Film: Happy Go Lucky

“Happy Go Lucky”, weighing in at two hours, was the slightly-less-obese brother of the three-hour epic American piece of shit, “Magnolia”.  (yes, I know most people think, “woo! Magnolia! what a piece of art! it’s amazing!” — if you happen to be one of those people: “fuck you!”)

Worst.  Film.  Ever.

A short commentary of my thoughts as the film went on now follows.

Opening credits: “I want to kill her.”

Opening scene: “gods, she is annoying.  I hope the shopkeeper kills her.”

Next scene: “awesome!  someone stole the annoying bint’s bike!  now we just need some gun-crime!”

Next scene: “why is she still alive?  and her friends and sister: they’re next up against the wall!”

Next scene: “ooh, maybe the gangsters are going to do a classic “mistaken identity” hit!”

Later: “oooh, maybe this tramp is going to be a psycho and will kill her!  PLEASE?”

Later: “fuck, will someone please put her out of her perkiness?  finish her off!”

Later: “I hope this is going to be the closing scene?”

Later: “ooh, the driving instructor has gone psycho!  is he going to knife her?  no, she’s disarmed him with a smile… and he didn’t have a knife, I was just wishing so hard I hallucinated it…”

Later: “I hope this is going to be the closing scene!”

Later: “COME ON CLOSING SCENE, PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY!!  Ah, thank you: the credits.”

It certainly got a reaction from me, but not the one I think the director, producers or writers intended.

The critics said, “life affirming”.  Absolutely so.  She just keeps on living, no matter how much you want her to stop.  In just the same way that shadow is the absence of light, thinking bloody murder for two hours did, in some way, help define “life”.

I could go on, and on, and on…