"That Scandinavian scallywag was fresh off his triumph with the dogme 95 arthouse classic The Situation, and was looking to make waves in Hollywood. He had assembled a crack squad of thespian talents including myself, Claire Danes and Joaquin Phoenix. Success was guaranteed.
But then he started getting too clever for his own good. A simple love story turned into some epic meditation on love with cloned ballerinas, bizarre gravity disturbances and snowstorms in the desert.
I was relegated to flying around on some plane for the whole film, mumbling incoherently into a phone about 'what is love?' with a stupid look on my face. Honestly it was like I was pretending to be Leonard Cohen pretending to be Haddaway.
I was relegated to flying around on some plane for the whole film, mumbling incoherently into a phone about 'what is love?' with a stupid look on my face. Honestly it was like I was pretending to be Leonard Cohen pretending to be Haddaway.
I pulled Vinterberg to one side and told him that this type of inexplicable artsy shit might fly off the shelves back in Lapland, but this is America god dammit! You can't dust sugar onto shit then try and pass it off as a Hershey bar. Did he listen? Was the Bush administration a force for good in the world? Fuck no!
Quel fuckin' surprise then that the film vanished without a trace, like the USS Cyclops. Vinterberg would be lucky to get a job shovelling shit on Selleck's avocado ranch these days."
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