This movie taught me that what stays in Vegas is, apparently, a lot of fellatio.

Beautiful people, beautiful costumes, hard-to-follow monarchical intrigue involving men with muttonchops… what’s not to like?

Indeed, the movie could have focused a little more on Victoria, and a little less on VictoriaandAlbert… but apparently this is a romance movie, so there you have it.

Interesting subject matter, but the writing leaves a lot to be desired.

A great book from a talented writer.

In contest to the major complaints about this book, which I have read in reviews on other sites:

1). “It’s a boring book and lacks action.” Anyone who reads a book that is, at its heart, about the artistry of Vermeer and then complains about its lack of action just confuses me. Have you even SEEN a painting by Vermeer? I suppose a painting of a woman standing by a window holding a piece of paper is boring, too. If you don’t get the point.

2). “The main character is arrogant and annoying.” Yes, sometimes she is. But you know what is most annoying of all? Books narrated by main characters that don’t ever do things that normal human beings do, like overstep their boundaries and assume they know it all. Griet is an intelligent and emotionally sensitive eye into Vermeer’s world; we should be grateful that she is both endearing and irritating, smart and full of hubris. It makes her real and not predictable.

3). “The movie was better”. The movie is never, ever, ever better. Ever. Now shut up and go watch television; books are not for you.

4). “The characters lack depth.” How is this even possible in a novel that is almost exclusively psychological in content? The book would be about ten pages long if the author didn’t manage to present complicated portraits on the individuals in the story. I suspect readers doing a lot of skimming looking for action, then claiming that the characters were weak just to save face for not having the patience to read the novel in the first place.

Somehow I thought this novel was about something completely different, but it wasn’t a total loss. The novel has some problems (thin characters, some obvious plot devices, creatures and themes cobbled together from other fantasy and scifi novels) and some strengths (some imaginative and effectively creepy images and scenes). Not much of a period novel, either, aside from mentioning corsets and social graces; a lot of the main character’s opinions and leanings are strangely modern, and very anachronistic in her supposed time period. It was a quick read, though, and not much of an investment, so I can’t really complain. Would’ve been a great summer beach novel.

I am surprised it was a NY Times bestseller, though. It’s hardly a high-caliber work. I don’t get out much in contemporary fiction, though, so perhaps I ought not be surprised?

Amity Schlaes is all, “OMGFDR UR RUINING DA COUNTRYWID DA KEYNESIAN $$$” and FDR is all “Mwahahahahaha.”

This movie is amazingly terrible.

This show makes me want to smoke. A lot.

How many innocent luxury vehicles have to die just to give George Clooney a look of hounded intensity?

Any movie in which the pony-tailed, paunchy, middle-aged loner hippie finds love is alright with me.