Once (2007)

Folks say that the Irish respect feeling more than thinking, that they are known for leading with their hearts. Watching the charming Irish film “Once” made me think there may be something to that. The songs of love and heartbreak in this film are full of complex emotion, but they never feel overly sentimental because the emotions flow so naturally from these characters.

“Once” is the story of a couple of unnamed musicians: an Irish lad (Glen Hansard) and an immigrant lass (Marketa Irglova) from some Eastern European country. The girl is impressed by the guy’s sidewalk guitar performances and plays piano for him at the music shop where she gets to play during lunchtime every day. Rather than hopping straight into bed as you might expect, they channel their chemistry to write songs together. These haunting ballads of longing and loss help them each heal their own broken heart. The songs were written by the two actors Hansard and Irglova, and one of them (“Falling Slowly”) won the Oscar for Best Original Song in a Movie. Not bad.

“Once” is not a strict musical because the actors do talk in between songs, but a lot of the story is in the music. Hansard sings about how his girlfriend’s cheating causes him to look back on all their times together with a more cynical eye, which leaves him grieving not only her loss but the loss of those good memories. Irglova sings one about how marrying and having a child young left her feeling lonely in a marriage to a man who didn’t seem to understand her. Normally this kind of emotional content would have me snoozing, but something about these songs made me care.

Audiences weaned on pop princesses and movies where the guy is guaranteed to get the girl may find “Once” hard to get into. For anyone who enjoys subtlety in music and film, this movie is a real treat.

4.5 stars out of 5.

The Namesake (2006)

Quick, name a famous actor from India. Even one of Indian descent. Still thinking? Me too. My guess is that that is why Mira Nair recruited Kal Penn (Kumar from “Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle”) to star in the screen incarnation of the book, “The Namesake.” Maybe star isn’t the right word; sulk is more like it. Penn may have lent this film the benefit of a semi-recognizable lead, but his wooden-Indian performance sucks the life out of the story. That leaves Indian actors Irfan Khan and Tabu to do the actual acting. They do so with the grace of true professionals, but even their nuanced performances can’t justify this drag of a film.

It won’t take long to outline the plot of “The Namesake,” since there is almost no story here at all. The film follows the lives of Ashoke (Irfan Khan) and Ashima (Tabu) Ganguli, a couple of Bengali Indians who immigrate to New York. They have a couple of kids, buy a house in the suburbs, and struggle with being outsiders in America and missing their families in India. Their kids Gogol (Kal Penn) and Sonia (Sahira Nair) are American-born and typically American, but they finally come to accept their East Indian heritage. There, I just ruined the plot for you, because that is basically all that happens. There is some nonsense built up about how Gogol is named for his dad’s favorite Russian author (thus the title of the film), but when they finally reveal why the name is so important to Ashoke, it is quite anticlimactic.

This is the kind of movie that critics love, and audiences hate. Critics will describe “The Namesake” as being “a heartfelt tale of alienation and loss,” or “the truest story yet about the immigrant experience.” The problem is that as far as I am concerned there is no tale or story here. I would have settled even for some painfully naturalistic tale of woe. Instead this film just follows for a few decades the very straightforward lives of an immigrant family. The politically correct thing would be to laud this as a great artistic achievement, but the truth is that I was bored to tears. This movie seems to think it is the first to cover this ground. Here are some examples of supposedly watershed moments from “The Namesake”: Gogol’s aunt tells him to go to college and have all the fun he wants, but marry an Indian girl. Gogol has always ignored his Indian heritage, but when there is a family crisis, he learns to embrace it. Ashima and Ashoke aren’t sure what to do with themselves once their kids are out of the house. This self-congratulatory little film presents this stuff as if we have never seen it before.

If “The Namesake” sounds like your idea of a good way to spend two hours, then have at it. Just don’t come crying to me.

1 star.

Nine Queens (Nueve Reinas) 2000 ****1/2

Fans of “long con” movies like “The Grifters” and “The Sting” will appreciate “Nine Queens” as a respectful, perfectly crafted version of the classic theme. Those less versed in the con game will delight in the plot twists, getting treated to the taut filmmaking style of late Argentinean director Fabian Bielinsky and superb performances by stars Ricardo Darin and Gaston Pauls.

Have you ever wondered how easy it would be to con a few bucks out of a stranger? Juan (Gaston Pauls) and Marcos (Ricardo Darin) make their living out of small con jobs, cheating store clerks and old ladies out of 20, 40, or a hundred bucks. The two meet up, and the more experienced Marcos takes Juan under his wing, suggesting they merge their talents. Together they pound the pavements of Buenos Aires, working harder and making less per hour than most folks with real jobs. They are low-lifes with low aspirations, and one is led to wonder why they expend so much energy and take such risks for such small amounts. The answer, of course, is that it isn’t about the money. They do it for the thrill of putting on a little show, fooling someone else, and getting away with it.

“Nine Queens” takes its first big turn when these small timers get a shot at something big. A call from an old acquaintance of Marcos’s puts them in a position to make hundreds of thousands of dollars selling a set of counterfeit stamps called the Nine Queens to a collector. The question, as in all these grift movies, is “Who is really getting conned?”

I won’t ruin any more of the plot except to say that the payoff at the end is truly a class act. I must also take a moment to praise the outstanding acting of Darin and Pauls. Forgive me if I start to sound all giddy, but these guys are amazing! I first saw Ricardo Darin in “The Aura”, and the difference between his semi-autistic character in that film and his charmer in “Nine Queens” is a testament to Darin’s range. I think it would be fair to compare him to someone like Tom Hanks, and it is easy to see why he is a huge star in Argentina. Gaston Pauls also gives a superb performance in “Nine Queens” as a con-man hobbled by a conscience.

Writer/Director Bielensky keeps the action moving at a taut pace. As they say in the movie theatres, “Eight bucks gets you the whole seat, but you’ll only need the edge!” I have to say again, as I did in my review of Bielensky’s “The Aura,” what a shame it is for the art that this filmmaker died after making only two films. Were he still making movies, I think he would have become a brand name in the world of Spanish-language cinema on the order of Pedro Almodovar. As for “Nine Queens,” the film has been adapted into an Americanized version called “Criminal,” starring John C. Reilly. I haven’t seen it, and I haven’t yet decided whether to check it out. Maybe I’ll just get my own copy of “Nine Queens” instead.

4.5 stars out of 5

300 (2006)

If you managed not to be part of the stampede to the cinema to see this, don’t think you are home-free yet. Sooner or later your friends will pressure you to watch it on DVD. Eventually you will probably forget about all the bad reviews this movie got and cave in to the peer pressure. That’s what I did. Am I happy about it? Meh. I can’t say that I want to sue to get my two hours back, but my time would probably have been better spent re-watching “Gladiator.”

The first thing everyone will want you to know is that “300” is based on a true story. That is the case to some extent. This story does come down to us from the ancient Greeks. How much the story was embellished by the Greek historian Herodotus is anyone’s guess. Three hundred Spartan soldiers and a thousand or so other Greeks, led by the Spartan King Leonidas, supposedly held a mountain pass against a truly massive Persian army, killing thousands of the enemy before they were finally surrounded and overwhelmed. Many of the Greek forces retreated or surrendered, but the Spartans fought to the last. Theirs is truly one of the great stories of all time.

Unfortunately, I don’t think that “300” fully succeeds in giving this story the telling it deserves. I don’t deny that it is entertaining, but there are some fatal flaws. First is the abysmal voice-over narration. Voice-over works for some films (“Fight Club,” for example), but the narration in “300” is painfully pretentious and ponderous. They should have used narration to fill in the historical context where necessary and just let the action speak for itself. Another major problem is that the exclusive use of CGI for backgrounds and extras may have saved money, but it gives the film a 2-dimensional, claustrophobic feel. This is an epic story; the film should feel EPIC. Instead it looks like a movie made from a play. (In fact, this film is based on a Frank Miller graphic novel.)

I won’t harp too much on the acting. The soldiers don’t really act so much as flex their well-oiled muscles, but hell, it’s an action movie. We’ll give ‘em a pass. I expected more, and got less, from the non-combatants. As sleazy Spartan politician Theron, Dominic West OOZES smarm, and that’s all he does. As Queen Gorgo, Lena Headey does little more than clench her jaw and look really good in various filmy, Greek outfits. I will say she looks really good naked, getting pounded by King Leonidas (Gerard Butler.) The Persian Emperor Xerxes should have been the juiciest small role in “300,” but Rodrigo Santoro plays him as a pissy, S&M queen.

Many will give director Zach Snyder credit for making what turned out to be something of a blockbuster movie on a $60 million budget. I would suggest that in this case a bigger budget and a different approach might have resulted in a much better movie. The film is supposedly a frame-by-frame reproduction of the graphic novel by Frank Miller, and its great failing is that it never breaks free of those 2-dimensional origins. This approach worked for Robert Rodriguez’s “Sin City,” but a war epic like “300” needs some real panoramas and on-location shots to make it pop. I happen to like comics and graphic novels; if I want to read a comic book, then I’ll just read one.

Ultimately, the best thing about the movie “300” is that it gave comedienne Sarah Silverman the chance to make this joke about how the movie got its name. “They rated how gay it is on a scale of 1 to 10.”

2 stars

Hairspray (2007)

John Waters is the king of grotesque, and his 1988 film, “Hairspray” was a vindication for people who didn’t meet contemporary standards of beauty. The film is full of people like Divine, for example, the corpulent, cross-dressing actor who was a staple of Waters’s movies. Divine plays the mother of chubby, dance-crazy Tracy Turnblad (Ricki Lake), whose smooth dance moves and sparkling personality win her a spot on her favorite dance show and the boy of her dreams. Tracy also takes a public stand against segregation (the story is set in 1960’s Baltimore), introducing mixed-race dancing to television.

That this film got turned into a Broadway musical show is no surprise to me; they’ll make anything into a musical. I did find it somewhat surreal that there is now a movie based on that musical. I’m sure this has happened before, but for me this seems like a pretty original way for Hollywood to avoid making something original. The new “Hairspray” is also a mildly charming, fun-for-the-whole-family bit of entertainment.

The musical version lacks most of the cutting-edge wit that inspired the original movie. The main theme, acceptance of people who are different, is more in-your-face, but less convincingly developed in the musical. That would be okay except that the musical elements aren’t really anything to write home about either. The songs are fun while they last (They got my wife and daughter up dancing around the room.), but I couldn’t remember a single song five minutes after the movie ended. Probably the strongest points in this film are the dancing and the stunt casting (John Travolta in a fat suit as Mrs. Turnblad seems tres bizarre until you remember that the original Mrs. Turnblad was also played by a man in drag.)

If you only see one version of “Hairspray,” then make it the classic original. Once you have seen that, the musical version makes a nice, fluffy companion piece.

3 stars out of 5.

Hollywoodland (2006)

A while back I came up with a test for potential movies to watch. It was called the “Ben Affleck Test,” and it was very simple. For any movie that I was asked to watch, I just asked, “Is Ben Affleck in it?” If the answer was yes, then I didn’t watch. It’s similar to the Keanu Reeves test. Trust me, even though I made exceptions for some Kevin Smith movies (e.g. “Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back” and “Clerks II”), this test saved me from “Gigli” and “Daredevil,” and it allowed me to bail out of the Kevin Smith crapfest “Jersey Girl” soon enough to avoid hysterical blindness.

Imagine my surprise, then, to find myself thoroughly enjoying Affleck in “Hollywoodland.” This tale of George Reeves, the actor who played Superman in the old tv series, features a completely non-annoying Affleck doing some real acting. “Hollywoodland” apparently sticks pretty close to history in its depiction of Reeve’s career. His “Superman” tv show was wildly successful, of course, but what he craved was movie stardom. Unfortunately, Reeves was typecast as Superman, and more serious roles eluded him. He ultimately died from what was officially designated a self-inflicted gunshot wound. In “Hollywoodland,” Adrien Brody plays a private investigator hired to prove that Reeves was murdered, which was a widely publicized conspiracy theory at the time. Jumping back and forth in time, the film simultaneously tells the stories of Reeves’s career and the murder mystery spawned by his death.

This film won’t spawn any cults or change your views of the universe, but it is excellent viewing. Brody and Affleck both give excellent performances. We expect quality from Adrien Brody, of course, but I don’t know what got into Affleck. Maybe he was as sick of the old Ben Affleck as the rest of us were.

3.5 stars out of 5

The Aura (2005)

The most basic convention of noir film is to place an average, basically good man in the midst of evil, then sit back and see what happens. In the Argentinean film “El Aura,” the protagonist is less than average; he is almost non-existent. Esteban Espinosa (Argentina’s prized Ricardo Darin) is a socially withdrawn near-recluse who allows his marriage to deteriorate while he focuses on his work as a taxidermist. He seems to almost be a ghost, barely interacting with those around him, but actually observing everything with the artist’s keen eye for detail. His hobby is planning robberies, and he is convinced that he is so observant that he could pull off the perfect crime. There are a couple of barriers to Esteban’s career as a heist man. One is that he is barely assertive enough to collect his paycheck, let alone demand money at gunpoint. The other is that he has epilepsy, which manifests as grand mal seizures occurring at random times. These leave him temporarily helpless, and are preceded by a beatific moment of clarity and transcendence which is the “aura” for which the film is named.

When Esteban’s wife leaves him, he barely seems surprised, but it does shake him up just enough to make him accept a last-minute hunting invitation from an acquaintance. Alone in the woods, Esteban has a seizure, then, slightly disoriented, he fatally shoots another hunter. This is the first real emotion we see from Esteban, who is understandably shaken to his core by the event. This is clearly the kind of mistake that could ruin a man, driving him mad with regret, even if he avoided jail. Unsure of what to do, the taxidermist silently returns to camp with the dead man’s wallet and cellphone. These objects draw him into the dead man’s world, which turns out to be pretty shady and peopled with characters straight out of a Richard Stark crime novel. It turns out that Dietrich (the dead guy) was planning a robbery, and Esteban gradually worms his way into the plot as Dietrich’s replacement. It is his chance to live out his fantasy, but the reality of a robbery turns out to be messier than any of his carefully laid plans.

“El Aura” is the second and last film by the late Argentinean director Fabian Bielinsky, who became famous for another crime film, “Nueve Reinas” (Nine Queens). His death is a major loss for the world of film, as “El Aura” is a masterpiece. The film is slowly paced, yet I never left the edge of my seat. Ricardo Darin is not much to look at, but he has an insidious screen presence that makes it impossible to look away after a while. His portrayal of Esteban is minimalist but powerful. This film also features a bravura performance by one of the best canine actors I have ever seen, credited as Eva. The character Dietrich has a dog, and this wolf-like specter interacts with the reticent Esteban as if she knows and accepts his every secret. These two actors have something bordering on chemistry!

As for the “aura” itself, there is a great scene in which Esteban describes the feeling. Even though his auras precede seizures, which are obviously a problem in his life, one gets the impression that Esteban would feel incomplete without them.

It’s a shame that we won’t be getting any more films by Fabian Bielinsky, but Ricardo Darin is still making films. I plan to check out some of his other work and obviously watch Bielinsky’s other film, “Nueve Reinas.”

4.5 stars

La Moustache (2005)

A few years ago I saw a movie at the Sundance Film Festival called “November,” starring Courtney Cox. Her character started to notice a sense of déjà vu that made her think she was living the month of November over and over, but with slight differences each time. Finally, we see her lying in a pool of blood, the victim of a botched robbery, and we are supposed to realize that everything that we had just seen was a hallucination she had while dying. The filmmaker was present for the showing, and during the question and answer session the sense of anger emanating from the crowd was palpable. We were angry with the filmmaker because he had taken us on a ride. He made us care about characters and plot points, only to pull the rug out from under us at the end with his “And it was all a dream!” trick. Plenty of other films have relied on this lazy storytelling device (“Jacob’s Ladder” and “Vanilla Sky” come to mind), and when I was younger and easily impressed, I thought these movies were clever. Now I think they are just a pathetic attempt on the part of a filmmaker to show us how clever he is.

This is not a condemnation of all non-literal fiction. I love absurdist literature like Nikolai Gogol’s “The Nose,” and bizarro films like Orson Welles’s stunning “The Trial.” I am perfectly happy to have a storyteller take me on a thrilling ride with bizarre twists and turns, as long as the ride ends up somewhere worthwhile. It’s a question of trust. Sitting down to watch a movie or read a book is an act of faith that your time and energy will not be wasted. When your time IS wasted by a storyteller who strings you along with bizarre plot twists and intrigue, only to throw his hands up at the end and say, “Gotcha!,” that is a betrayal of trust.

It is difficult to define the line between artistry and audience manipulation. Like pornography, you know it when you see it. In “Vanilla Sky,” for example, the ending pretty much negates most of the rest of the film. You just end up feeling kind of dumb for investing so much effort following the story and trying to understand it. Same with “November” and “Jacob’s Ladder.” In a film like “The Sixth Sense,” on the other hand, the surprise ending doesn’t negate what came before. The ending reframes and adds new meaning to the previous scenes. In “The Trial” there is no ultimate explanation (you have to figure it out for yourself), but throughout the bizarre twists and turns of the story, the characters are presented in such a way that it is clear they are allegorical.

I still haven’t decided where “La Moustache” falls in this continuum. This French film by Emmanuel Carrere, based on his novel by the same name, definitely dips into skullfuck-the-audience territory. It is done with such skill and style, however, that I cannot completely condemn it. The story is that a guy named Marc (Vincent Lindon) impetuously shaves off the mustache he has had for years. His wife, friends, and co-workers don’t even notice the change, however. When he points it out to them, they insist that he has never had a mustache. This causes Marc to doubt his sanity, then his wife’s sanity, and then to really begin going insane when other aspects of the life he lived with his mustache begin to be denied as well. At its best, this film forces the viewer to consider essential questions about identity and the relatively small things that we allow to define us. Perhaps the whole story is just an imagined worst-case-scenario conjured up by Marc as he holds the razor up to his lip and reconsiders. On the other hand, the little things really do matter, especially in relationships, and this film may make you think about that. This story also comments on how our grasp of the past and present are so dependent upon other people’s affirmations. Our certainty that what happened as recently as five minutes ago really happened is based upon two rather flimsy foundations. One is the conviction that the present moment must have arisen from some logical source, and that source is the past as we remember it. The other foundation is that other people’s versions of the past agree with ours. In the absence of physical proof, how long could you continue to believe something had happened if everyone you knew denied it?

My complaint about “La Moustache” is that while it takes us on this wonderfully acted philosophical journey, it clings a little too tightly to realism. The earnest, very human portrayals of Marc’s wife and the other people in his life made it impossible for me to enjoy this surrealist ride. For too much of the film I thought that there must be some explanation for what was going on. By the time I surrendered to the fact that the whole thing was some kind of metaphor, I was too exhausted to care and just a little pissed off. Some plot points are infuriating, as well. For example, Marc has photos of himself with a mustache; why does he never show them to his wife?

Whether you think this makes “La Moustache” good or bad art depends on your tolerance for this sort of thing, I suppose. I admit to being divided on the subject. I guess I have to give a thumbs up to any movie that makes me think this hard, whatever faults it may have.

3 stars out of 5.

Goldfinger (1964)

A few reviews back I heaped praise on the latest Bond film, “Casino Royale,” and I reviewed the first two films in the series, “Dr. No” and “From Russia with Love.” I finally got around to watching the third film, “Goldfinger,” and while it is, in some ways, the best of the series, it also features some of the flaws that annoy me about the Bond films.

This time around, 007 is sent to investigate Auric Goldfinger (Gert Frobe), a gold merchant who is suspected of illegally smuggling gold out of England in order to trade it more profitably on the world market. After a couple of run-ins with Goldfinger and his burly bodyguard Oddjob (Harold Sakata), Bond learns that there is more involved than gold smuggling. Goldfinger has an elaborate scheme cooking (of course!) involving Fort Knox and a powerful laser, which he uses to almost give 007 a belated briss. Goldfinger has a lovely partner-in-crime named Pussy Galore (Honor Blackman), cementing the tradition of gimmicky Bond-girl names and bringing it to an all-time, suggestive low. The character, fortunately, is a refreshingly strong, intelligent female foil for Bond, which is a departure from damsels-in-distress Honey Ryder (Dr. No) and Tatiana (From Russia with Love).

In addition to institutionalizing the Bond-girl name-gimmick thing, “Goldfinger” also establishes, even more than “From Russia with Love,” the fetishism of spy gadgetry in Bond films. This is the film where 007’s Aston-Martin, with the machine guns, smoke screen, and passenger-eject button is lovingly introduced. This would be loads of fun if Bond actually deployed these weapons to any effect. The plot didn’t seem to have room for that, so instead there is one long chase scene in which Bond dutifully fires off all the features of the car only to be rather stupidly captured anyway. This film also features Bond, who is supposedly a weapons expert, misidentifying a .44 magnum revolver, calling it a “Smith and Wesson .45.” (For the uninitiated, .45 caliber is a semi-automatic pistol caliber, unless Pussy Galore was carrying a pistol chambered in the venerable cowboy caliber of .45 Long-Colt, which I highly doubt.) What else negative can I say about “Goldfinger”? In general, this film has less of a hard edge than its predecessors, with more of the 14-year-old-boy esthetic that undermines most Bond films.

On the other hand, Auric Goldfinger is clearly the best Bond villain ever. Gert Frobe forgoes gimmicky “evilness” in favor of genuine menace, playing Goldfinger with an overfed zest and humor that makes him the only real human I have seen in the Bond rogue’s gallery. He truly enjoys jousting with 007, but obviously won’t mind killing him either. In response to Bond’s question “You don’t expect me to talk, do you?” Goldfinger tosses out the classic, “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die,” with a hearty nonchalance that makes the screen crackle. I cannot get enough of this guy!

Going back to watch the old Bond movies in order has been enjoyable so far, but it is a bit frustrating because I can see where they could have been so much better. Sean Connery is the perfect Bond. It wastes his talent to have him tossing off those obligatory one-liners and wasting so much time on spy gadgetry. I know, people will say that the one-liners and gadgets are the point of a Bond movie and what makes it fun. Maybe I shouldn’t hate so much on these movies; they are intended for a teenage audience, anyway. I just can’t let Bond off that easily though, partly because the Ian Fleming novels are so good, and partly because this character still has the potential to be really cool (as demonstrated by Daniel Craig in the latest film.) For future films, Mr. Bond, I expect you to be dark and dangerous. As for “Goldfinger,” despite my negative comments, it’s still must-watch material.

Knocked Up (2007)

Imagine getting together with all your old friends from high school and college, and everybody immediately hits it off and starts joking around and having the best time ever. That’s what watching “Knocked Up” is like for a long-time Judd Apatow fan like myself. I’ve been on the Apatow Train since the classic, underappreciated TV show “Freaks and Geeks,” I was a big fan of his college comedy series “Undeclared,” and I braved the dreadfully titled “The 40-year-old Virgin” and found it brilliant. “Knocked Up” brings together actors from all of those projects. I came into it with huge expectations, and I was not disappointed.

As with “The 40-year-old Virgin,” the title of “Knocked Up” tells about half of the plot right away. The deal is, Katherine Heigl plays Allison, a bubbly, adorable TV assistant who gets promoted to an on-air gig. She celebrates by hitting the clubs with her sister Debbie (Leslie Mann), and through the magic of beer goggles she hooks up with the goofy, lovable, barrel-shaped Ben (Seth Rogen). After their one-night stand, Ben goes back to his pot-smoking, slacker lifestyle, while Allison pursues her new career. Six weeks later she is puking all the time, and guess what?

Up until that point the film is just good, solid comedy. After Allison tells Ben the news, the comedy starts getting mixed with some really good, human moments. Despite her Mother’s advice to, “Just get it taken care of,” Allison decides to have the baby. Meanwhile, Ben’s dad (Harold Ramis) offers him some much better fatherly advice about playing the hand you are dealt, “Life doesn't care about your vision. You just gotta roll with it.” As Ben and Allison try to determine the parameters of their own relationship, they get a funny/poignant look at the dark side of marriage and family from Allison’s sister (Leslie Mann) and brother-in-law (Paul Rudd). On the career front, Allison learns that Hollywood is much more comfortable with pretty, young blondes than with pregnant ones, and she gets a taste of the amazingly insensitive things that people actually say to pregnant women (Does anyone really think that a woman wants to be told she is “huge”?).

Apatow’s work shines for two reasons. One is the humor spiked with reality that never loses sight of his characters’ humanity. Characters that, in lesser hands, would be simple comic foils, always manage to have a scene marking them as real people. The other strength of Apatow’s work is the stellar acting. He has something of his own troupe of guys, and he recycles them through all his productions. One by one you cannot help falling in love with these guys, and “Knocked Up” brings the whole crowd together in one film.

I hesitate to name “Knocked Up” the best movie of the year, because I haven’t yet seen Apatow’s other 2007 release “Superbad.” Until then, I’ll just rate it 5 stars out of 5.