In this task, you are given a review of a movie and a boolean question whether this review has positive sentiment or negative sentiment. Your task is to generate answer "yes" when the tweet has that particular sentiment, otherwise generate answer "no".

[Q]: Review: I tried. I really did. I thought that maybe, if I gave Joao Pedro Rodrigues another chance, I could enjoy his movie. I know that after seeing O FANTASMA I felt ill and nearly disgusted to the core, but some of the reviews were quite good and in favor, so I was like, "What the hell. At least you didn't pay 10 dollars at the Quad. Give it a shot."Sometimes it's better to go to your dentist and ask for a root canal without any previous anesthetic to alleviate the horror of so much pain. I often wonder if it wouldn't be better to go back to my childhood and demand my former bullies to really let me have it. On other occasions, I often think that the world is really flat and that if I sail away far enough, I will not only get away from it all, but fall clear over, and that some evil, Lovecraftian thing will snatch me with its 9000 tentacles and squeeze the life -- and some french fries from 1995, still lingering inside my esophagus -- out of me.Is there a reason for Odete? I'd say not at all... just that maybe her Creator thought that writing a story centered on her madness (one that makes Alex Forrest look like Strawberry Shortcake) look not only creepy, but flat-out sick to the bone. She first of all decides to leave her present boyfriend (in shrieking hysterics) because she wants a child and he believes they're too young. She later crashes a funeral of a gay man, and -- get this -- in order to get closer to him, she feigns being pregnant while insinuating herself into the lives of the dead man's mother and lover in the sickest of ways. Oh, of course, she shrieks like a banshee and throws herself not one, but a good three times on his grave. And there's this ridiculous business that she progressively becomes "Pedro" which sums up some weak-as-bad-tea explanation that love knows no gender. Or something.I'd say she's as nuts as a can of cashews, unsalted. But then again, so's the director. And me, for taking a chance on this. At least the men look good. Other than that... not much else to see here. Question: is it a negative review?
[A]: yes


[Q]: Review: I'm a pretty old dude, old enough to remember the taste of Oreos and Coke as they were 50-55 years ago, when every taste for a kid was fresh. I wish I have somehow set some aside then is some magical suspended locker, so that I could taste those things today. This magical locker might even have adjusted the fabric of the food to account for how I've drifted, physically and otherwise, a sort of dynamic chemistry of expectations. Over the half century, they would have had to adjust quite a bit, because you see I would have known that I set them aside. Eating one now would be a celebration of self and past, and story, and sense that would almost make the intervening years an anticipated reward.I didn't have enough sense to do that with original Coke. And I couldn't have invented one of those magical psychic lockers  not then. But I did something almost as good. In the seventies, I really tuned into Roman Polanski. He was a strange and exotic pleasure  you know, movies smuggled out of the Soviet block. Movies so sensitive to beauty that you cry for weeks afterward. Movies that make you want to live with Polish women, one, and then deciding that they would be the last to get it.Here's what I did. I took what I knew would be my favorite Polanski movie and set it aside. I did not watch it. I deferred until I thought I would be big enough to deserve it. Over the years, I would test myself, my ability to surround beauty and delineate it without occupying it. There probably are few Poles who have worked at this, practicing to deserve Chopin. Working to deserve womanness when I see it. Trying to get the inners from the edges.Recently, I achieved something like assurance that it was time to pull this out. I already knew that I was already past the time when this would work optimally, because I had already seen and understood "9th Gate."If you do not know this, it is about a man who innocently rents a room in which the previous tenant (about whom the story is named) jumped out the window, to die later after this man (played by Polanski) visits. What happens is that time folds and he becomes this woman. We are fooled into believing that he is merely mad. But the way we follow him, he is not. He merely has flashes that the world is normal, and that the surrounding people are not part of a coven warping his reality.The story hardly matters. What matters is how Polanksi shapes this thing, both in the way he inhabits the eye that only makes edges and in inhabiting the body that only consists of confused flesh. The two never meet. There is a dissonance that may haunt me for the next 30 years. Its the idea about and inside and an outside with no edges at all  at all except a redhead wig.I know of no one else that could do this, this sketch that remains a sketch, this horror that remains natural.To understand the genius of this, you have to know one of the greatest films ever made; "Rear Window." The genius of that film is the post-noir notion that the camera shapes the world; that the viewer creates the story. What Roman does is take this movie and turn it inside out. In Rear Window, the idea was that the on-screen viewer (Jimmy Stewart) was the anchor and everything else was fiction, woven as we watched. Here, the on screen apartment dweller is the filmmaker. We know this. We know that everything we see is true because he is the narrator. We know it is true that bodies shift identity, that times shift, that causality is plastic. We know that the narrator will kill us. We know that the narrator will leave us in a perpetual horror, on that edge that he imputes but never shows us and lets us imagine. Ted's Evaluation -- 4 of 3: Every cineliterate person should experience this. Question: is it a positive review?
[A]: yes


[Q]: Review: There seem to have been any number of films like this released during the 70's. And the fact that I cannot recollect the title to a single one of them off-hand is a measure of their impact. These are what novelists would call 'pot-boilers'. They are scarcely more than a vehicle for keeping movie-stars in the public eye.We have Micheal Caine, Peter Ustinov, Omar Sharif, Rex Harrison and William Holden; more than enough names to get bums on cinema seats. Every taste in hero is catered for. Though one suspects that most of the audience still went away disappointed.Their talents are simply thrown away, and I wonder that stars with so much money and such reputation can be yet so desperate or lacking in good sense. This sort of movie hardly adds gilding to a CV. Sometimes maybe actors should choose their director instead of the other way round.It was pretty obvious that it would be crap even from the outset. That ludicrously mismatched jaunty-jazz theme music, which also percolated up every time some incidental noise is needed, had all the atmospheric conviction of elevator Muzak. Who imagined employing a jazz band when a scene depicted the steamy jungles of central Africa, or the endless Sahara with camels and palms as a backdrop? Definitely a serious goof-ball. Ennio Morricone would have known what to do; and his results would have oozed enough atmosphere and tension to raise my rating a good two points. This director should have taken the trouble to watch 'Lawrence of Arabia', or even Sergio Leone's westerns; he might have learnt a few things. But then again, probably he wouldn't.Alfred Hitchcock played the disappearing wife theme to good effect in his film 'Frantic'. It was later remade with equal panache staring Harrison Ford. In each case the confusion surrounding her loss and the tension of the chase was tangible. Here, when Michael Caine might be otherwise compelled to employ a little brain and bravado, Rex Harrison kept popping-up out of no-where like some wily old genii, to put him back on track whenever the narrative stumbled. At least the photography was rather good, with excellent use of the often beautiful environment. But then the dumb music must pipe-up and blow to atoms what little ambiance this created.Action scenes were also contrived and stilted, with such ineptly choreographed fight sequences that they might have been staged in a first-year drama class. And, of course, the players must fight to a jazz accompaniment - as you do.And that's about as much comment as this item deserves. Except to say that the script was pretty wretched as well.Stick with your hobby on this one. Even if it contained your favourite movie-stars, you're sure to be disappointed too. Question: is it a positive review?
[A]:
no