CLOUD ATLAS: REVIEW

Forrest Gump and Cat Woman are chased through genres from the Nineteenth Century through to the distant future by Elrond and bumbling Captain Blowjob, and in the process make a right Monster’s Balls up of understanding Chaos theory. Gay Q turns up and (here’s a lark!) writes the soundtrack. It’s almost churlish to criticise this film, made as it was to defy understanding.

Not because of its serious philosophical rigour – its ‘philosophy’ is a nut-bag mix of cotton wool New Ageism (see title) and the most facile sentimental toss buckets: ‘Death is just another door’ – but because its monkey biscuits madness is something to be treasured. Savaging the movie is like criticising a suicide corpse for wearing a wedding dress: it’s crazy but it’s committed and perhaps should be. Laugh out loud comedy moments that are priceless gems come not in the Jim Broadbent ‘comedy’ section, which is so poor you would gnaw through your own ankle to escape if only you could, but rather courtesy of the make up department and some of the more sententious passages of prose that passes for dialogue.
The Wachowskis and Tom Tykwer are to be encouraged and given buckets of money. The film might be a God awful mess but it’s their God awful mess and not like any other.

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