Alec Baldwin plays Bill, a writer and English professor who lost his sight and his wife in a terrible accident. Demi Moore plays Suzanne, the woman sentenced to read aloud to him. Sentenced in a court of law, by the way, by a judge who finds her guilty by association of the insider trading perpetrated by her husband (Dylan McDermott). Although Bill is cantankerous and spends his first encounter with Suzanne boldly insulting her, the two form a predictable romantic relationship.
But then BAZINGA! – the felonious Dylan McDermott is released from prison on a nasty technicality and Suzanne is faced with the age-old question that beleaguers only the women of a certain set: stay with the man who funds her lifestyle, or leave with the man 
she actually loves. Oh to be rich and luxuriously useless!
If Blind was a martini, I’d send it back. The verdict: too weak. The writing ranges from bland to cheesy to downright embarrassing. It’s also not strong enough to write a character that we can distinguish from the real-life Alec Baldwin. Neither is Baldwin up to losing himself in a character. Bill’s epic rants are a little too familiar to anyone who has access to the internet, or late night television. But those are the only facets of the character that ring true; Bill’s conflicted, tragic side is limp, unfulfilled. Not to worry, though: in choosing Demi Moore to play opposite, the film has at least assured that no one will show Baldwin up. I’m not sure if Moore was ever capable of any great heights as an actress, but these days playing a wealthy socialite seems beyond her reach, even though I think that’s pretty much who she plays outside of work, all the time. Perhaps her ability to act began to dissipate around the time she lost the ability to move her face. Too many injections later, she can’t communicate anything beyond complete and utter passivity, which is inadequate for a woman wrongly accused, full of contempt, about to embark on a passionate affair after finding out her marriage is built upon lies and infidelity. Demi Moore: blank stare.
When you pair a man who is constantly dialed up to 10 with a woman who can barely achieve a 1.8, it makes for a strange combination. It’s hard to know whether to believe the love story being told in lifeless, monotone words, or the pained expressions on their faces that say otherwise. This melodrama is better suited to the Hallmark channel.
pretty soon Chris is fed up with waiting. In the wake of their inevitable breakup, Sonia is inspired by a fellow subway rider’s thong (no I am not making that up, thankyouverymuch) to fly to Italy to find herself, and by herself, I mean some Italian guy’s dick.
dream come true starts to feel a little…invasive to Mae. There’s no turning off, no going off-grid. Everyone participates in everything all the time! Horray! So the dream is turning out to be a bit much, but with her father (Bill Paxton) suffering from MS, it’s extremely hard to turn down.
movie in 15 years and having her back is a blessing. Pairing these two together is great. It should have been better than great, I’ll grant you that. It should have been phenomenal. But Snatched isn’t ambitious. It’s pretty content to be a so-so movie with a bare-bones plot, some badly-drawn characters, and some overly convenient structures. It’s basically a vehicle for some jokes, and for some shining chemistry between Schumer and Hawn. If you can live with that, then you may just find something to chuckle about in Snatched.
book became this movie, though something was lost getting from A to B. The book pulls no punches. Her parents are complex characters, and their children have conflicted feelings toward them. The movie’s a little more pat, the trajectory a little more Hollywood. Someone decided to apply some spit shine to this story, a story that’s naturally very dark and brooding now has themes of hope and redemption that maybe don’t belong.
for the swinging bachelor existence Charlie has planned for them on board, but that’s only half his trouble. A snarky entertainment director is on to them and their little ruse could cost them thousands of dollars that neither can afford (hello, gambling my old friend!) if found out and no amount of Rue McClanahan flirtation can save them.
family appeals to him greatly, though his fantasy diverges quite archly from the reality. And because life isn’t fair, this grown-ass man gets to wreak havoc on the lives of not one but two women in order to finally grow up himself.
before, and yet draws from many familiar sources. The serial killer only works in the rain. He plans elaborate, gruesome kills that seem to be some sort of punishment to his victims. And – how do I put this – he also appears to be a man with a frog head. There. I said it. Moving on…technically, the source material here is the manga, Museum: The Serial Killer Is Laughing In The Rain. But you’ll find the movie remind you of Seven, Saw, and maybe even Oldboy. I can’t say that Museum is that caliber of film, but it’s plenty bloody.
Richard and Kate, who haven’t spoken much in years, now find themselves travelling to France together to the perfect cover to their crime: the high-society wedding between the director and his blushing bride. Kate gets relegated to some hen party high-jinks while Richard naps, but her intel is good: a foursome from Texas, business partners the director has not yet met in person, are expected to attend. All they need are two more accomplices. So they call up their good suburban neighbours Pen (Celia Imrie) and Jerry (Timothy Spall) who are for some reason pretty game to join in this merry heist.
disappearance to the cops, for one thing. And Anna’s claiming that whoever hired him, it wasn’t her. So now her kidnapping is for real, Ray’s in trouble with the law, and he can’t let her go until he sorts it all out. Too bad Ray’s not exactly the brightest bulb. Bumble, bumble, bumble.
ASSHOLES WATCHING MOVIES 