I lasted ten minutes with Lymelife earlier this afternoon. I was talking to MCN’s Kim Voynar about her damaged left foot, the lights came down, the movie played a bit and I was starting to think about escaping less than five minutes later. I knew I had to five minutes after that. I know from ten-minute bailouts. I don’t make a habit of them — maybe five or six times in my life — but I now if films aren’t going to work for me very quickly.
We all know what it’s like to feel intrigued and curious and be unsure what a film is doing or where it’s going during the first 10 or 20 minutes. This wasn’t like that. The energy was wrong, the vibe was off, the fatigue factor had manifested within minutes and it just wasn’t happening.
This was “I’m not going to sit through a leafy suburban movie with Keiran Culkin playing Alec Baldwin‘s son.” This was “I’m not going to watch the weathered-looking, saggy-faced Timothy Hutton — it takes decades of partying to get a face like his — play an emotionally repressed weirdo for the next 90 plus minutes.” This was the “oh, no, I’ve been here before, I know what’s going to happen” indie Sundance blahs/blues.
I might get stuck with it on a plane some day and watch it all through. But maybe not. I just know/knew I couldn’t sit there and get into a movie starring Keiran Culkin, especially one with him wearing a truly dorky looking light-blue mixed with dark-blue winter jacket.