The Pale Blue Eye
Pale Blue Eye was awful, but not cartoonishly awful like most of the movies Hollywood churns out these days. For lack of a better anology, unsafe amount of alcohol is what I’ve got to compare it with. It starts with enervating your senses, depriving your pallet of its taste buds, disorienting your brain and finally leaving you wanting for more only to wake up in the morning with a headache to regret the dog piss you consumed. Pale Blue Eye does exactly that. It slowly soothes you into the dull, slow burning pace of the movie, does you out of your wanting to root for a character with the flamboyant language of the 19th century New Yorkers, shifts the plot focus constantly and to stitch that patch up, the detective (played by Christian Bale) throws some sleuthing skills only to find out later it was just that old revenge drama in new skin.
Cynic, though I am, credit must be given where it’s due. The macabre setting and the gritty tone of the movie came off as congenial to the 19th century backdrop where a gruesome crime thriller unravels, and when a poetry speaking Edgar Allen Poe was added to the mix, it couldn’t have been any better. Dialogues are razor sharp and in harmony with the situations, unlike the woke moralist writers’ weak attempts to push the social justice messages regardless of their importance to the peculiar situation of the characters. But eventually it rang hollow with me when the plot turned out to be a clichéd nonsense dressed up nicely.
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