The 35th Precinct

Roomie was desperate for a glimpse of the outside world not seen through the grimy panes of our windows, so we went to the movies. It was a toss-up between the grizzled brawn of Bruce Willis and the "Oh, my God! Excuse me while I hump the seat in front of me" of Johnny Depp. An impartial coin toss later, and The Libertine it was.

If you're looking for swashbuckling action,The Libertine is not for you. Nor is it for you if romance is what you seek. If, however, you want a period piece that comments on the natural debasement of the human condition and ham-fisted overacting by an actress who bears an uncanny resemblance to a shaved llama, then look no further. In fact, aside from Depp and the woman who plays his wife, everyone in this film is a disturbing mutation of the human form. Lizzie Barrie in particular is the Collagen Creature From Botox-9, with bizarrely plump lips and protuberant eyebrow ridges.

Depp tries, bless him, but he's surrounded by idiots and knows it. I would have paid money to see him beat the Collagen Creature to a quivering, bloody pulp with his walking stick during the atrocious "I know I'm a talented actress" speech she delivers, but alas, he is and was too much a gentleman.

In addition to terrible acting and lack of plot, the cinematography was dismal-grainy and gratuitously vertiginous. I've no doubt this was meant as an artistic statement, but I'll be damned if I know what it was. All it did was make me irritable. I could not help but notice that the grainy texture vanished when Johnny got his Syphillis Mask on. Gee, thanks. I needed to see red piss and necrotic facial lesions in high-definition color.

In conclusion, the highlight of my moviegoing experience was seeing a disabled ticket-taker. The Sooper Sekrit Crip Cabal operative is now in place. Woe unto those prepubescent nose miners who view the access ramp into the theater lobby as their racetrack, tumbling mat, or karate pit.