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Rating: A movie... how to say, windy.
At times breezy.
But also reckless.
Touched by the sirocco.
Turbulently evanescent.
Uncatchable, ungovernable.
Just like the wind can be. Indeed.
To be honest, I didn't exactly understand, with cardinal-point scientificity, exactly what kind-of-wind it was: was it a mistral or maybe a levant wind, perhaps a bora-strictly-from-Trieste... it isn't for us to know; one thing is certain, the flippant shots and the intangible performances of the actors (the unlikely Markus Wahlberg above all) are not the ultimate guide to discern the flow of the windy ventilation. But so it is.
Just think about it: an aerodynamic flow so quirky and carrying who knows what "thing", that out of the blue makes you walk backwards. And also mutter senseless things. But I don't think there's a need, at least as far as I'm concerned, for the wind for that to happen: hence, you will understand my lack of enthusiasm for the really bloodless plot.
In my heart, honestly, I watched it hoping that at least some of the agitated currents represented in it would at least faintly alleviate the doggedly humid stagnation of the atmosphere surrounding me. Not even that.
Next time I think I'll turn off the protocathodic TV and simultaneously turn on the dying fan: maybe the isobaric-depressional effect will be more intense.
Always hoping that in the meantime Mister M.(good)Night Sciamalanno quits cinema (or supposed such, given some of the pressostatic predecessors) and turns to the profitable fishing of Matsugoro.
Or perhaps to the study of thermodynamics applied to meteorology.
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