OMG! It’s, like, LOL and stuff! Totally! And like, whining is SO a legitimate job! Shut up, Dad, and pay my bills!
I started watching this thing, and and half-hour in all I could think was, “THIS is the youth of today that will lead the America of next week? Really? HOW?!”
So I hid, shaking, under a thick comforter for a half-hour, clutching my boxed set of “Band of Brothers” to try and remind myself that at least there WERE once people who passed muster.
I found Jonita Davis’s review published in The Black C. A. P. E., titled “‘August at Twenty-Two’ Makes Me Happy to Be 43.” Joining her sentiment, I will title mine “‘August at Twenty-Two’ Makes Me Happy to Be 62 and near death.”
A great film makes one care deeply about the characters, and such films can be found in unexpected places.
When my young son, now 40, told me that the film “X-Men” was great and that I should watch it, I told him that wasn’t my thing, all special effects substituting for a compelling story.
He finally convinced me. What I saw was, for the first time in my life, a film so creatively written that I found myself caring just as much about the Protagonist as I did about the Antagonist, and deeply so on both counts.
“August at Twenty-Two” is not that movie. Instead of caring about the characters, I wanted a stray meteor to take out the lot of them all at once — perhaps followed by a rousing rendition of “Hooray For Hollywood” played on the kazoo.
Yet, I suffered through so that I could tell you to **SEE THIS MOVIE!!!**
Whatever it lacks on any measure it more than makes up as a bone-chilling warning of the main reason why America is sitting in its handbasket, pointing it straight at Hell, and about to give itself a strong push.
