Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Vicky Christina Barcelona

Sorry, I just don’t care about anybody in VICKY CHRISTINA BARCELONA.

Look, I’ve got a wife, two jobs, three kids, a dog, a house, and the very real possibility of an airline furlough on the horizon. I find it difficult to get lost in the problems of wealthy young people with worthless educations and too many options.

The feckless rich girl must leave the wealthy artist’s household because of her restlessness? Frak you.

The wealthy artist is locked in a destructive relationship with the crazy lady? Frak you.

The aimless rich girl must choose between the wealthy artist and the wealthy banker? Frak you and enjoy his bonus check.

I mean, hey, I’m all for the glamorous rich. I love it when they dance around in Fred Astaire movies or banter with Groucho. But I just don’t have time for the sun-drenched parasites in this movie.

Next.

Sahara

I don’t have much to say about SAHARA. It’s a bit of mindless fluff, a by-the-numbers action adventure that puts hero, sidekick, and love interest through various trials on their way to saving the world. If SAHARA has one thing to recommend it, it’s seeing William H. Macy in his role as a retired admiral and all-purpose ass-kicker who backs the hero at just the right time.

SAHARA’s loud, predictable, and utterly devoid of any originality whatsoever. That said, it’s the perfect companion for an afternoon of paying bills and folding laundry. You can leave the room for a few minutes and, when you return, instantly intuit everything you’ve missed. It does what it does, and that’s about that.