Norah Jones can sing. Period.

So last Saturday when I was embroiled in no small amount of bullshit and looking for a great way to distract myself, I went to Rogers to rent some movies because I'm out of rolling papers but London Drugs is further away.
Proof was good. It made me cry, but more because of the father/daughter relationship so I'm not sure others would get what I did out of it.
Mean Streets was fantastic and it was easy to see why it was "selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being 'culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant'", as per Wikipedia.
The other film, the film which I got halfway through and had to wonder if it was some kind of joke, was My Blueberry Nights. I like Jude Law. I like Natalie Portman. The movie was an official selection for the Festival de Cannes.
My first inkling that things were awry was when I saw that Norah Jones was in the flick. Somehow I had missed this in the initial once over of the movie.
You know what? I'm sitting here, trying to formulate a way to express to you just how bad this movie is. It was so bad that I'm angry. A selection for Cannes? This movie is currently getting a 49% rating on Rotten Tomatoes.
Norah Jones can sing. I have one of her albums and I hear her almost daily on CBC singing about chasing pirates and she even called in the other day to talk to Rich Terfry and I'm sure she's a nice person.
She can't act.
The plot was stupid. It was overly sentimental and unrealistic. And did Rachel Weisz and Natalie Portman go to the same shit voice coach for their ridiculous southern drawls? What were they thinking when they signed on for this movie: "This script is shit: but it will buy me a new house in Nice, so I'll roll with it"?
It didn't end there. No. I was lucky enough to get two close up shots of Jones asleep on the counter of the diner with the remnants of ice cream spattered around her luscious lips. This happens in life? When have I ever gone to bed without licking every molecule of Breyers off my face? Why are you falling asleep all the time? Are you training for back to back marathons? Are you iron deficient? Jude Law is standing across the counter from you. Yes. Sleep is the first thing on my mind. Oh, I want to take a series of waitressing jobs as I canvass the country trying to find myself. Look at all these salt of the earth people! All I wanted was in front of me the whole time! I'm so much less troubled than I initially thought I was!
This movie was so goddamn pathetic that I stopped it halfway through because, like the Friday Night Knitting Club was an insult to literature, so was this an insult to film.
I had to finish it, though.
Just like the book.
I had to know.
The Friday Night Knitting Club is a New York Times bestseller.
This jerk off movie was a selection for Cannes.
On the one hand we have a tuckered out, stoic, emotionally retarded Norah Jones that can't act and on the other hand we have Johnny Boy (DeNiro) who goes ballistic in pool hall with a broken pool cue, standing on a pool table taking on the entire hall, totally out of his mind.
Yeah.
I hated 2046 too.

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I don't want to end this blog on an angry note, so I will tell you about something that makes me happy. 30 Rock. Yay! I've got Big D watching it (and I got him listening to CBC, too). It's good. Once you go Lemon you never go back.

Anyways, tonight's episode was how Liz Lemon thought she was a fat nerd outcast through high school, but at her 20 year reunion it comes out that the people she felt bullied her were the ones that actually felt bullied because she defended herself with her acerbic wit and biting sarcasm.

I just cannot relate to this character.