Bonnie’s Rating: A big, fat “Hunh?”
Watched Chicago last night. Wanted to like it. Stayed through to the end. Now asking self: “Why was this such a hit?”
I don’t get it. I must be one of the unwashed masses, a rube resting on the lowest rungs of the cultural ladder, a baked potato in the low-carb movie equivalent of fillet mignon. Maybe I should give up right now— go lie down in front of an oncoming Hollywood catering truck or something, because it’s all over for me.
Hubby should enjoy the movie, though, mainly because it’s got loads of luscious female jiggling. Jiggle here, jiggle there, from bazoombas to bohuneys — you name it, everything is jiggling wonderfully in a cellulite-free sort of way. Which would make it a totally motivating workout movie if it weren’t so boring that I ate an entire bowl of buttered popcorn just to stay awake.
And all that jiggling is fine for Hubby, but what about me? No male jiggling at all! Or at least, not enough for me to put aside the popcorn. Time to start protesting for equal rights again.
I guess the music was okay, although nothing stood out as a tune I could wash the dog by.
The Best Part of the Whole Movie: Lucy Liu. And alas, she disappears almost as soon as she arrives.