How can someone be forty-five and write such corny crap? I mean, how can he write it with absolute sincerity, without any cynicism or distance, not to take advantage of the audience’s stupidity but just because he believes in the script’s message?

Lying is bad. Loving is good. This guy has the emotional maturity of Michael Jackson. (Okay, not quite; he’s more like thirteen or fourteen than just six or seven.)

So, if you’re going to watch a girl jump off a bridge in black and white, better stick to the original: La fille sur le pont. (Even though that one doesn’t have Paris or photography by Thierry Arbogast — Angel-A is just gorgeous, that it is. Makes me want to try some black and white photography myself.)