Just now watched this thing...

Rating: Null/10 (4 June 2016)

Boy, boy, boy, never was I to enter into a flix with this guy (Mr. Colgate smile) in it, 'In it to win it.' Gawd, this guy has more inclination to flash this lame smile than the original 'Face' from the A-team. And he did the RE-... 'Ugh' Alas! I get everything with my very special Colgate smile and my 'How to be a ham it up Actor and almost wreck every single movie' book at K-Mart blue light special. But at last I am turned around, I have some respect for this guy, his range is limited but he did do a good job (do not know what other words to use, so I went with the good ol' hammy it up bromide). When he is in bed with his wife and he is looking up at into the vast nowhere infinite oblivion and she asks him if he wants to die and he says "no" plain and simple, no, the most crucial climacterics in our lives are built up to the biggest anti-climax. He cannot answer more than what he knows, because what he does he cannot control, he has found a a home whether he or anyone else likes it, and that is a very shady, grimy horrible desert. We all including our Colgate protagonist have to live with the choices that make bolstered by our fate. He is simply doing what he can only do, not because he loves it but because he has to, huge difference, besides it doesn't hurt to turn around and see your fans have apotheosized you, with the classic: 'Big Hero.' Why not? This was adapted from a book, so I am guessing he probably read it and got all that good narrative insight. Good job, I almost broke down when she calls him up and he is sitting at a bar drinking looking like if he only could he would root out all those gross "memorial" weeds inly but it is too late, they are entrenched and forever embedded and categorized in that dark and awful cubbyhole inside where the file cabinet may accost us in our darkest most lonely unexpected and terrible languished small hours. Stuck we submit, peal back the layers automatically not without bloody resignation dripping from our icy cold dead/alive fingertips whilst under the pitiless control of our darkest spectral anamnesis, until a complete transmogrification has transpired in the temporal whereupon the manifestations inside breath and live and we must feed them ere they choke and bring us to final carnal ruin, oh but the fetid stench of rot for we are mouldering regardless, we must commit hand in hand ambling to our final fate with the Reaper. When Mr. Colgate retorts to his anxious wife who despairs at his truancy, 'I guess I just needed a minute', that was it, Mr. Colgate busted me up, I could not contain the drama building and I let a few of my own cascade. For hell, a "minute" is but another itinerant memory passing through the bourgeois zephyrs of our very pleasant but very dull lives, but a "minute" in the hell whence he has just returned, well, we now, know what can happen. Very nice, I mean, good job!