A New York Winter's Tale: Film Review
If you leave your cynicism at the door, A New York Winter's Tale might just be the best film you see all year - however if you live in the real world, it might just be the worst.
Director Akiva Goldsman has created a fairy tale for grown ups - an unashamedly sentimental, sweet, romantic love letter to the idea there's a soulmate for everyone.
It's a ludicrous, preposterous film: A fantasy-romance set against the eternal struggle between good and evil.
The catch is we are expected to take it seriously - in fact it is so bad it is in danger of becoming a cult-classic.
It is set across 100 years - from early 1900s to the present day.
Colin Farrell plays a street thief whose best friend in the world is a magical flying horse - called horse - yet referred to, bafflingly, as a 'dog' throughout the whole film.
Farrell's ne'er do well criminal falls in love with Jessica Brown Findlay's Beverly Finn - who is dying from consumption.
The corset clad, rosy-cheeked Findlay must be the most healthy advert for TB ever seen on screen: She subsequently snuffs it after a bout of furious love making.
True love never runs smoothly - and Farrell's character, for reasons never made clear, is chased across the century by Russell Crowe's demonic character Pearly Soames.
It is perhaps the worst performance ever seen on screen from Crowe - who tops it all off with a horrendous "oh bejeezus where's me Guinness" Irish accent - he ends sounding more Irish that Farrell himself.
Crowe's boss is Will Smith - as Lucifer.
The next time Smith touches down in the UK he should be arrested for crimes to cinema.
The two Hollywood heavyweights should know better - their scenes together would make Panto in Margate look like Shakespeare at Stratford.
The film preaches that 'magic is everywhere' - you will be searching for your best escape act if you buy a ticket.
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