Hey, I’m all for ponderous, overwrought films that slowly sink under the weight of their own monotony as much as the next perpetually hungover, country raised, hipster film addict, but there does come a point – perhaps sometime between the third and fourth checking of the film’s progress – that you think to yourself, “Self. This is an incredibly boring movie. Why do I continue to torture myself?”
And, of course, you may start a tennis match conversation with your own consciousness –
“Turn it off.”
“Hey there’s only… only 45 minutes left… Let’s just finish it.”
“Turn it off! It’s so boring. Uhh.”
“There’s not much left, and it got really good reviews.”
“Oh God, I want to die. I just… I just want to die. Like right… right now.”
It’s a laborious thing to argue with oneself, and doubly so when half of the mental arguers seem to be suicidal; it is not an endeavor that should be undertaken lightly.