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renée zellweger knocks 'em out in bridget jones's diary. after you've lived and dated in big cities, you need these kinds of urban fairy tale films to get you through the ups and downs of fun and sex and romance in new york. the one thing i don't get is why movies keep casting multiple white people that you can't tell apart—in this case, the evil colleague/girlfriend of darcy and the evil colleague/girlfriend of hugh grant. they're both skinny and cute and brunette and short-haired, right? interchangeable.
ignore this story, "coldplay: slouching towards stardom." the mic hit is something he does on purpose when he ends some songs, and if the band seems aloof, it might be because they're an aloof complaint rock band. and i didn't hear the line about this being their first completed concert in sex years, but that might've been because of the pcp proximity high i was getting from shaggy standing near me.
i've read this story, "stop," by charlie, a couple of times, but it always rocks me.
posted April 14, 2001 in crap, delivery, film. 2004