I haven’t seen much of Garry Marshall’s work, and remember
that I’m mostly familiar with more recent cinema so I have a lot of
older films to get to including a few of his, but what I have seen in no way
sets my hopes high for consumable product this time around. His brand of heavy
pandering under the guise of empowerment with The Princess Diaries (BOTH of
them) and the plain-old twisted sense of festivity of the last two
holiday-centric releases makes him the kind of filmmaker who is quite poisonous
to people like me. This should come as no surprise for those of you who have
read my earlier gripes on chick flicks, but yeah; I really friggin’ hate
these kinds of movies almost on principle by this point. Not that that is
reason enough for me to hate anything though, just that it makes what I am sure
is going to be pure bile come up a lot more smoothly. So, let’s get this
gastric excavation of a film over and done with already. This is Mother’s Day.
