1945 The Lost Weekend

1945 The Lost Weekend

Booooring.  One of my least favorites.

Maybe it was revolutionary or something.  Maybe alcoholism hadn't been delved into, and was a mystery to society at that time.

Well, it hasn't held up, in my opinion, because I was bored stiff, and just sick to death of the main character.  If he wants to be a drunk, whatever.  But did I have to sit through all his drunken ramblings and his nonsense philosophies and his "woe is me" pity parties.  Oh, nobody wanted to buy my newspaper articles so poor me I had no choice but to drown my sorrows.

Here's an actual clip:  "It shrinks my liver, doesn't it, Nat? It pickles my kidneys, yeah. But what it does to the mind? It tosses the sandbags overboard so the balloon can soar. Suddenly I'm above the ordinary. I'm competent. I'm walking a tightrope over Niagara Falls. I'm one of the great ones. I'm Michaelangelo, molding the beard of Moses. I'm Van Gogh painting pure sunlight. I'm Horowitz, playing the Emperor Concerto. I'm John Barrymore before movies got him by the throat. I'm Jesse James and his two brothers, all three of them. I'm W. Shakespeare. And out there it's not Third Avenue any longer, it's the Nile. Nat, it's the Nile and down it moves the barge of Cleopatra."  These are the sorts of reflections that make up most of the script.  After very little time, this gets really old.

Why his girl stuck with him, I know not.  He had friends and family doing all they could to help him, but he clearly did not want to even try to get well.  Maybe I just can't relate.

Regardless, the movie was boring, and kind of a pain to sit through.