Speaking of International Banking Conspiracies…

Tom Tykwer has been so assuredly devious in his direction, across the five very distinct films I’ve seen, that you almost want to do a spit-take when his name comes up at film’s end, as credits roll. Whaaaa? This plodding porridge of overheated performances, long (long, long, long) expository conversations, and hamfisted visual echoes of Pakula and Hitchcock was directed by the playful pomo trickster of Lola Rennt, the oblique moral visionary of Heaven, the perverse aesthete of the less-effective but ambitious Perfume? Even a fairly fun sequence shooting the shit out of the Guggenheim doesn’t really make the film worth renting. Bleccch.

3 thoughts on “Speaking of International Banking Conspiracies…”

  1. This film’s title: The International.

    A spit-take: Best understood in action. First, go get a cup of milk. Take a huge gulp, but keep it in your mouth. Then go watch Simon until he does something crazy-unexpected-funny. This may take a while, so be patient. When he finally astounds, spew that milk everywhere in surprised hilarity!

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