Nineteen minutes into the movie, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri spouted two anti-American lies within 15 seconds of each other. Who needs that?
I very seldom can sit through the movies Hollywood has made of late. Indeed, I think the last movies that I fully enjoyed were Darkest Hour and Paddington 2. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is just the latest in a long line of movies I consider unwatchable.
When I sat down in front of our TiVo to watch HBO’s showing of Three Billboards, I had no preconceived notions about the movie. I hadn’t paid any attention whatsoever to it when it came out and knew nothing about the plot. I was vaguely aware that Frances McDormand won an Oscar for it, but I only knew that because she made some mindless #MeToo speech or something like that at the Awards ceremony.
The movie lost me from the get-go because all the actors mumble. I don’t mumble, I don’t like being surrounded by mumblers, and I certainly don’t like a movie that requires me constantly to rewind to try to figure out dialog. In addition to mumbling, the actors did something else I hate, which was to act their little hearts out. I don’t like to see the creaking machinery at work behind the story. That’s a common problem, incidentally, with movies based on plays and, while this movie was made for the screen, the writer is a British playwright. It shows. The whole thing is beyond artificial. Everything is played to some imaginary balcony, which is exhausting to watch.
The movie also lost me because all the white, non-little-people characters, whether McDormand’s character or the others, were played as bizarre, inbred, dysfunctional, low-life weirdos. This, my friends, is how Hollywood and British elites view America. I’m not saying that there aren’t people like that scattered throughout America (including Hollywood) as well as throughout Britain. I’m just saying there’s a peculiar venom to place them all in one American town.
But you know where the movie really lost me? It was 19 minutes into the movie when Sam Rockwell, playing an alcoholic, race-hating policeman who lives with his mother, drunkenly implied that another character named “Red” was a homosexual communist. I can’t find the dialog online, so I’m going off of memory here, but it went something like this:
Rockwell’s character (who’s bad) says Red’s lucky he doesn’t live in Cuba because in Cuba they kill homosexuals. Red’s response is two-fold: First, that Cuba’s human rights record is good for homosexuals and, second, that you have to go to Wyoming to see homosexual rights get violated. And that’s when the top of my skull blew off. [Read more…]