sometimeswhenifuckyouiwanttokillyou, sometimeswhenitrytokillyouiwanttofuckyou

Mr. and Mrs. Smith is a movie that works without being good. It's the sort of film that (as the filmmakers seem aware) has no interest in its setting and abandons its pretenses for a conclusion that works in terms of character but offers little resolution.

The main thing that's problematic about it is that it reverses the sex roles (standard for a film like this) making Brad Pitt the emotional female, and Angelina Jolie the no nonsense male. Which works in theory, but then it must give each of them balance in their actions. But what it does is it allows Pitt to be wacky, and turns Jolie into a man. In the final sequence both put on suits, and it points out that the film is essentially a homosexual love story, as to make the people equals she must become a man. Where Pitt is allowed to be goofy in his hits (and is tied with Vince Vaughn, more on him in a minute), Jolie is the consumate professional, even when dolled up in a domanatrix outfit, and is surrounded by boring women (though some are rather attractive). As such there's no real balance to the proceedings, and for some reason it's more fun to watch Brad Pitt beat the crap out of his wife than vice versa, perhaps because of the role reversals.

Pitt and Jolie do have chemistry (obviously), but for a film essentially about sex and violence, it features no nudity or blood. The best reason to see the film is Vaughn, who improvs like a motherfucker and steals scenes with a verve that suggests this is the year of Vaughn - seriously his speech about chocolate and vanilla is one of those great moments of "what the fuck" comedy.

I guess, on some level, you can't really follow up my last post. My father is on antibiotics, and may or may not pull through his pnuemonia. It's weird to want my father to die, but that's the way it goes. More on movies soon.