I give you five films I would not sit through again for eight hundred thousand million dollars:
- The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover: I still get occasional grossout flashbacks from this movie—and it's not even the ending, where they serve up Her Lover to The Thief at dinnertime: it's the scene where they find his dead body, after he has been gagged and stuffed with pages torn from books. It's not the symbolism that bothered me, either, or the destruction of literature, etc.: it's seeing Helen Mirren pull pages torn from books out of the guy's throat. And yet for some reason I kept watching, right till the end.
- Seven/Copycat: I saw both of these within months of each other. 1995 was a big serial killer year, I guess. Serial killers and I are now totally done with each other. God willing.
- Prime: One of only two movies I've ever gotten up and walked out of, and this one starred Meryl Streep. Which might be some kind of crime.
- Alfie: The only other movie I've ever gotten up and walked out of. I left the minute Sienna Miller started talking, because that was definitely a crime. Really: should a person have to "act" how to speak? Did the script read "act like a person who knows how to talk"? And didn't anybody realize she couldn't even get that right?
- The Talented Mr. Ripley: I regret this one, actually, because the time period and setting and cinematography and costumes are so up my alley. Maybe it's a Jude Law thing, or I just didn't like seeing him get whacked in the head with an oar.