I was told I was going to see “V For Vendetta”. The posters, the ticket, the schedule in the newspaper and indeed the opening sequence and end credits indicated that the theater I was seated in was in fact the one showing “V For Vendetta”. There must have been some mistake, possibly a reel swapped accidentally with another movie, because the movie I ended up watching didn’t look a lot like Vendetta. It looked like “The Phantom Of The Politics As Spectacle”.
If you want to see a reasonably faithful rendition of a truly great comic up there on the big screen, you will have to keep on walking. If, on the other hand, you’re looking to sit in on a clinic of what “hollywoodizing” something means, your money could not be better spent.
Vendetta is striking in its comprehensive treatment of the subject.
A love interest? Wedge it in there. Slo-mo fight scenes? Ladle them on. Soaring violins? Keep’em coming. Need a superhero, pails of blood, you name it? Just back that truck up to the lot and start pouring.
There is some great acting in this movie. There is also a script that needs to be carried with tongs to be burned to ashes and never discussed again. There is an editor who needs to be caned.
Whoever’s responsible for that hack job cannot be allowed to touch film ever again. There should, as a matter of law, be a man of reasonable intelligence stationed in every editing studio in California, and every time a filmmaker decides to club their audience over the head with something, this guy gets to clout that filmmaker with an aluminum bat.
I understand that the actual V For Vendetta author, Alan Moore, actually sued to have his name taken out of the credits. Really, it’s not hard to see why; the movie is only related to his story in the most superficial, cosmetic sense.