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Tonight has not been a good night for cinema.
In case you haven't heard of this movie, you're off to a good starting point.

My patience for Mr. Bloom is quite low on any given day, and this has to be the epic lowest performance I've ever seen him give. Coupled with both a poor poor and highly confusing script (not confusing as in: "so why did that guy kill him?" rather as in: "so what was the point of that whole scene and why the hell am I watching him dance in the woods??") and with the ever so lovely yet oh so craptastic Kirsten Dunst (who, if anyone cares, rivaled Bloom's unworthy performance by giving a most unconvincing and annoying southern accent), the movie created really was crapgasmatic.
And hearing Susan Serendon talking about some guy's boner may have rendered me incapable of achieving one myself in the near future.
Had I not been stuck in mid-aisle and thus for all practical matters quite trapped, I would have been out of there after the first time Kirsten muttered "ya'll" with all the conviction Hugh Grant could muster.

To sum up, here are some words a twin soul conjured somewhere in interspace:
I HATED this movie. More than anything.

I felt with all it's falseness, it kept insulting me. With every word of dialog and fake scenes, it kept calling me an idiot because it didn't think I knew better.