Poppy is happy. Really happy. Like, when her bicycle in stolen from the streets of London, she cheerfully decides to use the opportunity as an impetus for learning to drive. (Compare this to my blind fury when my bike seat was stolen). Nothing gets Poppy down. Not the rudeness of people who don’t respond to Poppy’s unflagging smiles and laughs, not the patronizing pity of friends who don’t comprehend Poppy’s source of inner strength, not even the paranoid racist ranting of her loose cannon driving instructor can loosen Poppy’s determination to be happy. Happy-Go-Lucky is engrossing, fascinating, and utterly feel-good. I cannot remember ever before leaving a movie theatre, making vows to myself like “I will smile more. I will joke with strangers. I will be a happier person.”
James Bond is vengeful. Really vengeful. Like, he’s still not over the death of Vespa, the fetching Bond girl from the previous movie. What’s up with that? Since when does James Bond dwell on dead ex-girlfriends when there’s a potential new girlfriend helping him usurp a weasely villain determined to bilk Bolivia of its water rights? And since when does M follow James Bond around the world to assist in investigations and appear in every other freaking scene? And since when does the only new technology in a James Bond film consist of a fancy touch-screen computer that’s one step above what the election analysts on CNN had? Luckily, the storyline moves so fast and the action flies so furious that these details are not as distracting as the fact that James Bond is still, alas, a blonde.
George W. Bush is dumb. Really dumb. Like, as dumb as you suspect. You don’t need to watch Oliver Stone’s interpretation of how dumb he is. You don’t need to reaffirm your suspicions that W. is nothing but a privileged frat-boy eff-up pining for the affection and approval of his daddy. You’ve survived 8 years of his cataclysmic presidency, and the last thing you need is to spend 2 LONG BORING hours picking over the who, what, why, and how of it.
