Consumables #107 Watching: Young and Beautiful

The most important news of the week is that my friends Allison and Chris had never heard the term “fucknut” before. I am so shocked by this event that it has plagued me all week. First of all, Allison and I have the same brain, having shared most of our lives together, so it is always shocking when one of us knows something the other does not. Second of all, like me, Allison is an artisanal pottymouth. A craftsman of filthy wordsmithery. That she would never have used the word fucknut is like being told that Bob Ross had never used Van Dyke Brown.

Other thing that is shocking: it has been down in the 20s temperature-wise this week and I have not complained about it. I would like credit or praise or some sort of medal or engraved cartouche for this.

Ok, enough of that malarkey, I have a bone to pick with a movie I watched this week. Listen up, movie! The movie I’m addressing is a French movie called Jeune and Jolie (Young and Beautiful). I watched it purely because I was up late looking for something to watch, it was on my recommended movies list in my On Demand account, it was nominated for an award at Cannes, and it was described in the On Demand menu as the story of a teen growing up. The description had words like “discovering” and “awakening” in it. Bildungsroman! One of my favorite types of stories. I fired it up and let it fly. You guys. The kid in this movie was not having any sort of awakening that I could tell. Rather, she was being drawn into a horrible life of prostitution with old French businessmen. She looks emotionally vacant the entire time, her character has no humanity, and the whole thing felt like it was made for dudes to ogle at. Just…really, On Demand recommendations? What made it think this was for me? Also, Cannes nomination? What the shit is up with that? I don’t object to sexy times movies, graphic stuff doesn’t bother me, and I certainly don’t object to subject matter that deals with sex work. But this was some punk ass anti-lady stuff right there. Made worse because it had that frigging indie French film tone, all whispered serious talking and existential symbolism. Shut up with trying to act like it’s brainy. This is a boob movie for dummy dudes and let’s not pretend it ain’t.

On Demand, I shall never listen to you again. Patooey.

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