Take the Cake and Eat Me, Too

An open letter to Sophia Coppola in reaction to her film Marie Antoinette, seen at the Universal Studios Cineplex in Orlando, Florida on October 21, 2006 around 9pm...

Dear Ms. Coppola,

You talentless whore. If your daddy ever lets you make another movie, I will personally hunt him down and kill him... and then you. Or maybe I'll just gouge my own eyes out with a melon baller instead of ever having to sit through another one of your debacles.

Don't get me wrong. I love, love, love Lost in Translation... but I'm beginning to think that rather than that film being an example of your maturing into your own filmmaker after your sophomoric attempt at The Virgin Suicides, I now simply believe that Bill Murray made that film and you were just lucky to have him.

Oh sure, there will proabably be some film snob out there who is going to label your work as "pure genious" and compare it to the likes of such films as Vivre sa Vie (My Life to Live) or L'Avventura. Yeah, you could get away with that with your ending to Lost in Translation, but even Goddard and Antonioni can BORE THE SHIT OUT OF ALMOST EVERYONE!

Puh-lease don't bother pointing to the fact that you were using children of Hollywood "royalty" (like Asia Argento, Jason Schwartzman, Danny Huston, and yourself) to highlight how ridiculous such a lifestyle of the Hollywood elite really is. Is that why you seemed so utterly bored on screen during The Godfather III? Phfft. Whatever.

And never, ever, ever think for a minute that in order to portray a main character's boredom, you need to bore your audience equally with the tedium of the minutia of such uninteresting moments. All I know is that when the montage of pastry porn and shoes hit the screen, I was about to stab someone. I can't even say that you're fit for directing music videos, because I think you've ruined the already overused soundtrack pieces forever.

Don't anyone tell me how the damn thing ends... aside from the history of the real queen, that is... I don't need to know. I walked out about an hour into the blasted thing, but not before I imagined 50 different ways to end that film better than you probably did... and every one of them involved some sort of injury or death to the director... or burning an effigy, at least.

I am done with you, Ms. Coppola. You can just go choke on a montage of pastries, for all I care, because I'll never get that bad taste out of my mouth.

Blech.

Sincerely,

The She-Creature