Not in the stars


Going to see Zodiac was like being on a date with a blind prostitute who has carpel tunnel syndrome. You pay some money and sit in the dark, but then nothing seems to go right. It starts to feel awkward and never really peaks. You’d take matters into your own hand and leave, only you want to stick around till the end, hoping something will happen to make you feel you got your money’s worth. Of course nothing does and you leave thinking at least the music was OK — which it wasn’t.

This was a movie about ego and obsession veiled by a very weak serial killer plot. The brief moments of suspense are dulled by long periods of dead-end investigations and hypothesizing. It’s more JFK than Se7en with David Fincher taking an Oliver Stone-like conspiracy theory approach to the case of San Francisco’s Zodiac killer case instead of using the innovative plot twists and compelling character development that made us love Se7en, The Game and Fight Club.

You would think that the fact that the case has never been solved and no suspect has ever been arrested would be a perfect scenario for Fincher to paint a “probably not, but what if?” picture. The facts almost read like a myth as they’re written, yet somehow our talented director makes them feel boring and mundane as he puts every piece of minutia on the screen for analysis while re-telling the popular version of events and suspects.

I could go on, but I won’t. There’s good stuff on TV and I’m feeling under-stimulated.

Next time I’m going to follow my gut and go see Norbit.


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