as part of our 200th post extravaganza moster asked you viewers what you would like us to review. we decided this was horrible enough and neither one of us had seen it. was it meant to be?
Swept Away (2002)
Writer: Guy Ritchie (screenplay), Lina Wertmuller (1974 screenplay)
Director: guess
Starring: the man that used to be madonna or skeletor, if you prefer, and some bearded guy
Synopsis
Seemingly nice super-rich husband (spoiler alert: He's really a total piece of shit.) arranges as a vacation for his wife of atmospheric standards and two friend-couples a cruise from Italy to Greece on a small luxury yacht. During the cruise, the wife is nothing but a cunt to the staff in general and one steward/part-time fisherman (?) in particular. One day, she sleeps late and the others go on a dinghy-trip to an island. So she orders that very same crew member to take her on a smaller boat to meet up. The motor fails and they're stranded in this boat for two days before they see a ship and she wrests the flare gun out of his hands only to shoot a hole in the bottom of the boat. Wait... did I say boat? I meant the kind of enhanced rubber raft which one purchases at the Sports Authority. Anyway, they float their way to a deserted island where he takes the opportunity to treat her like garbage and truly degrade her to the point where she has no choice but to fall in love with him. Eventually they're rescued. Will their love endure the pressures of social difference?
The Woman, who understands that curves make a WOMAN
this was almost indescribably bad. i have never seen the original, but the story was a very classic movie theme that couldn't translate well to contemporary society. there's no reason why a socialite couldn't leave her professor husband. it happens all the time, i'm sure. this is only one reason why this movie didn't make any sense.
i think madonna had watched "overboard" too many times, and somehow convinced her then husband to make this movie so she could do a bad impression of goldie hawn. like we've stated throughout this thing, madonna has passed good shape and gone straight to body-builder manliness. you can't fight father time with muscles, madonna. i think you've caught on to that because now you are even more unrecognizable as yourself and now more closely resemble a poster child for reconstructive surgery barbie. she's 95, but doesn't look a day over freshly molded silicone. going back to the acting, she's too hard looking for an aristo. do they even work out at all? when they were on the dinghy getting lost at sea she was sitting like a street woman with her legs out wide. also, what's with falling in "love" with a guy who calls you his slave and tries to rape you? i kind of feel like the victim of an attempted rape by guy ritchie. ugh. i'm glad it's over and done with. i think this may be a case for a director being forced to give back all money spent on this movie and to any fool who saw it in the theater. restitution.
The MOster, who understands that angles make a man, but who has no self control
From this movie's poster through to its closing credits, the irrefutable logic upon which formed the basis of each key production decision is evident.
Starting in the boardroom, funding this venture would be easy to justify. Guy Ritchie, who in 2002 had only made the same action movie twice, was the perfect auteur for a claustrophobic love story. Madonna, who a mere six years earlier starred in a period piece about a for-the-people stateswoman, was the perfect choice to play a rich bitch with no empathetic personality traits. Expecting his straight male me like things go boom audience to get together with her gay male oh how sweet audience and watch this movie was no different than expecting yellow and green to get together and make purple.
This level of perfection in decision making extends right on through to the characters. Beginning with the guests on the yacht, it makes utter sense that the three couples--the aforementioned seemingly nice person and super-shrew; an obviously gay man and his relatively harmless beard; and an undefined hound and his vagina transportation device--would best couple-friends and would want to spend however many days with nobody else for company. Similarly, when chartering your yacht to such a wealthy and discerning man
as the husband of the shrew, it seems only natural to crew such a vessel by standing in a blindfold at the end of the dock where your friends work, spinning around three times, and throwing a bunch of darts. A fisherman for a chief steward? Why not? A couple of guys to sit around the kitchen and make jokes, occasionally steering small boats? Sold!
When circumstances come together in such a way as to force Veruca and MC Skat Kat into one of these small boats, we again face a situation where the course of action presented is the most sensible one for all involved. Of course this boat wouldn't have a radio or a navigation device! If it did, how could these people think that they had truly gotten away from it all? Of course there would be no life jackets! If you had to wear a life jacket, how could you tease the man you hate with your ribcage? Of course the boat is plastic! Did you expect the captain to maybe go to the next yacht supply store down the pier when stocking this cruise?
Keeping all this in mind, it's actually a little hard to comprehend why the fisherman would be so ill-inclined to cowtow to the shrew, but only for a little while; his mastery of fabrication is evident. He used his fingers to turn seaweed into a 20x20 fishing net. He used his hands to turn twigs into multiple fishing. He used his wits to turn driftwood into a shanty (replete with bed-shelf). It's therefore unfair to question when he uses his raw power to turn brutal degradation and a situation literally one thrust away from rape into true love. When she's made her way back to him after being left, weeping, in the sand she opens the shanty door to find his warm arms waiting for her embrace and they spend the next few weeks in romantic bliss. This bliss is so great that again we can't question the logic behind her hiding from him the presence of a rescue ship and certain medical aid.
I just realized that I've written four paragraphs and haven't discussed the direction. I think that's because I don't want to tarnish such a glowing report as this with negativity.
Anyway, given the wealth of our reformed brat, it should come as no surprise that numerous rescue attempts are made and eventually she has to tell him that she's just so dedicated to him and only him that she doesn't want to leave the place of her bittersweet turning out. He does, though. He says it's because he wants to test his filly-breaking skills, but there's so much pain in the reading of that line that he might have an ulterior motive such as a desire to sleep under a roof which doesn't leak. Or he might have detached his testicles.
Since the real world is a direct opposite of their island paradise, there is again no surprise when their personalities tragically shift from aggression to passivity. But even passive people will long, and longing will prevail. So while she sits weeping like the dog he so quickly sold he realizes that he shouldn't have put her in the pound after all and goes to buy her a collar. We sigh with our empathy for a situation in which we've all found ourselves, at one time or another. And we are relieved when his passive proposal of marriage is thwarted by the husband whose doting was such a problem on the yacht. The final shot of a very expensive ring falling gently to the ocean floor flips the mirror back to the correct orientation and we see that all is right with the world. Rich for rich and poor for poor
