappointment - a celebration of sorts of humanity's deepest and darkest neuroses, all in the name of ephemeral, aesthetic perfection.

A total eclipse of the brain

Before you start reading this and think to yourself: "Does she not know this movie came out two months ago?", I am indeed aware of this fact but, being steeped in narcissism, I truly believe my opinion on the subject is of the utmost importance, and it would be a crime to withhold it from you. 

The other night, along with my stepdaughters, I saw Eclipse, the third installment in the Twilight saga. I know they're probably going to read this so I will preface with this: Dear M. and D., please forgive me for what I'm about to write. 

I don't know how to say this without being cruel... the only reason this movie was even remotely entertaining is because it was SO bad. At times, I thought I was actually watching the spoof Vampires Suck. I had to remind myself I was viewing the real thing. 

Those of you who have been reading this blog for a while know that I have about as high an opinion of Kristen Stewart's acting skills as I do of, let's say, poo. She did not redeem herself in this movie but only solidified my belief that she cannot act. Robert Pattinson was no better. Watching the two of them was painful, and not in a good way.

The only thing that saved Taylor Lautner's bacon was his bare chest, which appeared often. The acting was awkward and the production values in the shitter. I think Summit Entertainment spent more money on promoting this drivel than on making the actual film. 

The wigs were bad, the makeup equally atrocious, punctuated by a heinously fake blustery mountain top, and good actors like Peter Facinelli seemed to stoop to the lowest common denominator. Even Bryce Dallas Howard disappointed as Victoria. Of course, she's no Rachelle Lefevre. Memo to dumbass executives at Summit who fired Lefevre over "scheduling conflicts": you suck.

Although, I would be remiss if I didn't mention some cool special effects sequences with werewolves. I will begrudgingly give them that.

This movie was the biggest, baddest, stinkiest hunk of cheese I've seen in a while. Probably since New Moon. Of course, I'll have to see the last two installments out of curiosity. There's (spoiler alert!) violent sex, an even more violent birth and Bella becomes a vampire. Thank God. Maybe she'll stop whining. (Yes, I read the books. And that's all I'm going to say about that.)

The best part of our evening at the cinema was some guy in the audience who kept laughing out loud at totally random moments. We suspected he was high. Lucky him.

Sex and the City 2: neutered and not so naughty

So I saw Sex and the City 2 this past weekend. I know, you're dying to find out what I thought of it because my opinion matters that much. Well, because of my high degree of self-importance, I'll tell ya. Good girl fluff, if your expectations aren't set too high. Of course, the fashion is to die for, and if I ever find out where they house the wardrobe for this franchise, I may resume my life of crime and steal some choice pieces.

Apart from that, this movie seems to perpetuate Carrie Bradshaw's completely dysfunctional love life, despite the fact that she is now married. In this second movie installment (spoiler alert!) she ends up running into Aidan, the ex-boyfriend she almost married, in a crowded market halfway across the globe. It must have happened for a reason, right? reasons Carrie. And, of course, she and Mr. Big were having marital issues before she left on her Middle Eastern girlie getaway. So.... you can kind of guess what's coming. Especially if you watched the series.

She doesn't end up sleeping with Aidan but she does kiss him. Tsk, tsk. Carrie finally ends up with Mr. Big, the man she pined for throughout six seasons of Sex and the City, the TV show, and then, when she hits a road bump in her marriage, kisses her ex-boyfriend who she cheated on with Mr. Big, who is now her husband. 

This girl needs some sense knocked into her. However, she does cop to her erratic behaviour and takes responsibility for it. But still... Will Carrie ever be happy? 

On the other hand, I really enjoyed a wonderful moment when Charlotte felt overwhelmed as the mother of two young children and stepped into a food pantry to cry. That could have been any mom, and it felt authentic. 

In the same vein, a conversation between Charlotte and Miranda about how motherhood can be a kick in the teeth, as well as very rewarding, was quite refreshing. There was none of this "your life is not complete until you've had kids" crap. They kept it real, and I quite appreciated that. 

Samantha is still Samantha, and I love her for it. The only thing I would have liked to see more of were the guys, i.e. the husbands and boyfriends. Apart from Mr. Big, who shows up fairly often, the other boys barely get any screen time which is really too bad. We didn't get to see the couples' dynamic in this movie. I love to see Charlotte and Harry, and Miranda and Steve together. There was barely a trace of the usual banter between them that made the TV show so interesting. 

All in all, a highly forgettable movie. Great fashion porn, but that's about it.  If you want to experience the real flavour of Sex and the City, and not just a cheap imitation, watch the TV series. It's far superior and much more risqué. 

Sorry girls. You were much better on the small screen.

I am not alone!

It's day two of being caffeine-free. Day two is always so much harder than day one. Why is that? It's like when you start exercising. Day one after that first workout isn't so bad. Day two is when the pain really sets in. 

My head feels really fuzzy, and also, like it's going to explode. Why no more caffeine, you ask? Well, I get pretty hopped up on the stuff, and it sets my bladder into overdrive. 

I'm tryin' to get Zen, like, really Zen. I think caffeine is inhibiting this process. I even slept better last night, after only one day without my morning coffee. I already seem to be reaping some benefits. Thank God, because I feel like ass. 

All this to say that today's post will be short and sweet, with an emphasis on sweet. I came across this Guardian article and found out I wasn't alone. Someone else out there also found The Hurt Locker woefully lacking in substance. I can even stomach the first two paragraphs about Kathryn Bigelow deserving a best director Oscar because the rest of the article makes up for that. 

Thank God there are other intelligent people out there. I was getting worried...

The Hurt Locker hurt me

Last night, my boyfriend and I watched The Hurt Locker, a critically acclaimed, rumoured to be Oscar-worthy movie. Well, my dearest Sassies, we were sorely disappointed. Warning: if you really enjoyed this movie, reading the rest of this post may be somewhat unpleasant.

The movie began, and I waited. Waited to see what everyone was talking about, this supposedly brilliant, near-perfect war movie. That moment never came. It was a series of bland, repetitious scenes. That's all. 

Soldiers find bombs; macho, daring, renegade soldier disarms bombs. Interspersed among these scenes were completely unoriginal gun fighting scenes: in the streets of Baghdad, in the desert, blah, blah, blah. And the icing on this dry, tasteless cake was the tacky male machismo. Please. We were starting to think this was a pro-America, pro-war movie. Somehow, I don't think that was the point.

It's one of those instances where I'm scratching my head wondering what all the critics loved about this film. I would categorize it as a piece of crap. I was bored and completely untouched by the events unfolding before me.  Unless that was the point - to demonstrate that we are now bored with and untouched by war. If that's the case, then this film was a success. 

Apocalypse Now, Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, The Pianist. These were war movies. They brought something new to the table, grabbed hold of you, and made you look at the ravages of war. Not so with The Hurt Locker. It felt like a promotional video for the American military.

We sat through the whole thing, hoping against hope that it would get better. It didn't. Even Ralph Fiennes' brief cameo couldn't save this movie. Once it was over, I declared that if The Hurt Locker wins Best Picture at the Oscars this year, I would throw myself down our stairs. If there's anything I've learned from this, it's never to trust movie critics. Those are two hours of my life I'll never get back.

Fatal Attraction Wannabe

A couple nights ago, my boyfriend and I decided to watch Obsessed, starring none other than Beyoncé, because there was nothing else on TV, and we were hopeful. Hopeful it wouldn't suck. Why do we even have expectations? They only lead to disappointment. This was a half-assed attempt as some Fatal Attraction-esque  story, only much, much worse. It was painful, and yet I couldn't stop watching, I couldn't give up. I had unwavering faith that at some point, it had to get better. It didn't. And if you've seen the original Fatal Attraction, it will hurt even more.

I don't know why others try. Adrian Lynne nailed it. In 1987. It doesn't get any better than a psychotic Glenn Close, and Michael Douglas shitting himself over his indiscretion with a total whack job. It truly is a thing of beauty. So why do others even attempt a run at it? It's been done. To perfection.  

It pains me to say this because I think Beyoncé is an incredibly talented performer. But.... she should not act. She cannot act. Kinda like Madonna. Kick-ass performer, terrible actress. Oh Beyoncé, you tried, you really did but acting isn't for you. Please don't do it again. Stick to what you do best because you're so good at it. You shine. 

The would-be home wrecker in Obsessed doesn't even get it on with Beyoncé's on-screen husband. She tries, repeatedly, and fails. So you really can't buy into her crazy. There's no sympathy for her. She's just a nut job for no reason. Not that I'm justifying Glenn Close's crazy but at least the viewer could sympathize with her, however briefly, since the character she portrayed actually had steamy, consensual encounters with the philandering husband. And she can act. 

Filmmakers seem to have forgotten that actors really do need to know how to act. These days, if you're a celebrity, for whatever reason, they'll put you in front of a camera. Nuh-uh. Doesn't work. Fame won't save a crappy ass movie. And it didn't save Obsessed. The only redeeming part of this film was the chick-on-chick smack down at the end. Beyoncé pissed off and kicking some bony white bitch's ass - now that was entertaining.

Musings on books becoming movies

Over the weekend, I saw two movies which were adapted from books: The Twilight Saga: New Moon and My Sister's Keeper. My conclusions: 1) the Twilight saga does not translate well on the big screen, and 2) the screenwriters royally screwed up trying to adapt My Sister's Keeper, i.e. changing the ending!!! WTF!!!

Up first: The Twilight Saga: New Moon. Once again, this movie confirms that Kristen Stewart cannot act worth shit. She was the worst part of this movie. She played the exact same character in Adventureland. I mean, the EXACT SAME CHARACTER. Same lame ass mannerisms and all. It's gag worthy. I don't understand all the hoopla around this girl. She sucks. 

Anna Kendrick, on the other hand, was in the movie for all of 30 seconds, and I remember her. She is seared into my brain. Anna is a scene-stealer, and she's so good at it. I still remember her from the first Twilight movie. She was one of, if not the, best part of the movie. Can't wait to see her in Up in the Air opposite George Clooney. Early reviews say she's AMAZING. Translation: Oscar-worthy.

On another note, Robert Pattinson is so last year. Taylor Lautner, shirtless - YES.  This works. Although, I have to hand it to both boys, their acting didn't suck as much as Kristen's. She was the weak link in this film. Which is too bad seeing as she plays the title character. Even Rachelle Lefebvre, who didn't speak a word, was more memorable than Kristen. And sadly, Rachelle will not be returning to play Victoria, an evil vampire out to get Bella, due to "scheduling conflicts" or so says Summit Entertainment. Whatever. I don't buy it and I'm still bitter about it.

Next up: My Sister's Keeper. I read the book. The book was good. The movie, on the other hand, was crappy, schleppy, Hollywood sentimentality with a wimpy-ass ending. Why does Hollywood always go with the unimaginative, obvious ending? And  why didn't the book's author protest?  This change did not make her original story better, it made it far worse. The original ending was not predictable and was painfully bittersweet. Yes, someone dies. But it's not who you think, hence the beauty of it.

The bright spot in this movie is Sofia Vassilieva, who plays the cancer-stricken Kate. She is believable and, at times, heartbreaking. Joan Cusack also aptly portrays the judge presiding over Anna's case. Love her.

My boyfriend thought Cameron Diaz was terribly miscast in this film. I tend to agree. As he said, she's too recognizable. You can't forget she's Cameron Diaz. It works in Charlie's Angels but not in this movie. I don't buy Cameron as a mother of three desperately trying to keep her terminally ill daughter alive. Also, the lawyer's story (Alec Baldwin's character) was barely touched. This movie needed more Alec. All in all, a terrible disappointment. 

Some books shouldn't become movies. Twilight is not Harry Potter. 

Jeremy Leven and Nick Cassavetes, who adapted My Sister's Keeper for the big screen, shouldn't be allowed to work in Hollywood for at least a year, maybe two. That's how long it will take me to recover from their mess of a movie.