And now: More film criticism!

This time I was eating dinner and cleaning up in the kitchen while the other of my two housemates watched a movie in the next room. This recent flick was evidently someone's idea of an updated fairytale--which took itself way too seriously. Early on, from what little I'd been told, I began to suspect the gimmick: a secret Fountain of Youth. That belongs in the (honorable) realm of Fantasy; it didn't work in this relatively modern setting. (Not only did this McGuffin keep people from aging, it apparently rendered them unkillable, which is way over the top!) The plot proved predictable, the characters wooden. See the strings being pulled; watch as the illogically creepy villain follows the mandatory rule: when in trouble, pull a gun and grab the conveniently-placed wench. Another gal sensibly hits the badguy on the head with some big stick--fatally. Such a blow *might* kill a man--but if it was so damaging, why did it take him--still apparently conscious--five seconds to hit the ground? What followed was so absurd I had to retreat to another floor and (horrors!) further delay my dessert. I'd gotten annoyed enough, in fact, to write this later.

Of the various holes in the story line, I'll mention one which might even be claimed racist: In their thousands of years' habitation of this continent, the aboriginals presumably didn't catch on to this water source's peculiar properties; it took some Big Knives!