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 hated this movie so much I remember it vividly. It is not even funny. Any movie that relies on unfunny sex jokes and racism humor does not deserve the money it costs to make it. In the first half hour, Rob Schneider drinks a carton of rancid milk. All I could think was "he deserves it, for making such a bad movie". Don't waste your time or money on this one. Question: is it a negative review?

A: yes
****
Q: Review: 'The Shop Around the Corner (1940)' is a pleasant romantic comedy, not the sort that I will hold dear to me until the end of my days, but nonetheless a film thoroughly deserving of its reputation. By 1940, director Ernst Lubitsch had long ago taken Hollywood by storm, and his famed "Lubitsch touch" had become a sparkling commercial trademark. This film was planned for a 1939 release, but scheduling conflicts meant that James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan were unavailable for filming. Rather than substituting either of his main stars, Lubitsch decided to postpone production, in the meantime directing Greta Garbo in 'Ninotchka (1939).' When it was finally completed, 'The Shop Around the Corner' appears to have been met with relative indifference, receiving zero Oscar nominations despite an excellent screenplay by Samson Raphaelson and fine performances from its two leads and Frank Morgan in a supporting role. Time, nevertheless, has betrayed the film's massive and enduring influence, with high-profile remakes including 'In the Good Old Summertime (1949)' and 'You've Got Mail (1998).'At its surface, one might assume 'The Shop Around the Corner' to simply be the story of two lovers, Klara Novak (Sullavan) and Alfred Kralik (Stewart), who love each other without knowing it. However, Lubitsch's film runs much deeper than that. It's the story of Matuschek and Company, a stylish gift shop in Budapest, and the various human relationships that make the store such a close-knit family. When store-owner Hugo Matuschek (Frank Morgan) begins to suspect his oldest employee of having an affair with his wife, we witness the breakdown of two families, both at home and at work. There's absolutely no reason why the story should not have been set in the United States  perhaps in the blustery streets of New York  but Lubitsch was deliberately recreating the passions and memories of his former years in Europe, the quaintness of love and life before war brought terror and bloodshed to every doorstep. This subtle subtext brings a more meaningful, personal touch to the film  in fact, even as I write this review, I'm beginning to appreciate the story even more.Sullavan and Stewart are both lovely in their respective roles, but I think that it's the supporting cast that really make the film. Each character brings a distinctive personality to the mix, and their interactions are always believable and enjoyable. I especially liked how Lubitsch knowingly directed much of our sympathy towards Hugo Matuschek, who, in any other film, would have been restricted to an underdeveloped, two-dimensional portrayal. Matuschek may have lost the love of his family, but he recaptures it in the affection of his employees, and you feel a heartwarming glow when, in the bitter cold of a Christmas Eve snowstorm, he finds companionship in a freckle-faced young errand-boy (Charles Smith). This genuine warmth towards a supporting character strikes me as being similar to several of Billy Wilder's later creations, for example, Boom Boom Jackson in 'The Fortune Cookie (1966)' or Carlo Carlucci in 'Avanti! (1972).' Of course, it doesn't really need saying, but Billy Wilder learned from the best. Question: is it a positive review?

A: yes
****
Q: Review: The legend of Andrei Konchalovsky's towering 4 and a half hour poem to Siberia is not to begin at once, because it must hold back for space, because it takes its time in roundabout explorations of half-remembered childhood memories in a turn-of-the-century backwoods village, yet the movie goes on picking up steam building in emotional resonance as though even the sounds and images which compose it become imbued by sheer association with their subject matter with that quality of fierce tireless quiet dignity that characterizes the Soviet working spirit. Konchalovsky celebrates Soviet collectivity but in an almost revisionist way to paeans like Soy Cuba and Invincible the mood turns somber and reflective. News of the revolution reach the secluded Siberian village through the grapevine. The fruits of its labor reach it only when a world war calls for the young men to enlist. Through all this, Konchalovksy zeroes in on the individual, with care and affection to examine the bitter longing and regret of the woman who waited 6 years after the war for a fiancé who never came back, waited long enough to go out and become a barmaid in a ship with velvet couches and which she quit years later to come back to her village to care for an aging uncle who killed the fiancé's father with an axe, the irreverent folly of the fiancé who came back from the war a hero 20 years too late, came back not for the sake of the girl he left behind but to drill oil for the motherland, the despair and resignation of the middle-aged Regional Party Leader who comes back to his small Siberian village with the sole purpose of blotting it out of the map to build a power plant. The movie segues from decade to decade from the 10's to the 80's with amazing newsreel footage trailing Soviet history from the revolution to war famine and the titanic technological achievements of an empire (terrific visuals here! all kinetic violence and skewed angles and flickering cramped shots of crowds and faces) but the actual movie focuses on the individual, on triumphs and follies small and big. By the second half a sense of bittersweet fatalism creeps in; of broken lives that never reached fulfillment choking with regret and yearning. "It can't matter", seems like the world is saying, to which Konchalovksy answers "it must matter" because the protagonists keep on trying for redemption.Yet behind this saga of 'man against landscape' something seems to hover, shadowy, almost substanceless, like the Eternal Old Man hermit who appears in every segment to guide or repudiate the protagonists, sometimes a mere spectactor, sometimes the enigmatic sage; a little behind and above all the other straightforward and logical incomprehensible ultimatums challenges and affirmations of the human characters, something invisible seems to lurk. Ghosts of the fathers appearing in sepia dreams, repeated shots of a star gleaming in the nightsky, a curious bear, indeed the Eternal Old Man himself; Konchalovksy calls for awe and reverence before a mystical land of some other order. In its treatment of a small backwoods community struggling against nature progress and time and in the ways it learns to deal with them, often funny bizarre and tragic at the same time, and in how the director never allows cynicism to override his humanism, it reminds me of Shohei Imamura's The Profound Desires of the Gods. When, in a dream scene, Alexei tears through the planks of a door on which is plastered a propaganda poster of Stalin to reach out at his (dead) father as he vanishes in the fog, the movie hints at the betrayal of the Soviet Dream, or better yet, at all the things lost in the revolution, this betrayal made more explicit in the film's fiery denouement. The amazing visuals, elegiac and somber with a raw naturalist edge, help seal the deal. By the end of it, an oil derric erupts in flames and the movie erupts in a wild explosion of pure cinema. Question: is it a negative review?

A:
no
****