By the time one gets around to the start of the movie, a half hour or more beyond the published feature time, you are exhausted by the assault and your potential film enjoyment meter has been compromised.
The true novelist must continue to soldier on, keep writing, keep trying, taking the increasingly painful hits of rejection after rejection until ... well, until someone out there catches on ... or doesn't.
Intimate Kennedy staffers have often told the story of the two girls in the typing pool, dubbed "Tweedledum" and "Tweedledee" who were called upon frequently to utilize their servicing skills for the president's needs.
With so many talented people involved in this production, I feel somewhat of an ingrate to inject my own humble critique into the conversation, but the flaws seem obvious, especially to a storyteller in another medium.
The speaker, wrapped up in his narcissistic binge, hasn't a clue to your interest level. He is convinced that you are enraptured by his monologue, an oral deluge about which you have long lost interest.
