So I saw (500) Days of Summer finally, on the big screen in Harvard Square, after skipping it in favor of I forget what back in April at the Independent Film Festival of Boston. Frankly, I'm surprised at the relatively rapturous response it's getting from critics, sheer adorableness of the leads aside.
I mean, I like the Smiths. I like Hall & Oates. I thought the UCLA band was a nice touch. Ditto the Han-Solo-as-Bogey nod to Breathless. I killed singing the Pixies ["Wave of Mutilation," not "Here Comes Your Man," but still] the only time I played Rock Band. Hell, my brothers have been playing the penis game for years. What is wrong with me that I wasn't charmed utterly?
Then I watched Globe critics Wesley Morris and Ty Burr's take on Summer. And I encourage you to do likewise, not just because they have even better chemistry than Summer and Tom do. Wesley totally nails the cause of my unease:
Amen and hallelujah.
[Also, hasn't she inspired enough young men to go for their dreams already?]
