My sister and I had volunteered to babysit a third sister so she could have a night out on the town with her hubby and friends.  We put the baby to bed and then hunkered down to watch what we had been led to believe was a classic movie romance.

What we got was Dr. Zhivago; three hours and twenty minutes of Omar Sharif lumbering around in the snow, looking like a googly eyed goob, lusting after Julie Christy, whom they made no attempt at all to make up in Russian-revolution style hair or makeup.  It's just as well.  The crap the makeup department inflicted on Mr. Sharif was criminal.  Bad hair, bad clothes, pasty skin and red, beady eyes.  Yeah, that's what I want in my romantic lead!

It was as bad as putting Jason Statham in a pornstache and fright wig.

Even worse than that was the fact that the movie is slow and dull and the dialog was so stupid that I turned to my sister at one point and said "Maybe the Russians actually deserved seventy years of soviet oppression."

This car wreck of a movie ends with Zhivago dropping dead in the street while chasing after his long lost love and she never even turns around.  Perhaps it was meant to be poignant.  All I know is I'm not sure I could even be friends with someone who likes this movie.

Or maybe I'd just feel really, really sorry for them, as they had clearly never seen a good movie.

 

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