In this task, you are given a review of movie. Your task is to classify given movie review into two categories: 1) positive, and 2) negative based on its content.

Input: Consider Input: I'm a horror/gore movie freak and this flick was so bad, I felt embarrassed for not only the "actors", but also the director and the poor sap of a producer who actually put his money up for this schlock.From the title, you'd expect some great carnage, somewhat of a storyline and at LEAST some direction or dialog. Instead, you get what looks like a slightly more violent and sexual Three Stooges episode. At least I laugh at the Three Stooges. While watching this crap, I turned another TV on and started watching Howard Stern until something interesting happened.Needless to say, I kept watching Stern.Watching this "film" I realize that I could produce a film with three monkeys, 2 DV cameras, $50 dollars in loose change and a broken PC. This film is my inspiration to get into no-budget film making. Watch this movie if you dare, but be warned...there is a lot of nothing in here but a whole lot of talking and very little action. This makes "KaZaam" look like a Meryl Streep film.I'm sure Germany didn't ban it due to sex or violence. Other countries need to take heed.

Output: negative

Input: Consider Input: It is projected that between 2000 and 2020, 68 million people will die prematurely as a result of AIDS. The projected toll is greatest in sub-Saharan Africa where 55 million additional deaths can be expected. Beyond the grim statistics are personal stories that we rarely hear about. Christophe Honore describes one of the most moving in Close to Leo, a film produced for French television as part of a series dealing with issues facing young people. Though fictional, it deals with a situation that is unfortunately too common -- the effect of a diagnosis of HIV on a loving close-knit family.When twenty one-year old Leo (Pierre Mignard) tells his parents and two teenage brothers, Tristan (Rodolphe Pauley) and Pierrot (Jeremie Lippmann) that he has AIDS, the family is devastated. Out of concern for his youth, they decide to withhold the information from his youngest brother, 12-year old Marcel (Yannis Lespert) but he overhears the conversation and begins to sulk and act erratically. When Leo goes to Paris for treatment, he takes Marcel with him but the young boy confronts Leo and demands to know the truth. Leo tells him that he is ill and Marcel is sad but accepting. When he brings Marcel along to meet some former gay friends, however, tension between them boils to the surface, setting the stage for a riveting conclusion. Although I was uncomfortable with scenes in bed involving physical contact between the brothers, I feel that the sincerity of Close to Leo and the brilliant performances by Lespert and Mignard more than tip the scales in its favor. Seeing events unfold from the young boy's perspective gives the film an authenticity that reminded me of the Quebecois film Leolo and Truffaut's The 400 Blows. Unlike some American films that dance around the anguish of AIDS, Close to Leo tells a harsh truth but does so in a way that is tender and wonderfully real.

Output: positive

Input: Consider Input: 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.
Output: positive