Winfrey is lining up to play the smothering mother Aurora Greenway, a role that won Shirley MacLaine an Oscar for Best Actress in the original comedy-drama.Oscar, eh? Here’s a review of the 1983 version:
Someone finally got smart and made the inverse of the father-son reconciliation melodramas: a mother-daughter revenge film (1983). Widowed Houston housewife Shirley MacLaine dominates her implausibly well adjusted, extroverted daughter, Debra Winger; the revenge—unstated and indirect, as popular filmmaking warrants—consists of the daughter presiding over the mother’s sexual initiation (via over-the-hill astronaut Jack Nicholson) and a tear-jerking ending that would make Freud cringe.
As far as I can gather, he’s meant to be the fastest man around, except that he can be beaten by someone else. In short, the story arc is in full blooperitis, people are doing things they just wouldn’t do and it’s all rather annoying.… More here ...
These have to be revamped immediately, getting in proper writers and a proper producer and director. A bit of a tall order for the BBC, which can’t get anything right these days. They did have it right in the early days – some good episodes in the reboot … early on.
Drop the gay storylines which, frankly, are offensive [they can get a room if they want to do those things, male or female], the wrecking of the time arcs in the past two years needs reversing in an ‘it war all a dream like’ way and it needs a proper companion, not this current experiment.
And wipe it clean of leftist politics.
Plus there have to be clear time rules which are never deviated from, ones we’re all agreed on.
For those of you of a curmudgeonly nature, forgiving of a bit of ego in others, a right bastard to deal with before that first coffee in the morning, this is for you.
It’s even a pain to read in that blue cursive script but hey. Maybe the first few paragraphs here and then read on …
I was swinging through the office this morning, in search of a cup of coffee that wouldn’t put up too much of a fight, when one of the front office ladies — the perennially perky one, and I do realize that’s not much of a distinction — caused me to pause in my search.
“‘Dog,” sayeth she, perkily, “I don’t see your name on the Angel Tree.”
The office has this tradition where you draw names and ID info of disadvantaged children from around the community, and then you buy gifts for that sprog.
Births 1991 and 1993, the wrong end of Millennialism, inside the snowflake era.
All right, let’s try to be fair. Seems a nice enough lass [no need to sully this by scrutinizing any political views in that pretty head] but she has that adenoidal voice again and a heavily overproduced song which seems the only type available now – garage seems dead.… More here ...