The Reader is an example of my favorite kind of movie, the period literary adaptation with accents and classy Brit actors (sorry, “thespians”) like Winslet and Fiennes. It’s the kind of movie that comes out every year, racks up a few award nominations, but never wins the big prize. Sure, these slowly paced litflicks are almost never as good as their source material and usually clock in at a leisurely 2+ hours; (the section involving the Hanna’s trial could have been shorter) I keep coming back for more. On the surface The Reader has all the goods; the problem is that on the inside the movie is tragically and deeply silly.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
My review of The Reader...
...is up at The Greenville Critics, in which I reveal my secret fondness for period literary adaptations (accents, costumes, the whole works) and discuss the fact that one woman's learning to read seems trivial in comparison to the what went on in the camps.